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

Can You Feel It?

You may think that I had forgotten it was Twin Peaks Day (the day that Special Agent Dale Cooper arrives in the eponymous town of Twin Peaks for the 'first' time in the seminal TV 'documentary' series (I have to put that in inverted commas because it's 'not true')) on the 24th, merely based on the fact that I had forgotten.

But had I? A number of phenomena I experienced will tell you otherwise.

In fact, I had the theme tune playing in my head for most of the afternoon. Okay, you're not convinced. You say, quite rightly, that I could have had any number of the show's songs as an earworm, any day of the year, and it proves nothing.

What about the fact that I decided to treat myself and make a 'proper coffee' before work? Of all the days I've been wanting to do it, on Friday it just felt right somehow, like I was being called to do it from someone or something beyond the sycamore trees... Still not having it? Well, at least I can tell you that it was a damn fine cup of coffee.

Okay then, how about the fact that, in the middle of my shift that same day, everybody stopped and went silent, and a mysterious giant appeared to me in a beam of silvery light. A sound, as of Tibetan meditation bells rang out, and he implored me, "It is happening again. It is happening - again." Yeah, explain that one.

So I'm sure we can now all agree that there was definitely something here that the FBI will want to investigate and designate a Blue Rose case. But for now, let's gas up the jet and fly away from this bizarre little digression.

Take care, and remember: the owls are not what they seem.

 I am genuinely only posting this because I haven't posted in so long that I feel that I'm going to lose the ability forever.

How are you folks?

 

All the best,

 

M

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/

Friends

I was talking to a friend the other day about mental health. He's someone who is quite sensitive, too, and it was refreshing to have a conversation about it. Surprising, also, that he's had such similar experiences to me. The world can make you feel alone when you're not - not really. I suppose I'm writing this now so maybe other people think, "Yeah, that happens to me, too!"

One of the things we talked about was people who say they're there for you and aren't. I don't mean to make any of this sound easy, because at the minute it isn't. It will get easier, but it depends on how people in wider society act, how normal things become. It's getting better, and I know I need to work on things as well as others.

We've had people saying to us, "Here if you want to talk," like that's it, job done. I've been in relationships where it's been such a passive 'believe I care for you because I'm telling you I am'. For so many people, maybe men especially (because of the traditional roles and stigmas), it takes a huge deal to open a door and let someone in. I've done this before, tried to talk about what's on my mind, have told people how depressed I am. I wasn't asking them to fix everything for me, but when that person you've opened the door door interrupts you time after time, doesn't acknowledge what you've said, or even asks why you're not doing anything about it, the door you've opened for them closes a little bit more each time.

Then they say it again. "I'm here for you." Where? Where are you? Outside. You have the address, but not the key. I was letting you in, and you didn't step inside. That's fine. I've dealt with that from many people. It still hurts, but life is suffering. The question is now, how to deal with it again?

I'm glad at least I can sometimes get to talk to this friend of mine, but I wish I had someone there regularly, someone who said they cared and showed it. Anyway, I'm sounding maudlin now... I also want to help myself to trust more, to be more emotionally available, and hopefully in the future have more tools to be able to use in relationships - platonic or romantic - where this happens.

I hope if you're reading this that you're well. Please take care.

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

The End of Badminton?

Really real, and on set.

I'm very conflicted about what to say here. I'm not an industry insider per se, but I have information from the inside of the industry. I can certainly say that I'm a big fan of the show, but does that give me the right to speculate on an online forum where my words could be interpreted correctly, or worse?

I think it's fair to say that I can say that I can say that Badminton's shooting schedule has been shot by Covid. I think we could all've figured that out when the last episode (of a supposedly six-part pilot series) was published in June 2020. I suppose it's a little ironic, since it was born out of lockdown, but is that reason to want it gone? Clearly the community has been going full Kubler Ross over the lack of announcements. To say speculation has been rife would be accurate. To say that is has been rifle would probably be an autocorrect error.

