Match Report: Morecambe v Bradford City 1.10.2024

As a relatively new follower of Morecambe Football Club, I haven't seen the best of them in terms of results lately. Five league games in a row losing by one goal to nil*, is going to be, well, frustrating for even the most hardened fan. Yesterday's game against Bradford City, however, was a fine advert for the league, and football as a whole.

I felt the ever coldening chill of the October evening as I walked from a prior engagement in the West End of Morecambe to the home end at the Mazuma Mobile Arena, but the brisk walk gave me some bodily warmth to start the evening off. As I met my pal M, I was feeling good; the kind of lazy optimism of the ignorant gave me some butterflies, whilst the budding statistician in me cleared their throat at the idea of the three points on offer actually being claimed.

As me and M took our place in the stand, the announcer was keen to point out the inclement temperature and wind, and how that was better motivation for us to show our appreciation of the Shrimpettes - Morecambe's cheerleading arm. The same could be said for the team; I was certainly happy to be wearing trousers and a coat and not having to run 10km in 90 minutes.

The first half was an unmitigated joy. The reds were as speedy, proactive, and organised as I'd ever seen them, sharing a pretty even possession with their counterparts, fashioning regular chances, and, helped by an assured performance by keeper Stuart Moore, were not too troubled at the back.

Looking back, I am shocked that the opening goal, coming as an own goal off Bradford's Diabate, happened in the fifth minute. It felt a lot later than that. But then, when hanging on to a single goal lead, your perception of time gets stretched all over the place. I remember the action for the goal in the Bradford box at the opposite end from where I stood. I saw that the ball was pea-rolling toward their goal line, but so slow that I just assumed that a Bradford player would clear it at any minute. Eventually, the cheers of my fellow Morecumbrians sank into my ears, and I was elated to realise we were ahead.

Morecambe were positive in their build up, and professional at the back, keeping their shape well and, amid spirited forays by the visitors, looked the better side. They may have easily converted one of the many promising moves if not for a better pass, or a slip by the Bantams.

I always enjoy watching the Morecambe young'uns practising their penalties at half time. I imagine myself at that age, what a pleasure and a privilege it would be to kick that ball into the back of the net, and I mused upon the care and professionalism that the staff show these little ones. It dawns on me, however, that even after ten minutes without chanting and clapping the cold has started to set back into my body. Come on second half, start already!

The second half belonged to Bradford City, if any team. They were much more assured in possession and grew in attacking confidence. Morecambe remained impressively resolute in defence, but their waning energy in attack - even after bringing in their number nine - felt ominous. At one point, a prolonged period of head-volleyball between the two sets of players had me cursing. 'Keep it on the deck,' I said under my breath. 'Thread it through the middle, stop overusing that right-hand side!'

Despite my amateur managerial machinations, Morecambe looked like they were going to survive Bradford's sustained periods of pressure to come away with their first three-pointer of the season. Until, that is, the 88th minute. Yet another assault on Morecambe'a goal saw Shepherd rise the highest to head the ball into the left top bin, past Moore's outstretched fingers, which had done so well in every other movement of the evening. Bradford had another couple of chances to claim three points, and Morecambe themselves had a pair of unlikely attempts themselves to write very pleasing headlines for the seaside town. As it was, though, the points were shared between the teams.

I spoke to a Bradford fan in local pub The Exchange afterwards. Whereas they felt very much that City had dropped two points against a poor team and damaged their chances in the league going forward, I felt that two sides were quite evenly matched. Perhaps a trick of biased perspective, I felt that Morecambe had slightly the better chances, but that is no consolation when you aren't taking them. Me and my mate left the stadium saying that one point is better than none, and we hope the lads and the manager are proud of their overwhelmingly positive performance. One point per match will surely become three if the tireless endeavour the Shrimps showed continues, met by a little more finishing prowess up top.

Thanks as ever to Christie.

*the last game I saw was between Morscambe and Newport County, which ended 0-1

Unlocked

 

Inside the safe, they are shelling.

The distance between me and the safe is about two metres.

The shelling intensifies.

A wind picks up, and some of the smoke -

hardly kaleidoscopic in grey, blue, and black -

escapes the leaden box.

Inside, one of them waves at me.

Inside, one of them waves to me.

Inside, one of them stops waving.

On the radio, I hear mangelwurzels are the new superfood.

The Primer Minister has eaten them,

says he credits his success to their vibrancy.

That, and cheating at Whiff-Whaff.

It's a choice between the radio and the safe.

[I wrote this poem in a Quiet Compere workshop, and performed it at a Quiet Compere poetry showcase.]

Beyond Compere

Right, I'm not going to start this post off by saying how busy I've been, and how time has flown (over six weeks ago? Really!?!). I'm not going to do it. You deserve better. Anyways, way back on May 14th, I had a lovely day. Sarah L Dixon was back in town with her Quiet Comperetour, so the day started with a workshop - led by the Quiet Compere herself - had the addition of another cup to Liverpool's cabinet in the middle, and in the evening ended with the Quiet Compere's poetry showcase. It was so good to be guesting again. Last time I was on the bill, hmm, when would that be? Probably Peter Barlow's Cigarette, but how many years ago I dread to think. I can't explain why it means something to me. Maybe it's about validation on some level, but it doesn't feel like that. It's more likely that being billed increases the pressure and feeling of scrutiny, you know, you really want to give your best, whereas if it's an open mic, I feel a bit more like I can take a liberty or two. Well, one or two more liberties (we are talking about poetry here!). Speaking about being on the bill, though, I really like the Quiet Compere's philosophy that no names are bigger than any other. She doesn't give any lengthy intros that list achievements, it was purely and simply the artist's name, and getting on with the readings.

The showcase began with an open mic session, and this exemplified the quality and diversity over the whole night (this is what's so exciting to me - all these different styles and themes all rubbing up against one another!). A number of my friends read out - Jim, Voirrey, Matt, and better-half-Becks, who were all great performers with wonderful material - and a few others, Griff Jones, who I've seen on the local circuit before, and a student Clodagh (who was at the workshop at the Nib Crib, too), who really impressed me by performing from memory an experimental piece with a complex interweaving of repetition and progression. The future's bright with such stars around.

