August 2024
Equinox: The Flashdogs Phoenix
On Thursday there came a bolt from the blue. It came in the form of a single Tweet from one of the old Flash Dogs glitterati. It heralded the phoenix like rebirth of the Flash Dogs coming soon to the blissfully unaware.
For those uninitiated into the less than secretive—whilst not exactly pervasive—societal group known as The Flash Dogs met online (largely through Twitter, back when that worked well) and all enjoyed writing flash fiction. Oftentimes these were in weekly online contests including the fabulous Angry Hourglass and Flash Friday Fiction.
Jeez. So many familiar names from those earlier Flash Dog days.
Beautiful cover for the first Flash Dogs Anthology
Each week many of the writers became regulars in one or more of the challenges and we kept seeing the same name. We were a natural group of like minded individuals (in terms of enjoying the challenges, not like minded in any other stretch of our odd imaginations) and most of us used Twitter to communicate back then and we almost naturally became the Flash Dogs. Some bright spark suggested we got together in between the covers (no, not like that) and the first Flash Dog anthology was born. Yes, an actual paperback book. Then there was another, then another. There was the Flashdog Anthology Volume One, then Volume Two: Solstice Light, and Solstice Dark (so a bit confusingly Volume Two comprised two volumes in itself), and next up was—surprise, surprise—Volume Three: ‘Time’ (there was just one). The anthologies were published between 2014 and 2016. You can even find them on Goodreads if you wish to check them out.
Yours truly showing off Flash Dogs Volume Two (Dark) on my Kindle (in the Vaults in Bishop's Castle)
Even took it out to the Pyramid Stage at Glasto
'Time' the Third Volume of the Flash Dogs back catalogue
Most of the online challenges the Dogs were most commonly involved with disappeared over time. They seem not to have been replaced like for like; at least I’ve not seen them. And many of the Flash Dogs disappeared too into the ether due to their missing sustenance. But one Tweet last week seems to suggest there may be a rebirth coming soon:
I for one find the resurrection intriguing and exciting. Incidentally, I work at a brewery in Liverpool (Neptune) and we have a beer called ‘Equinox’ too. It's surely destiny.
For those uninitiated into the less than secretive—whilst not exactly pervasive—societal group known as The Flash Dogs met online (largely through Twitter, back when that worked well) and all enjoyed writing flash fiction. Oftentimes these were in weekly online contests including the fabulous Angry Hourglass and Flash Friday Fiction.
Jeez. So many familiar names from those earlier Flash Dog days.
Beautiful cover for the first Flash Dogs Anthology
Each week many of the writers became regulars in one or more of the challenges and we kept seeing the same name. We were a natural group of like minded individuals (in terms of enjoying the challenges, not like minded in any other stretch of our odd imaginations) and most of us used Twitter to communicate back then and we almost naturally became the Flash Dogs. Some bright spark suggested we got together in between the covers (no, not like that) and the first Flash Dog anthology was born. Yes, an actual paperback book. Then there was another, then another. There was the Flashdog Anthology Volume One, then Volume Two: Solstice Light, and Solstice Dark (so a bit confusingly Volume Two comprised two volumes in itself), and next up was—surprise, surprise—Volume Three: ‘Time’ (there was just one). The anthologies were published between 2014 and 2016. You can even find them on Goodreads if you wish to check them out.
Yours truly showing off Flash Dogs Volume Two (Dark) on my Kindle (in the Vaults in Bishop's Castle)
Even took it out to the Pyramid Stage at Glasto
'Time' the Third Volume of the Flash Dogs back catalogue
Most of the online challenges the Dogs were most commonly involved with disappeared over time. They seem not to have been replaced like for like; at least I’ve not seen them. And many of the Flash Dogs disappeared too into the ether due to their missing sustenance. But one Tweet last week seems to suggest there may be a rebirth coming soon:
I for one find the resurrection intriguing and exciting. Incidentally, I work at a brewery in Liverpool (Neptune) and we have a beer called ‘Equinox’ too. It's surely destiny.
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Kowloons et al: Another Fab Sofar Sounds
On Wednesday I went to another Liverpool Sofar Sounds gig. This week it was at a nice cool venue, near London Road, called Fabric on the ground floor of the building which also houses Slate. Saw Heavy North play their Sofar gig there in September 2022–jeez, almost two years back.
This was another sold out evening but there were plenty of seats for everyone. The backdrop was large and bright white—it’s a photographic studio—which made for an interesting look. There were three acts on, as ever. First up was a country singer with a decidedly US twang to his singing voice; and was wearing a Stetson to boot. Jake O’Neill though isn’t so much as from due west of here, but just a few miles north in Burscough. Nice songs and mighty fine guitar work from the Lancashire Frontier.