I just don't know how we can move forward from here. I hope I won't put myself in the frame here by telling you that a friend of mine, who has access to the lot they film Badminton on, recently let me loose on set one night, with one of the old dummy racquets and a rubber shuttlecock. I mean, honestly, it felt awesome to be able to hit the shuttle against the wall, like the protagonist does in the series. It was also pretty bittersweet, when one considers that the buzz wasn't there: the chatter of the radio, the tweeting of the birds, the alphaity of nobheads using the garage over the road... It was like a ghost town, but it wasn't a town. Maybe it was a town, but located in my heart, and the population was one - me. And maybe I don't like my own company...

Anyway, I suppose I wanted to use the meagre platform I have to just say, hey, can't we just appreciate what a great show this, I dunno, is? Was? Will be? It certainly could be... I mean, if it's just a money thing, can't they realise the demand over here?

I did hear on a message board the our glorious creator is trying to move on to other things. Again, I know that's speculation, so take it with a melon-baller of salt, but I really think that artists should start what they finish, you know. Where do they get off, tantalising us poor public people? Haven't you ever thought?

Well, my sponsor reminds me to be grateful for what we have, and I must say that I am. Four great episodes so far.

 

Check them out here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLxdRkKm7E7mua-G7mPXTpreVatbYLpxsG

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 :)

The Gentlemen (2019) WITH SPOILERS FROM THE START

I can't believe The Gentlemen came out in the UK a year ago today. It seems like a couple of years ago at least, but then, of course, 2020 has redefined 'relative concept' when it comes to time... I've only just got to watching it this week, despite being excited for it when it was coming out.

Though I was looking forward to it, I ended up feeling disappointed in the end at how 'on rails' it is, how procedural (like watching a feature-length Poirot, if Poirot said 'cunt' every fifteen minutes and loved to wave a gun around like Scarface). And that's a good point to discuss; am I tired of procedurality generally, because of detective stories and the like, or did this film feel unconvincing in and of itself? I think it's a bit of both. Certainly the reporter (Fletcher, played by Hugh Grant) here is interesting. He seems to know it all, but the way it is revealed at the end that he was being watched all the time was very 'told not shown' (well, it was both, because it used one of those narrated montages, where we are shown and told, but my point being that it's clunky and on the nose either way), blunt and uninspired. Yeah, a let down really, and not even particularly shocking... And then the loose ends that are tied up in the final moments feel like a very quick tick tick tick on a clipboard - very charmless, perfunctory, and menial, really.

I wasn't overly impressed by the meta-ness of it, either. Fletcher's shtick is revealing the information he knows via a film script that he has written about real events. The idea is that it not only serves the audience as a device for telling the story, but also helps the character, as it's piece of evidence he can use to threaten his contemporaries, and 'shop then in' should he not get the money he wants. I think I'm just bein a stick in the mud, but it felt lazy to me - although some people say that about the narration in American Beauty, y'know, it's all opinions, man. I have to admit it gave good opportunities for comedy (i.e. when Fletcher has to lip-read and translate a tense tête-à-tête between the Machiavellian crime lord Matthew, and ruthlessly ambitious gangster Dry Eye, which involves insertions of ridiculous words into the conversation). Also it highlights a lot of Fletcher's character - someone who thinks they are in control of proceedings, whereas proceedings are really controlling him - so it certainly has some merit.

Another big plot point is Michael (essentially the focal character of the whole film, as the owner of the criminal empire that everyone covets and vies for) being killed within the first five minutes of the film. I was like 'okay, that's been done before, but I'm still intrigued enough to find out the story behind the murder'. Later on, however, we find out that he wasn't really killed; his assassin was shot nearby, and it's the intruder's blood that we see splatter onto Michael, which I mistakenly took for his own, based on the initial camera shot. That was a pretty good twist, and I say this in mind with the characters and how I rooted for them/didn't root for them. I was rooting for Michael. It was good to see him back in the land of the living, as it were, and I don't remember feeling so effortlessly convinced by characters for a long time.