 

I enjoyed the second half of the evening as well, which featured the featured writers. Even all this time later, I remember fondly how Zoe Lambert made us laugh with her keen observations of what it's like to grow up and discover oneself. Peter Kalu was great, and tackled big themes with warmth (and encouraged us to throw money at him, which was something new). JJ Journeyman really got me thinking. I suppose I normally regard 'character poets' with a bit of suspicion ('can't it just be about good poetry' is my usual thought), but his performance broke through my cynicism, made me laugh and think, and I'm gutted that I overthought the throwing of his bear into the suitcase (nope - not going to give you any context for that). Sarah Corbett was great, too, and her pieces felt very finely crafted, with a magical music in them (reminds me, I must look at getting a book or two of hers...). Big Charlie Poet was good, too, what I'd describe as 'rawly personal', having written touching work about, for example, depression and relationships.

 

Sarah's post here tells the story of the night better than I could, making my whole post here rather redundant:

http://thequietcompere.co.uk/quiet-compere-2022-morecambe-stop-3/

Check out the rest of the tour here (next one on the July 1st!): http://thequietcompere.co.uk/events-organiser/ 

 

Look out soon, as I'm going to post one of the poems I wrote at the workshop, which I also performed at the showcase.

Ready for kick off.

Event Incoming!

One week today ( :O ), The Quiet Compere comes to Morecambe on her 2022 tour!

First, she will be facilitating a workshop at the dear old Nib Crib at 5 West Street, Morecambe (1530 - 1700hrs).

You can buy a ticket and check details here: https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/quiet-compere-prompts-workshop-morecambe-nib-crib-tickets-309312701617

Later (1900 - 2130), she will be compering a night of poetry performance at the West End Playhouse, around the corner on Yorkshire Street. There'll be open mic slots to begin with, and then featured local poets, of which I am one.

Tickets are available for the showcase here: https://www.skiddle.com/whats-on/Lancaster/West-End-Playhouse/THE-QUIET-COMPARE-TOUR/36050919/

I was hoping to have a picture of me in my snazzy Quiet Compere tour t-shirt, but I'm waiting to get it off a friend. Incidentally, t-shirts are still available to order, and a selection will be available to buy on the night.

Hope to see you there! :)

This is the Morecambe page, btw:

http://thequietcompere.co.uk/the-quiet-compere-tour-morecambe-details-saturday-14th-may-2022/

And the overall Quiet Compere 2022 Your page:

http://thequietcompere.co.uk/readings/

Local Theatre Review: Steptoe and Son at the West End Playhouse

Down below is my review of Matt Panesh and David Findlay's production of Steptoe and Son. It's on tonight and tomorrow, so if you are (or will be) in Morecambe, I recommend you go watch it :)

https://www.lancasterguardian.co.uk/arts-and-culture/theatre-and-stage/review-steptoe-and-son-at-morecambes-west-end-playhouse-is-nostalgia-for-new-audiences-3575212#

New S

Hello you! How you doing?

Kostumes for Komedy

Eeh, it's been a long time, hasn't it? I know I've always been good at being bad at keeping this blog up to date, but wow, it really has been ages... Just lately, though, I've had so much news I've been physically shaking - so I need to let you know what's going on POST HASTE.

In terms of shameless pluggery - I just received my copy of The Literary Lancashire Award's 2021 Anthology, in which my short story 'You Just Need to Be in the Right Time at the Right Place' appears. It's a great collection of some of Lancashire's freshest voices, and you can buy copies by clicking on this whole paragraph. That's right, anywhere on this paragraph. The initial "In", the final word "have", or anywhere in between. If you get a copy, I hope you enjoy it as much as I have.

One of the big lovely things happening in Morecambe at the mo is The Nib Crib flourishing, and all their events are being enjoyed. A group of friends and I are the collective force behind this lovely community group - The Nib Crib - that is centred mainly around the 'written' arts. Our current events (which are always subject to change, as we like to listen to the people that come along), are Get Your Words Out (for performance of a variety of work), Play Reading, Book Club, Debate Club, and others. We've even had some generative days, by which I mean writing sessions and workshops (one of which I helped to run, and that was a lovely experience). We don't charge folks for enjoying themselves in our place, but we do encourage donations, as we are fully self-funded. Details of Nib Crib activities can be found here. We also appeared in a nice article not so long back - you can read that here.

This leads on to other performance news in the area. First off is a new open mic night in Lancaster, held at The George and Dragon on the Quay (St George's Quay, in fact. Funny, that...), from 2000-2300hrs every Thursday. I've been a few times now with my poetry and short stories - always had a warm welcome, a receptive audience, and just a bloody good time all round!

Next though, a real exciting thing. My good friend Jim and myself performed a comedy sketch at The West End Playhouse's 'First Friday Cabaret' last week. Jim is the main creative force, but I had a lot of fun assisting with the script, and it was tremendous to perform it. I don't mean 'tremendous great woohoo', because I never really remember much of my performances. I'm normally really focussed on trying to breathe and remember my words, or whatever, so am not really enjoying the present moment all that much. It was, however, tremendous in the sense of what we achieved, the enjoyment of the audience, and generally I'm just appreciating that we have options (within the artistic community in Morecambe, and maybe further), and that is quite exciting, if I may say. In short, our sketch was based on cheese puns. It was a bit like the version of Monty Python that you'd find in a festive cracker... I liked that we weren't after laughs, we were after groans, and that appealed to me as someone who doesn't like to give the audience what they want (or what they think they want, at least).

While I'm here, big up to all the rest of the performers, including other Nib Crib stalwarts and friends :) Great job, everyone (Y)

Perhaps more importantly, Jim has just started a blog, The Writes of Passage and has put up one of my favourite pieces of his: 'Young 'un'. Please go give it a read - you'll be glad you did. He's got an amazing diversity of talents that extend well beyond writing, but within the written world, he is adept at making people laugh, as well as seriously tugging at heart strings. I always love to hear his latest work and let it affect me.

Anyways, that's not the total of my news, but you've only got so much will to live, I'm sure, and I wouldn't want to be accused of taking the last of it from you. At least some of my shaking's stopped, and I even think some of that nasty tumescence has abated, so winner winner!