Second guys and gals up were a duo, from the folk band Kafasān with some fine flute playing from Savannah Donohoe and guitar too. Mostly they played their own stuff, but there were a couple of trad tunes and a Richard Thompson song too. Unfortunately here was no time to fit in any Jethro Tull.
Lastly it was time for a full band of four young locals called Kowloons (as in Hong Kong). They’d posted a picture up on Instagram earlier showing their gear at the event so I was able to get to listen to a few of their songs whilst I was on the bus into town. Nice short snappy songs. I was sat next to Chris Griffiths from the Real People who were the masters of the two and half minute pop songs. I reminisced with him about seeing them play the Krazy House in the early 1990s and then getting him to play at Liverpool CAMRA beer festival
It was Chris’s first Sofar gig (attending or playing) and he was there because his son was actually playing bass in the Kowloons. Wonder if they can get the Real People to play Sofar sometime too? Maybe a double header with the Kowloons.
All three acts are out there with songs to play and stories to tell, so get yourself out there and support them. Or at least don some headphones and listen to some of their songs on Spotify (or wherever else you can find their music).
____________________________________________________
Some links below:
Jake O'Neill - Spotify
Kafasān - Spotify - Instagram
Kowloons - Spotify - Instagram
This was another sold out evening but there were plenty of seats for everyone. The backdrop was large and bright white—it’s a photographic studio—which made for an interesting look. There were three acts on, as ever. First up was a country singer with a decidedly US twang to his singing voice; and was wearing a Stetson to boot. Jake O’Neill though isn’t so much as from due west of here, but just a few miles north in Burscough. Nice songs and mighty fine guitar work from the Lancashire Frontier.
Second guys and gals up were a duo, from the folk band Kafasān with some fine flute playing from Savannah Donohoe and guitar too. Mostly they played their own stuff, but there were a couple of trad tunes and a Richard Thompson song too. Unfortunately here was no time to fit in any Jethro Tull.
Lastly it was time for a full band of four young locals called Kowloons (as in Hong Kong). They’d posted a picture up on Instagram earlier showing their gear at the event so I was able to get to listen to a few of their songs whilst I was on the bus into town. Nice short snappy songs. I was sat next to Chris Griffiths from the Real People who were the masters of the two and half minute pop songs. I reminisced with him about seeing them play the Krazy House in the early 1990s and then getting him to play at Liverpool CAMRA beer festival
It was Chris’s first Sofar gig (attending or playing) and he was there because his son was actually playing bass in the Kowloons. Wonder if they can get the Real People to play Sofar sometime too? Maybe a double header with the Kowloons.
All three acts are out there with songs to play and stories to tell, so get yourself out there and support them. Or at least don some headphones and listen to some of their songs on Spotify (or wherever else you can find their music).
____________________________________________________
Some links below:
Jake O'Neill - Spotify
Kafasān - Spotify - Instagram
Kowloons - Spotify - Instagram
Bishop's Castle '24
The Foxholes Campsite at Bishop’s Castle is a destination in itself that my friends and I go to every year. We usually go for the a weekend around the first week of July, as that is when we always went for the town’s real ale festival. In years around and since Covid though the festival no longer happens. We like the area—and the campsite is brilliant—so we continue to go there when we can around the same time. It has become our tradition.
The only time I haven’t gone over the last decade is the one bloody time I caught Covid (I was lucky enough to only catch it once and for it to do nothing to me at the time: but I was unlucky that it coincided with a Bishop’s Castle camping trip AND a gig I really wanted to go to (the Felice Brothers at Leaf, Liverpool). A double whammy).
The drive down from Liverpool was in sunshine all the way, with only some heavy-ish traffic for a few miles intermittently north of Oswestry (on the A5). Once you are on the A5 there really aren’t any alternative roads to avoid traffic issues, you just have to go with the flow (or lack of it). To be fair we got down to the campsite in a couple of hours or so and that was mighty fine. Got the tent up just as our second car arrived. It was sunshiny, there as a bit of a breeze but nothing to adversely affect a few experience tent putter-uppers and the second tent was up in no time.
Time for a beer. It’s a tradition that the beer doesn’t get open until the tent is up. First up was a Neptune & Crosby Coffee IPA. I ended up only drinking three cans at the campsite, which has never happened before; and each would be one of the Crosby Coffee/Neptune ales. I didn’t have any of the usual pales as options.
The tent's up, so the beer is poured.
A very familiar view from Foxholes campsite.
The four of us headed down to Bishop’s Castle along the very familiar path (which is part of the Shropshire Way) through the fields. With it being a bit later in the field all the crop had been cut. It was a bit unusual walking through the field which is usually well over a metre high. We were then in the deeply shaded wooded area by the allotments. It does look like someone cuts the growth back as otherwise progress would probably be less easy through there (maybe a bit more nettle orientated).