With respect to the characters as a whole, the setups and payoffs were all pretty much spot on. They're all criminals of some nature or other, from drug use to murder to international substance dealing. Apart from a couple of goons, however, the deaths only happen to the insatiably greedy, or one maguffin character (who we don't warm to anyway because of his wise-cracks in a tense situation (not that that means I'm 'happy' he died. His death was an accident, tho, so in terms of 'pay-off' the usual emotional transaction is satisfied. Only 'bad' people should be killed in these stories, unless we are dealing with anti-heroes or whatever...)). Then there are some people who have wrought havoc, and we could wish them comeuppance (i.e. the Toddlers, a group of tracksuit-clad gangsters with a penchant for multimedia stardom), but they are acting in mistaken knowledge that they are helping their friends/ colleagues, so instead they are tied up at the end (metaphorically speaking!) in non-violent ways, which again satisfies the usual 'western' ideas of narrative storytelling. The main 'villain' of the piece, Fletcher, who is a blackmailer, does not quite get away with his greed. He is not an evil person, tho. He is creepy, sure, and disrespectful, but clever, panacheful, and 'a real character', and we can't help but have an admiration for him. In that sense, it is entirely fitting that his 'comeuppance' is left open. Ray (who is Michael's bodyguard/fixer/etc) tracks him down and has him locked in the passenger's seat of a taxi - and that's when the credits roll. We can imagine what we like to happen to him, but not putting a death/torture scene in for his character feels appropriate, because, as I say, he's not 'bad' enough to warrant that. My thinking is that his behaviour would probably warrant a faked death, i.e. Ray would go back to Michael and say 'he's gone', and what he actually did was to give him a small amount of money, tell him to get out the country, and never be heard from again. In fact, when he is proprosing his true-to-life screenplay to one party, Fletcher does talk about leaving an open ending to mamintain the possibility of a sequel (ever the avarist!). In this sense, maybe my guess could be right, because Fletcher could easily come back into the picture later on, and would have leverage on Ray because he went against his boss' wishes, and therefore could enact narrative chaos again. Anyways, that's all speculation, and my main point is just that the tone of the film never slides into grauitous violence, there are reasons for the conflicts, and that just feels satisfying overall.

So some of the film I wasn't impressed with structurally, and as subject matter, we know it's nothing fresh from Ritchie. In that sense I wanted to give it three stars (out of five). However, it was a decent two hours' worth of entertainment, very little flab in the action/dialogue, and I appreciated a good few characterful touches to stop exposition fatigue. I felt so intrigued by the plot, so on-side with the characters, that it wouldn't feel right to score it so averagely. Can I beg you for a half? Three and a half stars, if I may be so weasley as to resort to that, seems about right to me :) It's for sure one you should watch if you're a fan of the genre, or just fancy some entertainment that's not suitable for kids.

Thanks for reading, and I genuinely hope that 2021 is a better year for everyone. Let's help get Covid on the run, use our deepened appreciation of life to help those less fortunate than ourselves, and break some of the cycles that lead to people becoming like characters in a Guy Ritchie film in real life

M

A Year's Worth

A year ago today, England FC played Kosovo in a Euro Qualifier match, beating them 5-3. And I stopped drinking alcohol. For me, that was a big deal. The drinking thing, that is, not the chaotic and, frankly, unconvincing England display. It was a big deal because alcohol has been a big part of my life, from my work (as a bar person), to how I socialise and spend my leisure time, to being a brewer's son etc etc. However, due to using it as a coping mechanism during a shitty few years in my personal life, it started to become too big a part of my life, and, having tried reducing my intake and struggling, I decided to haul on the anchors completely and stop, for as long as I could. For a year? Forever? I wasn't sure, but I was going to try it and see what happened.