I hope you're all keeping well out there - as well as you can, at least - and, hey, peace, love, and light to you xox

Hiya

It's been three months since I've blogged :/ I was hoping to keep a semi-regular commentary of lockdown life going, but haven't. I haven't really felt moved to review anything, as I am sometimes wont to do, or really 'get funny' with anything. I don't know why, really. I don't know why I blog, or what this blog means to me... Anyway, I won't go into a big conceptual analysis of 'blogging and me', I just wanted to say that I still have a soft spot for Blogtastic, and I do feel a duty to what my stats assure me is one very regular viewer. So, here's to you BlogBot303 - I hope you enjoy reading this, and thank you, because really, everything I do is for you.

Would you believe me if I told you that I'd had my foot bitten off while swimming in Morecambe bay? Well, don't. That would be a lie if I said that. But I didn't. I think it was a clumsy attempt at humour and/or hooking you (no fishing pun intended), dear reader, into wanting to read my post. Glad I tried that... Here's the rest of it;

What has been going on? Well, as a furloughed person trying to put plenty of life in my days, I feel like lots is going on. Then I put it into words, and think, no, I got nuthin' goin' on haha. I have regular tasks (properly regular, like, daily) - such as Duolingoing, going outside for walks, plucking my eyebrows - and have kept them up for months now, which is good. I still don't have a proper spiny routine, which is a constant issue with me. Sleeping so poorly doesn't help (it doesn't help anything, actually, and I read Matthew Walker's Why We Sleep, just to really rub my own face in my dangerously unhealthy failures as a basic operating human...), but so does not have regular things outside of myself. My dream is to have a proper regular job, where I know when I'll be off, and to be able to volunteer somewhere, and obviously write, and keep my OnlyFans updated. Y'know, just the little things. Shouldn't be too hard to do in a Tory 'run' country that would rather I worked myself into an early grave for little recompense, rather than 'live to work', but if I died now that'd be just as good (to them). Erm, where was I... Probably a good time to mention Can't Get You Out of My Head. My neighbour actually recommended it to me, and I'm so glad he did. It's a six-part documentary that I ain't all the way thru yet, but it's basically a history of the socio-political developments largely of the mid to late twentieth century - but it touches on things from further back etc - from a more emotional viewpoint, i.e. the human motivations behind movements, rather than just facts and impressions of characters. I found it depressing in parts, because of the harsh truths of it, but therefore liberating to be able to put fingers on certain things. And I don't swallow it all, by any means, but thanks to the visual style of it, I'm even enjoying the parts I don't necessarily agree with. Anyways, do check it out, it's great.

Also, I turned thirty recently, and feel like I'm on another level a bit, able to see things stretching out a little bit. Probably that's just a coincidence. Who knows. Thorny personal issues at home remain largely the same. Hope and cynicism have new weapons and battle vigourously in my mind, but, so as long as hope it still standing, then I'll carry on trying. Oh yeah, my birthday was nice. Always is, as I'm blessed with some lovely family members and friends who got in touch, met for coffee, did some useful things around the house that made me feel purposeful... Yeah, 'low key', I always call it, or 'chilled', but that's how I like it :) I don't normally like a birthday fuss, but I am looking forward to throwing a bit of a shindig when people can attend, so check your post for your invite (especially you, BlogBot303 - it wouldn't be the same without you! Though when I try and email you, it says 'delivery failure' over and over...).

I have been doing some good reading (indeed, I have been enjoying the 2020 Literary Lancashire Anthology, available for purchase here. What a talented bunch of people I ended up amongst :) ), have been on and off with the wrting (submitted to this year's LLA, and still want to be more active reaching out to non-competition publications. Even thought of an old idea that If a Leaf Falls Press might like. Check out their catalogue, I regularly get and enjoy their titles) - tho quite 'on' at the mo which is always good, doing too much gaming, some selling of games (go to my 'shop' haha, grab a bargain :P )... I think the most exciting thing has been seeing a local college's MA interim show - click on this to go there :) - in which a friend of mine appears. I love seeing the diversity of styles, ideas, and ways of probing concepts and reality, truly a feat of mental and existential prowess that I struggle to put into words, regarding how powerful, provocative, and touching it is. How lucky I feel to witness these great creative muscles being flexed puts me in mind of how lucky I've been in the past to spend time with great writers and people, sharing in their journey, and their processes. Oof, I'm welling up a bit :/ See, I have a birthday, and then that's me for the rest of the month, thinking 'where did it all go wrong' haha, listening to music from my formative years and wondering what having my time again would be like :'D :'( What a mopey sod I can be!

So, in summary, I still can't help rambling. But no, I could be a lot worse, and I will never forget that I am lucky, especially as we are over a year in lockdowns, and so many people have not survived this disease, and the government's cracked priorities.

Come on, let's end on a happy note. How's about a book recommendation? Yes, I recommend Dylan Thomas' Under Milk Wood. There you go. I saw a production of it recently, and it reminded me how much I enjoyed it.

And how are you doing? What's your news?

Peace, love, and light to y'all :)

Actual News!

I got some rather good news while writing this post. It was originally to be titled 'Something of a Roundup', and feature some news and musings of a decent nature, but this latest development has put an even better spin on things.

Initially I was going to say how I'd entered a flash fiction competition run by the folks at 5asideCHESS (in partnership with the Morecambe Fringe) and although I'm deflated to have not been one of the winners, I'm happy to have submitted something, and I believe an anthology is going to be produced, which I should be in (all entrants will be published, unless they don't want to be, so I understand), which is great. I can't put too fine a point on how important it is to keep talking about mental health, and I'm happy 5asideCHESS and Morecambe Fringe have given us this opportunity to express our Covid-19 thoughts through the medium of sort fiction. It's not just a benefit to the writers themselves, but hopefully everyone reading the stories (or listening to/watching them in these videos that I don't seem to be able to link to individually...) will at least be entertained, but hopefully deeper chords will be struck too :)

One thing I didn't enter, that I should have done really, was the 100 Words of Solitude project. I don't regret not submitting too much, because I wasn't 'just being lazy' and putting it off, I had (and have) other pressing things going on in my life, and will just look out for the next opportunity, rather than chastise myself for missing that one. I've really been enjoying the entries I've read over on their site. There were a few standard thoughts and expressions, sure, but mainly there's a wonderful variety of angles they've attacked the brief from, some real dreamy narratives, and some bizarre surreality etc etc, lovely, go check them out :) And keep an eye out for the book they're producing - I'll be hoping to get a copy myself :)

Another part of the original post was going to mention how it's nearly two years since Till Roll was published. That's nuts... To think what I've (not) done with my life in that time... Shameful. But I digress :) I will instead say how happy I am that Till Roll ever came to be (it was, and is, an honour to have worked with Sam Riviere on that), and I've bought a number of titles from If a Leaf Falls Press since then, which have all pushed the boundaries of poetry in such a way that is enjoyable, but serious. As ever, do check out his site and, if you think you're at all bothered about poetry, then you should check out some of his titles (his own, and the ones he's published).