View along the Shropshire Way towards Foxholes campsite.
In Bishop’s Castle we headed to our usual starting point, which was the Three Tuns. The options for Three Tuns ales was down to just two as I think the onsite brewery has been subject to some changes (maybe I’ll look that up)—I think it would normally have been four in the past. Most of the inside tables were ready for people due to come in to eat, and we headed outside to the garden/yard area (after a Shropshire version of Kettling I think). It was nicely shaded but still sunny in there. We just had the one in there whilst reminiscing about so many trips to the ‘Castle.
The Castle pub was next, where again we sat outside. The sun was beginning to come down and most the areas were in shade. It took a while (and some people leaving) before we found a place in at least some sunshine. We ended up having a couple of nice beers there whilst Ste and Tony tried to befriend anyone with a dog (there were a few). Then lastly we headed to the Vault, which always used to be our favourite pub at the end of the night during the festival when they would have plenty of beers on and a few good bands. There were not many options for beer this time (it wasn’t a festival after all) and there was no live music on. We had just one drink there before heading back up the hill to our tents—and a damn excellent curry (with homemade naan) courtesy of Jeanette. Top stuff.
Sleep proved a bit of an enigma that night, due to noise predominantly and the next day some people (ie the other three) were up ridiculously early. In some ways it didn’t matter, as I was just not going to get to sleep. And the noise from the Wood Pigeons was driving me to distraction (by then I was wondering if anybody had packed an air rifle).
So Saturday began in a tired way whilst the weather was grey and drizzly. Still, it felt damn better after a sausage sandwich (Steve Stonko would approve; even without any Stella). We spent some time flitting between apps looking at how the Olympics were going and the weather forecasts. Okay, mainly looking at the weather. There was no consensus between the weather apps (which I never get, as surely they use the same data—please don’t blame the algorithms), but generally the sun was due to come out some time after 11am or maybe after 2pm. If it was 2 then that was fine anyway, so on this occasionlet the apps argue amongst themselves.
We’d developed a consensus that we would go to Ludlow for the day. Jeanette kindly offered to drive the four of us there rather than take two cars. And, other than having to circle the car park for a frustrating age waiting for a space to appear, the drive both there and away was fine. It was still grey and wet until not long after we parked up. Then the sun came out (before 2) just as one or two of the apps had suggested could happen. On the way round we went past a wonderful sandwich shop selling baps and baguettes of beef or pork—with apple sauce, stuffing and crackling—it smelled wonderful and whilst it was too early to join the extensive queue we agreed that it would be a good shout to go back. We all crossed our fingers that there would be some left. Anyway, this is getting too wordy isn’t it? Suffice to say that we got pork rolls and sat in the sun by the castle walls enjoying every bite. I’d bought a couple of books from Oxfam whilst Jeanette had manned the queue for the pork. Dare say I didn’t really need any more books, but hey. The sun soon got very warm and the rain became a memory. We visited three pubs in Ludlow. Not a mighty crawl, but we weren’t there for that.
Back in Bishop’s Castle I lay down in the sun listened to some of the Olympics on iPlayer. My forehead got pretty burned from that twenty minutes or so and I’d feel it for a while. We eventually walked into Bishop’s Castle and went straight down to the Six Bells at the bottom of the village with the sun still out. They had a BBQ on, but we didn’t fancy it. We actually ended up going back to the campsite without eating anything. The pork baps had been enough.
I sat outside under the clear skies and saw two shooting stars in relatively short order. I was disappointed not to see anymore having seen two early doors, but I did watch a satellite make it’s way across the sky too. Didn’t have the app to check whether it was the ISS or not.
It was possibly the best thing about the night, but maybe it was a score draw with the other thing that was to come…: Earplugs. I’d been given a couple of wax plugs and boy did they make a big difference? Yes, they did. Slept really well and even though I would hear the wood pigeons I no longer hated them. Maybe that’s the easiest route to world peace: earplugs. I’ll defo be ordering some before the next camping trip.
A relaxed Andy with a mug of coffee.
The weather forecast on the Sunday was sun all day and quite hot too. It was actually okay to begin with and the intermittent clouds were enough to keep the morning pretty damn fine for breakfast (bacon baps) and the taking down of the tents. Later on it was to get a wee bit (very) warm. We ended up with a double-header and first we headed down to Much Wenlock (another Shropshire market town). It had been a rich town back in the day and was the site of the Wenlock Olympian Games, which was established in 1850 by William Penny Brookes. Pierre Courbetin who was to establish the IOC was an enthusiast of the event. With the Olympics in Paris closing on the same day it was nice to see the museum celebrating that we’d already had the Olympics in Shropshire before they stole the idea. In the middle of the town was a nice little museum—defo worth the visit (it had some nice archeology and geology in addition to the Olympic stuff). After a bit of a wander around the museum and the Guildhall we ended up having a Sunday lunch sat outside in the courtyard beneath the sun at the Talbot pub. Roast beef and Yorkshire pud was a fine choice.