The first two weeks were pretty interesting. After my second day, I'd already been the most sober I'd been in about six months, because, even though I wasn't necessarily drinking lots every day, I was drinking a little bit almost daily. After a week or two, I had this very strange feeling of complete sobriety. I noted at the time that it should be the other way around; I should feel weird/different because I'm drunk, not because I'm sober. It underlined what a friend had been saying to me, that we often use alcohol as armour, to help protect us from our nerves or awkwardness, for example, but there comes a point [when we abuse it] that all that supposed confidence and protection becomes toxic, and our dependency on it increases so that what we can do without it decreases. I still don't know exactly what point I got to, i.e. whether I'd have classed myself as an alcoholic. For me, that would be the point at which I can't hold down a job, or my relationships suffered. But my relationship with myself was certainly suffering, and my bodily health too, so I can't pretend it wasn't affecting me, and was merely 'hard socialising'.

I normally get asked one of two questions when the subject comes up. The least-frequently asked is "Why?" often followed by a slightly awkward, "Was it your decision, or... [the ellipsis meaning 'are you an alcoholic, and/or has a doctor intervened']?" Most people don't have more than two seconds to wait for you to speak before they interrupt me (but you, dear readers, shall feel the full brunt of my ramble!), so I hodge-podged it slightly, giving people various flavours of the following reasons; I have an alcoholic in my close family. This has stimulated me to stop in two ways - firstly that I speak to a lot of service users/providers for people with substance misuse issues, and their knowledge and wisdom made me re-examine my own relationship with booze. Secondly, when this family member was to come out of rehab, they had to come back to an alcohol-free abode, and I found it easy to quit while they were away, so that when they returned, I would a) not have any alcohol in the house, and b) not be tempted to bring any back while they were here. Other reasons include various 'normal' considerations. I have been suffering health-wise for a few years with various mental and physical complaints, and drinking helps none of them (even though I have used it 'to help me sleep', and de-stress, it adversely affects the quality of one's sleep, which then affects how you deal with stress etc). I was hoping to lose weight, too. Stop spending so much money... Y'know, fairly normal stuff. And there were also considerations such as the challenge of it, do I still have willpower, etc. Which I do.

The thing people most often ask is, "Do you feel better for it?" It's asked in various ways, often in a leading way, assuming that I'm absolutely going to say yes, and wax lyrical about a million and one ways I feel great now I'm no longer poisioning myself. Actually, although I wish I could say a resounding 'yes', it's an absolute 'no with a but'. I don't feel much better, if at all. My aches and pains are no longer being numbed, and neither are my moods. I was actually a bit scared at one point, because all my mental issues (of depression etc) loomed larger at me when I was sober, with an edge and strength that hadn't been there for a long time, and I thought about drinking again to make me feel better in the moment.

To balance this, tho, my mental clarity has increased. My speed of analysis, recall, ability to separate emotions and assumptions from 'truth' and whatnot is quicker, so I feel perhaps a little better able to deal with what comes. And this sort of brings me on to what I've learned as a whole - that alcohol isn't the big issue for me. It's events and environments make me want to self-medicate, and I could take all the coping mechanisms out of my life, only to find a new one (human nature?). At the minute, I'm really battling with eating. I've always liked (a lot of) food, but really, I think not long after my mum passed away, and I went back into bar work after an all-too-brief absence, I started really eating, lots of takeaways late at night and stuff like that. Trying to fill a hole, as it were, though the 'problem hole' is not literal, it's emotional and mental. Anyway, my weight is up and down, my inflammation problems, depression, sleep, they're all still bad, still causing me problems, and that's because there are other habits that have, if anything, only increased in severity since I stopped drinking. You can see, then, that 'do I feel better for not drinking' is not a straightforward question to answer. There have been benefits, but my problems are still very much here, and won't go anywhere unless I tackle them at root.

So not drinking has been a fun 'experiment', but even though I've known for ages that I'm obviously not addressing things 'properly', it's only in this past month that I've started thinking that I really need to change things again. This time I need to try and build health into my life (who knows, maybe even get some targeted help for my depression...), with sleep, anxiety management, more of the five paths, etc etc - something that goes beyond merely forgoing things that are not helping.