But now, without further ado: BIG NEWS! I found out on Thursday that I had been shortlisted for the Literary Lancashire Award. I can't remember now if LLA came up as a Facebook advert, or whether someone from a local Creative Exchange group shared it back in February, but either way, I thought it sounded good and got to work on a piece using a technique I'd recently been experimenting with, and produced 'Since Error'. I don't want to blather on about it too much (I'm giddy and all that, but I have to remember not to make you, dear reader, suffer my pretentious dissections of craft, as if I've bloody won the Faber and Faber 'None Greater' award for 'absolutely smashing poetry and being a poet'), but yes, it is great to have that boost, and I look forward so much to reading everyone's entries when the collection comes out. I see that the winners have been published in Cake Magzine (buy your digi-copy HERE), but keep your eyes peeled for the collection of winners, runners up, and 'shortlistees' which I'm assured will be out soon. If any of the organisers are reading this; thank you for your time and effort in creating such an opportunity, bringing together and celebrating Lancashire's writing talent :)

Au revoir!

Hoping for a Fringemas Miracle

This is obviously the Fringemas Carol poster... Courtesy of Alt-Space.

Last Friday, I went to see Alt-Space's 'Fringemas Carol', a production made by, and for, the Morecambrian community. What a laugh it was! If you know me at all, you'll know I'm so far up my own arse, that I've can't even laugh at things ironically anymore. So bogged down in pretentious over-analysis am I, that usually I'm unable to appreciate the joke on the end of my face. Not so, however, with this performance, which was delightfully silly, corny, and occasionally crude, given the appropriate gusto by all the actors. It was especially lovely for me to see two close friends - Jim Lupton and Geoffrey North - assume the roles of Benevolent Scrooge and Scrooge, respectively, who clearly enjoyed 'hamming it up', in the very spirit in which Jim and I wrote the first draft.

That draft was a first in another way, too, in the sense that I've never written stuff for others to perform before (not with an actual production in mind, I mean). It was an interesting process, really, from start to finish. There were lots of Morecambrians at the first meeting back in November, and I was anxious about how everyone would get their voices heard. Initially, Jim and me were writing the first scene, but that escalated to the full five scenes. We both found a solid few days together to nail down the plot arcs, dialogue, directions etc. As I've said elsewhere, we collaborated well together on it, both got our own jokes and stuff in, a lot of which remained in the final version. That was another thing quite new to me, the extent to which our draft would be changed - but not in the way a lot of people assumed. Some folks have thought I'd be annoyed/insulted by people "messing" with my words, but a) I'm aware of (not used to, or practised in) the collaborative process of producing (especially scripts. I mean, the logistics of a project can only truly be understood after contact with the event conditions, run-throughs and stuff, and the players have new ideas of their own too, so this medium is almost made to be changed. It's a natural part of the process), and b) my journey through life has ably taught me how egotistical thoughts (i.e. thinking of MY work, and how PERFECT it is) are a way of goading the cosmos into slapping you down into the ground.

Anyway, the changes were genuinely big improvements. One of my memories of the night that will stay with me 'til I get Alzheimer's is how big the smiles and laughter were of the kids in attendance. I know how schmaltzy that sounds, but it was true - those kids really enjoyed being there, and the songs that were added in after our initial draft were a big part of that. But, as I said before, lots stayed in, and it was a new buzz for me to have an audience laugh at things I'd written, and I felt so proud of Jim when people laughed at his jokes, and my other friends, too, because of their vibrant performances. A special mention to Matt Panesh, who put it all together and co-directed with June Metcalfe, all the actors, the costumiers, proppers, and the very public that came out to support us, and added to the ambience with singing and 'oh yes it is-ing'. It was truly a lovely night.

Now, a key change. The very place that has hosted our fair panto is in danger. Because of a lack of funding to cover the basics such as rent, Mr Panesh is being forced to close the whole shebang down. This is a huge shame, as you can see by all the glowing comments in this article. Although life and (mainly) work have prevented me from visiting Alt-Space as much as I would have liked, I still remember my first time there - going to a debating night, where I met friendly new people, and had a fun time irreverently arguing various different cases. Then there was a play reading group, which was another night outside my comfort zone, but it was energising to look at a form I hardly engage with, and actually look at the performance side of things - gives you a fresher outlook on your own writing practice, I reckon.

One of the positives, whatever happens, is that the fantastic Morecambe Fringe Festival can still go ahead (because they can use other venues to host their acts). The problem with that, though, is that the inclusion of local talent and home-grown shows will be much more difficult, because Matt has been using Alt-Space to build up these performers. Watching these local-wrought shows have been amongst my most amazing Morecambe memories over the last couple of years, and being around the buzz of rehearsals, re-writes, and reviewers has been an honour and a pleasure. I hope, therefore, that this is not the end.

Now, another key change - back to near where we were originally BUT NOT QUITE. Next year, if all goes well, I believe there's a proposed rebranding of Alt-Space to the West End Play House, shedding a brighter limelight on local drama talent (though I'm sure that house will still include the wonderful comedy, spoken word etc to which we have become addicted), for which there is a great anticipation. There is a fundraising page up already (clicking on this paragraph will take you there), and their target is £5,000, which should provide a fair bit of breathing space with the landperson well into the new year, and allow Morecambe to continue to have this vital, fertile atmosphere for artists. I think the best thing to do is to give what we can and even if that's nothing monetary, we can raise awareness by sharing the fundraiser link. If the right people see it, and get behind the project, then we should be able to put a significant dent in the rent, as it were.  So please have a look at the fundraiser, please look at the proposals, and please do what you're able - whether that be financially, or spreading the message, or both.