Anyway, this isn't how I planned this post to go on. I don't know... It feels a bit bland, and not very educational or inspiring... Nothing ever works out how you think, tho. I wonder what a year's worth of alcohol consumption would look like, how big a barrel it would fill? Maybe I'll get the boffins on it, get a figure to you all by next week.

I hope things are well in your world. Well, they're probably not great at the moment, they're tough all round, but I hope at least that you're finding joy in the little things wherever you can. That's as positive as I can be!

Goodbye!

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!

The Joy of Montalbano

Recently, I wanted to visit my literary safe space, just fancied that bit of escapism, y'know, as we all do from time to time. For me, this means Montalbano, Andrea Camilleri's food-loving, age-precipice-fearing inspector. I was willfully wallowing in the comfortable procedural plots, happy to revisit the old friends that Montalbano, his detective friends, his girlfriend, and incidental characters had become. It's far from the kind of 'trash' level that most people mean when they talk about 'trash TV', but, yeah, it comes across as a gritty soap opera almost (speaking of which - must remember to get some more of that gritty soap next time I'm shopping for ablutables).

I enjoyed the book this time, as usual (The Patience of the Spider, or, Il Pazienza del Ragno, the eighth novel of the series). Things don't follow a typical 'solve the crime in time, justice done by the book/letter of the law' kind of thing in the inspector's world, and it's the same that here, the sensitive detective discovers the truth of the matter (who the kidnappers are, in this case), but instead of bringing them to justice (having them tried and put in jail), he makes sure that 'justice' is done (a kind of greater good).

SPOILERS

I'm not really reviewing or criticising this book (for one, I think a review would best be suited for the series as a whole, looking at things a bit more zoomed out, but anyway, that may be a convo for when I've read them all), but I had a few things I wanted to note. The first was the way chapters are realised. I'd not noticed in the previous stories, but there seems to be a tendency for chapters to not do much, other than mark arbitrary progress. Or rather, a chapter ends 'like chapters should' (I mean, in the sense of most conventional literature), in that they end on a pivotal realisation, or in the immediate pre-math of a heavy scene/action, and as we see the page become blank, we think feverishly forward - what's going to happen? A 'cliffhanger', in other words. But the start of the next chapter usually has some whip about it. Perhaps it starts from a new angle, maybe a bit further forward in time (and in this case I'm speaking only about linear time. One could easily jump about temporally, spatially, consciously (i.e. from another character), etc etc), maybe just with an extra bit of scene-setting description, to keep that feeling of 'what's going to happen next?' on a rolling boil. In Montalbano, tho, I notice that the story just keeps going on exactly as it was, sometimes even with a direct response in dialogue to a question posed, for example, at the end of the preceding chapter. In short, the chapter break could just be a bookmark you've placed in at any point, on any page. So I feel the chapter break 'doesn't matter', because everything carries on with the same momentum and feeling as it did before. I'm not necessarily saying this is a bad thing. I suppose it suits the style of the procedural, you know, in that it's 'getting on with it', going forward. And I wouldn't be so arrogant (not on a Friday, anyway) as to suggest that it could be made better when Andrea Camilleri and Stephen Sartarelli are on the team, but yet, I just can't help feel they could have made it more contrived, more artful, and maybe let these moments breathe a little bit. I dunno...

Another thing I thought about this particular book was that it really let a couple of clangers of clues drop. The book, as usual, takes a while to really get going (again, not a negative, because Montalbano's style is usually about being a real sponge, letting these seemingly unconnected tributaries of facts flow into him until he is full of the truth), but I feel that it was about halfway through that we learn more about the guy who turns out to be kidnapper, who lets the inspector know that his property used to be a farm that made wine, and we know by his grand book collection that he is well-read, both of which come into the spotlight when, shortly after, we realise that the girl who has been taken is being held in a wine vat, and the kidnapper chooses very specific, apt words on their notes, indicating a certain level of education. When the reveal came, I was not just not surprised, but deflated somewhat. It's not just an entirely personal reaction, but a logical one, too; if I can work it out (if the clues are that obvious), then how did some of the other officers not see it? It seemed a bit of a poorly grounded contrivance that Montalbano would be the only one to notice it. But having said all this, the actual ending was enjoyable to a degree (bittersweet, like the first Aperol spritz of the evening in a warm, placid piazza), and we have to keep in mind that this Italian detective fiction is not like the Poirot or Marple-esque 'gather all the suspects into a room for tea, scones, and revelations. Place an officer on that door for the inevitable escape attempt by a rich dandy who'd struggle to run his way through a wet paper bag.' It's enough to say that there have been more satisfying conclusions (in the sense of the case itself, not the story) in other episodes.

I know these sound like nit-picks. I could go on about all the things I liked a lot, but ultimately these things are what I like about the series as a whole, hence why they'd be more suited to a dedicated 'retrospective' kind of post (in my mind, anyway. You, my dear, cherished audience, you may disagree. Please tell me if you do. Everyone's entitled to be wrong).

Time for me to go. Until next time, un abbraccio :) Arrivederci amici etc xox

As a Sign of the Changing Tiimes

Today, whilst I was reading, I had to do a double take on a word. What I first read as 'lockdown' was, in fact, 'knockdown'.

Just Checking In, Really

I struggle to believe that it's been nearly a month since I last posted anything on this blog. I had a quiet aim to post once a week, and clearly that's not happened. Things in life have overtaken me somewhat. I don't write this in a 'woe is me' kind of way - I know there are always people worse off - but I suppose I'm trying to come to some understanding of it myself. If this first step is possible (or even when it isn't!), it's always the aim to (probably inadvertently) pass on some kind of wisdom along the way, so here's hoping.

I suppose the last time I wrote anything on here (rather than just linking) was before a fire that happened in my house. I was using an old laptop and the battery in it exploded. First of all, it's worth pointing out that, apart from happening at all, I was very lucky that a) I wasn't seriously hurt (I burnt my foot a bit, but that's all), b) that the damage was very localised (when you consider how quickly whole houses can go up, you know, this hadn't got anywhere near devastation level), c) the fire services were very quick to respond (I wasn't sure if I'd completely put the fire out before I had to leave the room due to smoke, so I was understandably nervous until they arrived). The worst thing about the whole episode was the loss of some of my writing (lots of papers were on my desk, especially newer drafts that I hadn't typed up yet) and, now that I think about it, the shock of it, and the interruption to what I was doing at the time, and the momentum I had built up (I was doing well sorting out possessions in my room, doing more reading and writing etc). As I say, tho, these are very minor concerns relatively, and I count myself extremely fortunate to be able to tell you this like I am.

Daniele Pantano's Mass Graves: City of Now and Maya Angelou's And Still I Rise are two books the cosmos deemed worthy by trial of fire.

I've gone 'a bit mad' (I won't bother unpacking that one, or we'll be here all night...) since then trying to make some eBay money. The constant scrolling through auctions and all that jazz has taken up lots of time and energy (all my choice, yes), and I've eased off that. Because I'm buying and selling (go to my shop for a bargain!) games, that means I've been playing on a few, too, and though I don't see that time as completely wasted (it's been fun, after all), I sometimes feel it is because it doesn't tie in with my, and other people's, definitions of 'productivity' - of which blogging is only a small part ('SMALL!?' I hear you shriek. 'But your blog's contribution to the world is so unfathomably large - how, pray tell, could it ever be described as a 'small part' of anything, unless in a crude, jokey sort of a way?' Well, I say stop being so sarcy).

Jazmin Linklater's Toward Passion According and Zarf: Issue 11 are two more works that have passed through the fire and come out victorious.

These are two selected flash-points in a general 'up and down-ness' that I think we're all going through at the moment (for those of us for whom life is already like that, then it's more pronounced, I think). There have been other frustrations and niggles that have got me down and fucked me up a bit, but c'est la vie. What did I do to help myself? Well, read on...