Peace, love, and light, folks :D

Write or wrong, we helped to create the Fringemas panto - Jim on the left, me on the right.

A Right Ol' Catch-Up

It's been that long since I posted anything, that a lot of you - especially my enemies at home and abroad - may be thinking/hoping that I've died. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I've not. I'm still very much here, and still kicking up stinks.
   I've been very busy with work, family matters, and self-abuse. In-between this trio of fantastic pursuits (especially fantastic for the 18-30 demographic, according to Fantastic Pursuits for People Aged Eighteen to Thirty Weekly), I have been lucky enough to do some illuminating things what I enjoy. The main thing what I've enjoyed is the third Morecambe Fringe Festival, which ran from the 4th July to the 20th, and already seems like it was months ago... I managed to see four shows, and the quality was high, as always.
   The first one I saw was my good pal Jim Lupton, and June Metcalfe, who are part of the 'West End Players'. I'm so happy for Jim, who expanded on his work at the last 'Scratch Festival' in Morecambe - a series of spoken word pieces. He'd put so much effort in to remember lots of material, and one of his newest characters - the Cooler King - involved a lot of dramatic acting, which he really sold. He made us laugh, cogitate, and cry, with his tales and poetry centring on the theme of solitude. I can't wait to see what he gets up to next. June was fantastic, also, performing some of Alan Bennett's 'Talking Heads' monologues with real flair. I was genuinely laughing out loud, and, as a comedy snob, that's an achievement in itself.
   The next one was Dean Tsang, who is a rising star and a half. He's an experimental poet who used a variety of forms and voices to explore the theme of 'awkward questions'. He looked at some genuinely touching personal issues in his work, which I thought was very generous, along with more universal things, and yet there was lots of humorous wit, too, so as an audience member, I felt my emotional muscles were getting a good workout. In the context of the local scene as I know it, it's even more amazing that there's such a bright, innovative, and mature talent. My abiding memory is of one poem where he basically performed multivocally, layering different sentences and sounds over each other (well, that was the effect, at least), a very impressive facet of his performative skill. I was even luckier to get to speak to him afterwards, and chat about his work.
   Then I saw Rowan Padmore, whose show was about "bereavement, loss and loneliness in Morecambe." It was a powerful show, and, honestly, I felt depressed afterwards. Not that it was one-dimensional at all - there were laughs aplenty - but the sense of loss was quite relentless and stuck with me afterwards. My imagination was in overdrive - perhaps aided slightly by being set in my home town - with the rich characters, and the driving through-narrative that tied the performance poetry together, which all speaks to Padmore's talent as a writer.
   Lastly, I saw the last show - Laura Monmoth's 'Trans Vision Scamp'. I don't know if I've ever mentioned the fact that I'm a comedy snob before, but Laura broke through all of my silly hubris, and I was crying with laughter at points. Being sat at the front, I was picked on a couple of times, but it felt warm, which is key - as Mr Rickles will tell you. I'm not sure what else to say! I don't want to ruin any gags - especially not the multimedia ones - in case you go see her (which you should, given half the chance), but just know that it gets five hilarity stars out of five from me.
   I got, and took, the chance to review Dean and Rowan for the Lancashire Evening Post. It was an honour to contribute, alongside a number of other volunteers, and be published with what I'd normally enjoy writing during the Fringe anyway. I think this was part of the reason I didn't review them on Blogtastic before now, as I had used up my reflective impetus somewhat. I'm not sure if I'm able to reproduce the reviews here, but I'm going to assume so, until such time as I am told otherwise :)
   More recently (three days ago, in fact), I was lucky enough to take part in doing a bit of setting up the Make My Day festival that the Exchange Creative Community organises and executes annually. I was working through the festival itself, so couldn't attend, but it was lovely meeting up with the other volunteers, having a laugh, getting stuck in and helping out, y'know. With the way my life's going at the mo, it felt like a holiday, and was most replenishing, even though I was knackered afterwards haha. One lovely memory from the day of the festival itself; from my window at work, I saw a family walking down the prom - a parental couple and two children - and the dad was faithfully clutching a pair of wooden dogs that they had crafted at the festival, and I knew that they'd had a lovely day together, with memories that'll last a long time. Look out for it next year, and make sure to keep up with what's happening through their mailing list, or Facebook, or whatever the hell your preference is.
   I was going to talk about other things, such as what I've been reading lately, how the writing's going, and whether I've finally set a date for the wedding, but my editor's giving me a look, like, "Oh god, he's at it again... If you have to go on another interminable solipsistic ramble, at least break it up and put it in another post. You do this all the time, writing all these long, drawn-out pieces that, y'know, might be excusable if they were only on a decent topic, or, hey, just written in a fresh, exciting way, like, had an engaging tone. But no. It's like trying to eat your way through so much sawdust - bland, nutritionless, hard work. Could you imagine what he's like outside of work? I bet it's 'me me me'. All. The. Flipping. Time. We should fire this guy. Seriously! I know he's been sneaking out with office supplies. I'm not just talking about a pen here, and a pen there... I caught him last week trying to load one of our photocopiers into his mate's van. He tried to shrug it off with a joke, but that was as pathetic as his blogging: unfunny, poorly-structured, and leaving me questioning why I bother. And would it kill him to put even just a penny into our monthly charity nominations box? How can you not want to help puppy amputees? I won't even go into the whole rant he went on when I questioned him about it, 'charity begins at home, we need to stop giving money to foreigners and take back control'... How he ever landed head writer at Blogtastic, I'll never know..." so I suppose, I'll sign off for now.

Peace, love, and light,

Martin



From The Lancashire Evening Post.

From The Lancashire Evening Post, also.

Through the Haze

Side one of a locally-distributed Scratch Fest flyer.

There's some pretty cool stuff going on in Morecambe at the mo, at Alt-Space’s 'Scratch-Fest', a festival aiming to air acts and give them feedback before the upcoming Edinburgh Fringe. It's always hard to talk about this kind of thing, because the diversity of a festival of this nature is hard to encapsulate neatly, but hey, here goes.

The first thing I saw - and one of the stand-outs so far - was a stylophone-based musicomedy performance, with self-deprecation and 'off the wall' jumps from image to pun. It’s one the best acts I've seen since Stuart Lee, and you should check out 'Stylophobia With Dan Rubinstein' on Facebook for his upcoming gigs. I found a lot of it was funny because it wasn't all that funny - "corny" is a word Dan used himself, which is a very apt one for me - and the intentional lack of slickness is part of not just the charm, but also the element of surprise, that, for me, made his jokes burn brighter.

On another night, though, we've had a journey through Richard Pulsford's research into his family's military history in 'Conflict of Interest'. I thought, because he was introduced as a comedian, that the presentation he was giving was going to be an elaborate ruse for a whole heap of humour. In the end, it was a 'straight' account of said history and, whereas not my 'usual cup of tea', it was still a pleasure to be able to attend, to see someone's work made reality, and to learn.

There was, of all things, a delightful nun - Sister Christian - who was captivating in her fascination with balls and juggling them, who peppered her performance with double-entendres. It amused me and made me feel very carefree. We had a chap (who I can't find on Facebook - sorry!) perform a scene from his Michael Jackson and Prince show (did you know they were both born in the same year?). They're two artists I'm not overly fond of, but the possibilities of his act - exploring the lives of two such eccentric superstars - are undeniably fascinating (and he's playing both of them, as I understand it). Also, we were treated to some proper magic by local legend Kevin Cunliffe - who I've always found to be a warm guy, generous with his time y'know, just because he's a star, doesn't mean to say he doesn't have time to chat, which is groovy. He kept the audience gasping in surprise, even the sceptics amongst us. We also had a more politically-focused poet, who, despite rhyming, made some good points, and made them in interesting ways. His name escapes me, as he replaced someone else on the roster, but, well, just be on the lookout for any poetry in your area, and maybe he’ll be there? Who knows…

I've talked before about the privilege it is to be able to go to poetry readings - and this festival is very similar. It’s not just being in an environment where works are more ‘in progress’ than you might see in, say, a big arena, but also to get to talk to the artists afterwards is great. I had a good few words with Richard after his show about the process of him putting his presentation together, and he was very generous in chatting to me - especially as I’m just this randomer with a can of lager and healthy disrespect for personal boundaries.

To have time with them away from the stage (i.e. in the pub) is always fascinating, too. I often consider it my duty to buy these heroes of the stage a drink (a personal thank you for their efforts), and often we have a chat about their act. In Dan's case, we spoke comedic aesthetics, and the possibilities of punnery, as well as how lucky we felt to have him, and how lucky he felt to have such a space (outside his usual London) to take his work. In Kev's case, we spoke a bit about his career (punctuated by more 'tricks' of his).

I've also been lucky to spend quite a bit of time with Walter DeForest, creator and embodier of the fantastic and internationally-renowned 'Van Gogh Find Yourself'. Whereas last time I spoke to him more about his act, this time it was thrilling to just ramble about any old anecdotes, share in cheeky puerile humour, and some of the Sportz Banter (TM). Other members of our fair Morecumbrian society were talking about CBD-soaked (literally) times, and, although the oils weren't flowing in reality, the intoxication was caused by these crazy, switched-on, rule-makers and -breakers, the inspirers and questioners of our time and place. It's a massive boon that there are suddenly places now in my home town that cater for us misfits, thanks to Matt Panesh and his team. It's just wonderful to be mixed with all these idea-mongers and talent-spinners, talking across genres and experience levels.

And this festival's only just beginning, y'know. My good friend Jim will be performing later today, and there’s more through the week. I could do with knocking [some... most...] of the drinking I previously alluded to on the head, but, I must admit, alcohol is an easy lubricant that gets some of the big-energy ideas dripping out the holes in our brainsponge. It is through this haze that I've largely been looking lately - and the things I have seen, my friend... Oh, the things I have seen...

Side two, detailing the acts.

Morecambe Comedy Festival

I've just been to my first night of the Morecambe Comedy Festival, and it was great :)

I arrived late, so missed some of Ruth Cockburn's routine, but it was obvious in the half-hour I saw that she is a special talent. It's hard to come up with a single good song and put that into a routine seamlessly, but she sang many original numbers, and managed to weave them into spots of 'pure' observational stand-up, as well as other multimedia elements (including recorded interview material, which was quite touching, as well as amusing), which all combined to make a thoughtful and refreshing take on love and sense of place.

After a short break, we were supposed to enjoy Brennan Reece, but, filling in for the aforementioned double-bookee, was festival organiser and all-round nice guy Matt Panesh. I've never heard Matt perform before, so I was actually considering myself lucky in the situation. He mostly read out from a book of his poetry (if I find out what book that was, and where I - indeed, 'we' - can get our hands on a copy, I'll let you know), and the mix of humourous, political and social observations within his work fitted in well with the evening's entertainment. He's lived quite a life, and I really was rapt as he relayed tales of times on tour, or while working (indeed, being fired from work). Although not what I'd consider as an out-and-out comedy show, there were some unintentionally (no, they were intentional, but they were unplanned) hilarious moments, courtesy of a couple of arseholed pub punters who decided to spraff loudly about lord-knows-what and chip in with random corrections/affirmations, all of which were ad hocly batted back by Matt (charitably so, I might add), which pleased the audience no end.

Another break. Another pint. Another comedian - none other than Tom Little.

The first thing that struck me about him was his fantastic energy. It's really high-frequency, but he's so warm and charming, that you never feel attacked by his performance. In fact, there were many moments of audience participation that genuinely felt cherished by both audience and orator. I liked Tom intensely, and I really don't want to be over-wordy about why. He was self-deprecatory, a bit meta, decently cheesy, great at being funny off-script and hard-working in his writing (and memory! The things he's researched and memorised, you know, they're more than just trite set-pieces in an overall comedic game) - that's why I loved it. All those ingredients show a natural, yet industrious, talent, and I hope he gets to wherever he wants to be. I certainly prefer him to all of those terribly middle-class comedian clones... I was going to name names, but I just had a premonition of that coming back to haunt me, so I won't.