I have just written a bit of a diary, and felt my head was a little clearer afterwards. These days, my diaries aren't so angsty and dripping with soul torture juices (TM), they tend to be more about what I'm going to do to change (I suppose the seeds of this were sown in Robert Sheppard's focus on poetics as a speculative writerly discourse - when I write poetics, it is often to find a way forward. But anyway, I'm not the guy to broach that subject. And if I was, I'd do it in a post that isn't already huge, unwieldy, and generally rather inane), as this one was. Then I wrote a bit of poetry - first time in too long. Some of the drafts I mentioned before that were damaged in the fire, I made into a new poem by combining the words that were left behind, the ones that survived, and suddenly felt great (yes, probably a bit of mania before another drop, but I'm using it to write this! Strike while the iron's hot, etc. Dunno what you do when the iron's cold. Put it back in the cupboard, I suppose).

"Nature abhors a vacuum, and fire abhors unworthy poetry," says the aphorism as old as time. So it was that some of my work has completely perished. Some of it, however, fought back.

Is that the wisdomful nugget of this post? Writing cures all? Haha, I don't think so. I mean, I think it can help all of us in some way or another, but I think this deeper feeling of contentedness, perhaps (if it even is that...), is due to paying attention to one's own 'higher power', which for me I think is writing. To put that into a soundbite thing, maybe it's a case of you 'getting out of it what you put in'? Other things that I'm doing to combat the shit mental health are growing chilli peppers (thanks for the seeds, Ann!), and I'm working on making an effort to hopefully get my outdoor exercise levels back up to the point they were at before Covid-19 had me looking at people out the window like 'Unwashed doom-bringer! Stay out of my sight, lest you infect my eyes! The eyes are the windows to the soul, and I want my soul to be healthy. Yes, healthy soul, healthy soul... All the outside air is bad for the soul - Devil air, yes it is!' (this said as I rock back and forth on the floor, slowly clawing at my face until it starts to bleed).

And that, I think, is it (I have to legally add "for now" after saying that, because people's Blogtastic-based disappointment translates to a lot of litigation). Let's re-cap; it's all about moving forward. I'm not dwelling on the bad stuff in the past, or the bad stuff now. I am happy that I'm doing good stuff (self-defined), that there are people that I love and that love me, and that life is (at least potentially) rich and wonderful again.

Peace, love, and light, folks :)

Badminton Ep.3

Rakhshan Rizwan reads from Paisley

Whilst aimlessly Facebooking this evening, I happened upon an event in swing (well, it had already swung by the time I saw it, but it had 'gone live' to the world recently), and I'm so glad I did. Rakhshan Rizwan was reading from her debut collection Paisley from The Emma Press, and chatting to her host Emma Wright, founder of said press. You can (I think...) view the reading by clicking here: https://www.facebook.com/TheEmmaPress/videos/159614752058509/

First off, I want to say a bit about the reading as a concept. In this time of lockdown, the gig was held over an online conference call facility, but, put simply, it detracted from nothing. The poems sparkled with the same jewell-light that they would do had they been coming in live, over radio, or whatever. You still got that 'extra magic' of seeing the author interacting with their own work and the audience - which is always the great privilege at readings - and even, thanks to the generosity of the participants, some questions and answers, too. In some ways, I actually preferred it being online. Sometimes while traveling to events, especially in a big city, I can tend to arrive there fatigued and nervous, and can't always give the artists one-hundred per cent concentration. Not so when I'm watching it at home! I did miss chatting to other people who were enjoying the evening, tho, especially one person who I often get to chat to on the train back from Manchester after Peter Barlow's Cigarette extravaganzas... Anyway, this isn't a 'compare and contrast' of reading types - it's just to say that I felt all the wonderful buzz and inspiration I normally do when I go to a reading, that everyone did a bloomin' good job, and how lucky I am :)

I enjoyed the poetry, too. It started off with a poem about time, which is my favourite philosophical preoccupation (just reading that phrase will do strange things to your temporal perception, so I'd call a doctor if I were you...), that conveys such an important truth about 'organisation' - of society and therefore our lives.