Anyways, I'll let you get back to whatever it is you were doing before clicking on this link. I know I didn't go into a lot of detail back there, but I don't want to spoil anyone's Fringe by revealing jokes ahead of time. In that sense, I feel honoured to be able to not just look through the window into a creative process, but be inside the house as it's happening and, if laughter be the comedic writer's barometer, maybe even be part of that process in some small way. In that sense, it is much like going to a poetry reading - an honour (not necessarily a solemn one), and I thank the performers, organisers and everything that led to the moment, for a great time.

Hope to see you at more of the week's events (click on the link up top for all the news and performers). Peace, love and light.

Scenes: Number Seventeen

There are large, flat, stone benches without backs periodically placed along Morecambe prom.

Today, there was a man sat on one of them, leaning back, using his arms to support himself. The sun's brightness bounced off the arms of his glasses. His hair was all grey, apart from cloud-white wings perched above his ears. His hair, his wrinkles, his woollen jumper and slacks all said he was seventy plus.

His lips were curled up a little at one side. You might think the word 'smirk', but there was much more warmth radiating from him than that.

Watching the distant waves and smiling - just how is he so at peace with the world?

The Gathering - Anne Enright

Just a few thoughts on this novel that really impressed me, the author of which was recommended to me by Ailsa Cox.

A few years ago, the most disturbing book I'd read was Bret Easton Ellis' American Psycho. This was striking in a plottish way and, though you might want to argue that contentually  it was gratuitous, I see it as a structural archetype. The alternation between droning, asymptotic capitalism and rampant, relentless 'masculsim' [and it could be argued that it's not much of an alternation] is, well, powerful... provoking. Then I read Conrad Williams' Head Injuries, based on Nicholas Royle's advice. This is a different kettle of fish, bit more supernatural, but I found it even more disturbing. The magical potency of William's descriptions really brought the unreal to life, made me sick with anticipation and imagination [and you might say that it being set in my home town of Morecambe might make it an easier goal, but I believe I can separate my emotional vulnerability from my appraisal of authorial mastery]. Then I read The Gathering.

Enright's use of language is possibly the most disturbing, and potent, I think I've ever read, on many linguistic levels. Whether it's intentionally ambiguous sentences, odd commas, a clunky 'straight pun', jarring descriptions or insertion of song/quote/foreign language or whatever else: the effect at times, on purely language-based grounds, was really disconcerting. I felt it was the duty of all literature, especially of this calibre, to be so unsettling. It also displayed elements of the supernatural, plus a focus on the darkness of life, not just death but certain 'comedies of life' ["...five quid for a brandy in your mourning coffee..."] and the battle between truth, life and memory.

One thing I kept thinking was how great it would be as an example of literature to study. Well, maybe that's not the right thing to say necessarily, but what I mean is that it's such an example of literariness. And I'll be the first to admit that there were certain elements that left me behind in terms of their intellectualism, you know, some of the sentences had me re-read them a few times and still not quite get what was meant. But that's not a bad thing for me. It's the mix of general poeticness, of dialect, of the overall defamiliarization/terror of the words in short or long combinations that makes this novel so powerful, and a couple of 'eh?' moments didn't derail my overall understanding or enjoyment.

There's so many ways I want to praise it, and some of them are so contradictory; its lightness of touch versus its macabre close-up dissection of certain scenes; its narrator - unreliable to the point of admitting how hopeless she is at remembering whilst being so honest as to give us no choice but to like/sympathise/trust; perhaps the best observations of humanity I've ever seen [have NEVER read men written as they are in this book, and again, there's a grimly humorous total truth in her words] mixed with some speculative musings, thereby contrasting assuredness with doubt; some of the realest, most natural feelings, thoughts, reactions mixing with the surreal, the artful and the supernatural [i.e. physically manifested ghosts].

I really was so ravenous when I read it. I chowed down nearly half of it in one go which, for me, is a lot in one sitting. I'm not an entirely 'natural' reader, in the sense I just sit down and easily get through it all. The descriptions of place were enchanting - not quite in the way the Montalbano series is painted in vivid pastel, but more in the slight dourness of an inexperienced tourism office - and I have to give special mention to the way she deals with airports. Ah, just read it to find out what I mean. And the difficulty of ending such a 'journey' is inevitable, yet Enright handles this so well too.

If you've read it, I'd love to know what you think. I know it's won awards, but what do you think? Even as I'm writing about it months after I experienced it first, there's a vibrant lingering. If I wasn't reading other things, I'd be tempted to read it again. Anyway, check it out if you want. It's great.

The Shocking Extent of Lad Culture

Morecambe Books

Author: David Medcalf

We had a visiting writer come to Edge Hill just over a week ago (I have a draft of the encounter on here somewhere, I'll probably finish it in a year's time). I've yet to reply to his email (I'm starting to sound like this fellow...), but whilst looking through some old correspondences I found some books he'd recommended, way back when I was still applying for universities. I did the only sensible thing after stumbling across these titles - got drunk and ordered them online.

• I know where I'm going: A Guide to Morecambe and Heysham - Michael Bracewell et Linder
• Head Injuries - Conrad Williams

A Decent-Sized Roller Coaster

Probably more like 'The Tornado' in Morecambe's [ex] Frontierland than the 'Pepsi Max' at Blackpool's Pleasure Beach but you get what you're given. As you all know from my constant whining, I don't get to see the football matches I want, or the amount I want (first world problems...), but tonight was rare in that I did get to see Liverpool play. Half of their game against Arsenal, but you get what you're given (HORSE).

I come into the pub just as the first half finishes. One - nil to us I see, Suarez has scored I see, 'excellent' I think. I get my drink and impatiently await the second half (seriously, waiting for it was almost as tense as my last blood test results, but I digress...). Seeing Hendo's goal was just magical. Sustained pressure from our lads, a bit of a lucky rebound but then the cool head to side-foot around an outstretched keeper and into the back of the net. Riding pretty damn high.

Then within seven or eight minutes we were drawing... It was kind of funny in a way, we've not being doing well against higher-table teams, and this was comedy by repetition. How could we throw that lead away?

Where oh where could Arsenal's first goal come from? A set piece? Absolutely! That was the funniest, they had two really ridiculous dives (one drawn from Lucas, the next from Agger). Neither had any contact, as replays showed, but at least one of them resulted in a yellow card for the dive, rather than the false offence (take that Giroud :P). But anyways, the first goal came from a free-kick. It wasn't an inspirational take by Giroud, but it was perfectly weighted and placed. Reina didn't have much of a chance, and all I say is fair play to Arsenal there, good fighting spirit.

Their next one... blimey... They seemed to be doing what we wanted to do but much better. That knock-around between midfield and front line, casual yet precise as you like, before our defenders are so confused a goal seems almost inevitable. A ball breaks out to Walcott (when's he going to be thirty, I wonder...) and from a pretty damn tight angle, he bends it around Reina. Past couple of years I've not been Reina's 'biggest fan'. He's making more errors and doing less of the basics correctly. This one, not to take anything away from a great strike by Walcott, I think Reina could have adjusted his feet a lot better (he had the time, he could have seen it coming) and should have stretched his arm out across the trajectory the ball took.

Brendan Rogers, our glorious manager, is entitled to sleep very well tonight, despite 'losing two points' (if that's how you want to look at it). Playing a 4-3-3 was a good idea, plenty of attacking possibilities, bringing the fight to the 'enemy' rather than stagnating at the back. Again, I only saw a couple of highlights from the first half so I'm no expert (as if I would be anyway...), but it seemed to be paying plenty of dividends. Since Arsenal started scoring though, for a while it didn't look like they would stop. Walcott, after his goal, seemed like a man possessed, I have a few brown stains on these pants of mine. Rogers saw this, and introduced another defender onto the pitch. It was great in the sense Arsenal didn't score again, but you could tell from that point on that our attack suffered slightly. Suarez and Henderson got caught in 'pass tennis' rather than going forward at one point, which was, I think, a direct result of the substitution. But then Sturridge (who was taken off) squandered a fair few chances. One of the reasons I didn't want him to come to the club was because of how he behaved today: trying ridiculous shots on his own for personal glory, rather than being less of a dong and passing it to a team-mate clearly in loads of empty space.

But that's the question. Should we have attacked and tried to get the three points, or defended a one-point profit. Personally, it doesn't matter. What I saw of the game was so compelling, I might just have been happy to lose outright. To get such a deserved result can be refreshing, no matter what it is. For once it didn't come down to bad decisions. What was ultimately great was that Liverpool fought hard at the end. It didn't work out perfectly, but what ever does? You get what you're given.

Just Like That

Things are better. The power of communion really is amazing. The generator has whirred back to life. The lights are back on. The clocks have started moving forward again. They stutter slightly, sure, but pothing's nerfect right?

Things haven't been resolved, but then what ever is? Do I know more about writing? No. Do I know more about myself? No. Am I a writer? I'm still not sure, but I am still writing. Also I'm thinking about future projects, feeling that excitement again. Next stop: getting cracking (hopefully).

This has been a response to Not Sure Anymore. Things have changed. As it often does, the Morecambe winds have cleansed the bad thoughts away. The only problem now is that the sea's anger seems somehow related to those lads messing around with the vending machine at Preston train station.

I'm not normal...

Beyond

They say no two snowflakes are alike, but these all look the same to me: closer to slushy hailstones than to the romantic building blocks of snow-people. It falls down from the grey sky onto the grey floor and it is grey. If white represents death, then this represents a living death.

The wind whips my face so I turn my head away. I look down the promenade, past the rock groynes and machine-disturbed sand, and see all the fishing boats, lifeless. I wonder when the last time was that somebody actually went out to sea in them. The snow seems to pick up a little, like it's trying to cover everything up as quickly as possible. The shoreline makes me think of Pompeii. The dinghies are the children, looking helplessly up to the whammelers who can't do anything to help. A short distance away, perhaps some of the other boats tried to flee, but the snow is omnipotent and inexorable.

In the wind's lull I turn my head back and look out across the bay. The sludge of the tideless coast reflects the greyness of the sky. I think to myself that I've never seen a snowy beach in all my life. The concept only seems strange if you contrast two idealized images of sunny Spanish holidays and chilly North Pole romps in winter onesies. In reality it's not that odd - just an expanse of sand at the mercy of the weather like the rest of us.

I have to head inland now, I've got business to take care of. The snow is settling on the ground now. Passing cars make constant slippy squelches. Streetlights and headlamps cry out, but their rays are polluted with grey flakes. I have to go inland, indoors. I have business to attend to.

For a Few Words More

Been working right hard in Morecambe, so I have. Had many, many hours recently and it's been a weird experience, mainly with respect to the passage of time. I don't know what day it is, what I did yesterday or if I have any plans tomorrow. It's a bit like being put in a centrifuge; not only is it generally disorienting, but your life gets separated from you leaving behind a big sticky splodge behind. This splodge likes to ruin social events...

Anyway, enough about my sticky splodges. The doctor says his tablets will clear that up anyway. Liverpool has a new manager, Roy Hodgson - formerly of Fulham FC. I was sad to see Rafa go, but I have a good feeling about Roy. He's done well at Fulham, especially in the European department, and I think he could be the man for the job. This is all just based on gut reaction, but then again so was my last bout of sticky splodges, and they're fun in a weird kind of way. Oh I said that was enough about them didn't I?

Not much else to say currently. I love to moan, but life is disappointingly great at the minute, so what's a guy like me to do? I have a job, I'm clothed and fed very well, I'm getting to see my friends and talk to others, things couldn't be that much better. It's like the police being faced with a world of really nice gardeners; there is nothing for them to do. Well, unless the gardeners started planting daisies on private property without permission... Naughty...

"Daisy Dillinger is public enemy number one" says police chief Mahogany of Scotland Yard. "Despite every other crime in life being non-existent, we are still experiencing a growth in numbers of rogue gardeners illegally planting daisies across the country. Most people don't realise the full extent of the damage that daisies can do til they get hit. We are doing our level best to combat the problem, but we urge the public to be vigilant and start keeping hungry slugs."

I want to watch 'For a Few Dollars More.'