When I hear a 'broad title' (i.e. a title that's named after a topic/issue/concept, so as to give it an expansive gaze) such as 'Migrant', I often worry that it's going to take on a kind of polemic tone, be very preachy and flat, but Rizwan absolutely avoided this in her poem of that name. Her work instead found new, touching ways of exploring ideas surrounding migration. One 'cheesy' line gives us an essential, immediate image ("Leerdammer cheese sits on a slice of toast," making me think of the things that unite us all in humanhood), whilst the next one zooms out to the wider injustices played out by many in a society that is, unfortunately, more divided than it should be - "I shed pounds working two jobs in hopes of securing a paper-thin ticket home." For context, this last line brings together much of the poems tangible quality, the idea of the length of grass, the movement of turbine blades in air, of snow's weight - it really holds you tight into its being, so you feel it, and hear what it's saying.

Next I want to say how repetition is used well in many of the works she read out tonight (indeed, repetition is discussed in her QnA at the end, so do watch 'til the end to gain the benefit of insight). In 'Eve', the speaker 'carries' and 'brings' with her many visceral things ("fragments of pain," as Rizwan calls them in her preamble), and the repetition of the act of toting terrors adds it up, like a physical weight, in the mind of the listener, and if it makes us feel uneasy to hear the poem, just remember back to the first lines, and how "the misplaced smiles of acid-corroded faces" are not just words, but realities. Also, in 'Urdu/Hindi' and 'Paisley', there is a significant amount of repetition - of the titular words themselves. As you will know if you read my blog, I have a weird quirk where I don't like repetition very much usually, and I think Rizwan just balances on the tight rope over 'Too Much Chasm' (it's a real place, look it up). It helps one focus on these concepts, I felt in a meditative way (not in the sense of 'drift off to music' meditation, but 'intense, re-centring' meditation), and the repetition served as a kind of 'Om', a primordial calling, getting us to listen and be there with her as she speaks.

So, yeah, I definitely have another book to add to my Emma Press wish list :)

Hope you folks are all staying well under lockdown, and I urge you to take my life advice (suitable both in and out of a crisis); find what brings you joy, and do it (barring things that cause harm to others!). In my case, poetry readings bring me joy, and I just want to again say how lucky I have been to listen to this one, and thank you for reading!

Peace, love, and light.

[a link to some of Rizwan's work: https://themissingslate.com/tag/rakhshan-rizwan/]

This Should Be A Happy Day

You're probably too young to remember, but I can recall the day when the launch of a new YouTube channel and its videos was a glorious thing, greeted with tumultuous applause, a veritable orgasm of emotional outpouring. Officials from the towns and cities would break a bottle of special reserve Champagne over the channel title - drips and drops of the drink dribbling down onto the sidebars and the videos themselves - and they'd have, oh, at least three cheers, but sometimes more. Maybe that was more a regional thing... My point is that they used to love it. Oh, yes, telegrams were sent, guns fired into the air, bunting put up, flags waved, you get the picture.

As the years passed, though, there were warning signs. Some of the officials that came to cut the tape and Champerschristen the budding vlog saplings started turning up late to the launches. Some of them yawned. Some of them, in remarkable displays of disrespect, drank the Champagne and smashed the empty bottle over the channel. All of a sudden, the police were "too overstretched" to clamp down on such breaches, and, little by little, our fine, upstanding traditions were whittled down to the attendance of a few die-hard fans, who might still bring a party-popper or two along, just to try and hark back to the grandeur of those halcyon days. Which brings us to

TODAY. You are now more likely to be punched in the nose, shot, or blacklisted from your local Screwfix for daring to impugn the sovereign nature of the internet with a new, upstart channel. Such besmirchments are clamped down on with a kind of 'negative vigour' that is the direct opposite of the joyous exulatations we used to see in support. 'Those were days', says this writer in a grim and ultimately pointless muttering into the void.

This writer is also launching his own channel. There's a video, anyway. Come what may, here it is:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=54IJdgWlM8A