We carried on the few miles after that to Ironbridge. It’s one of those place I’ve always wanted to see. It was actually hot work walking around in the sun by then and after walking over the eponymous bridge we ended up quickly getting ourselves an ice cream cone and finding some shade. The bridge looked fab and the place was busy; it was Sunday and weather was fab after all. After a bit of a mooch there was time for one beer in the White Hart. It was nice to sit inside, and out of the heat really. Then it was time to head home. The trip back went smoothly like the weekend itself.
The museum and the Guildhall, Much Wenlock.
Sunday lunch at the Talbot in Much Wedlock.
An old and iron bridge, in Ironbridge.
There really was a small amount of beer (and gin) consumed over the three days—based on our historical exploits in Bishop’s Castle at any rate. No one even lit any fires to burn their shorts: always a risk. We all enjoyed the weekend away. Camping can be really fine, especially when the weather blesses us. It was a fab weekend. Maybe we’ll try and fit in one more camping trip this year. Hope so.
Incidentally I’d asked Jeanette what Ironbidge was called before they had the bridge. She asked Doctor Google the next day and it said the gorge—at least—was known as Coalbrookdale before the first ever iron bridge was constructed. It is amazing that they actually aren’t completely sure where the bridge segments were forged. Time hey, it kills everything. Maybe the French will claim it.
The only time I haven’t gone over the last decade is the one bloody time I caught Covid (I was lucky enough to only catch it once and for it to do nothing to me at the time: but I was unlucky that it coincided with a Bishop’s Castle camping trip AND a gig I really wanted to go to (the Felice Brothers at Leaf, Liverpool). A double whammy).
The drive down from Liverpool was in sunshine all the way, with only some heavy-ish traffic for a few miles intermittently north of Oswestry (on the A5). Once you are on the A5 there really aren’t any alternative roads to avoid traffic issues, you just have to go with the flow (or lack of it). To be fair we got down to the campsite in a couple of hours or so and that was mighty fine. Got the tent up just as our second car arrived. It was sunshiny, there as a bit of a breeze but nothing to adversely affect a few experience tent putter-uppers and the second tent was up in no time.
Time for a beer. It’s a tradition that the beer doesn’t get open until the tent is up. First up was a Neptune & Crosby Coffee IPA. I ended up only drinking three cans at the campsite, which has never happened before; and each would be one of the Crosby Coffee/Neptune ales. I didn’t have any of the usual pales as options.
The tent's up, so the beer is poured.
A very familiar view from Foxholes campsite.
The four of us headed down to Bishop’s Castle along the very familiar path (which is part of the Shropshire Way) through the fields. With it being a bit later in the field all the crop had been cut. It was a bit unusual walking through the field which is usually well over a metre high. We were then in the deeply shaded wooded area by the allotments. It does look like someone cuts the growth back as otherwise progress would probably be less easy through there (maybe a bit more nettle orientated).
View along the Shropshire Way towards Foxholes campsite.
In Bishop’s Castle we headed to our usual starting point, which was the Three Tuns. The options for Three Tuns ales was down to just two as I think the onsite brewery has been subject to some changes (maybe I’ll look that up)—I think it would normally have been four in the past. Most of the inside tables were ready for people due to come in to eat, and we headed outside to the garden/yard area (after a Shropshire version of Kettling I think). It was nicely shaded but still sunny in there. We just had the one in there whilst reminiscing about so many trips to the ‘Castle.
The Castle pub was next, where again we sat outside. The sun was beginning to come down and most the areas were in shade. It took a while (and some people leaving) before we found a place in at least some sunshine. We ended up having a couple of nice beers there whilst Ste and Tony tried to befriend anyone with a dog (there were a few). Then lastly we headed to the Vault, which always used to be our favourite pub at the end of the night during the festival when they would have plenty of beers on and a few good bands. There were not many options for beer this time (it wasn’t a festival after all) and there was no live music on. We had just one drink there before heading back up the hill to our tents—and a damn excellent curry (with homemade naan) courtesy of Jeanette. Top stuff.
Sleep proved a bit of an enigma that night, due to noise predominantly and the next day some people (ie the other three) were up ridiculously early. In some ways it didn’t matter, as I was just not going to get to sleep. And the noise from the Wood Pigeons was driving me to distraction (by then I was wondering if anybody had packed an air rifle).
So Saturday began in a tired way whilst the weather was grey and drizzly. Still, it felt damn better after a sausage sandwich (Steve Stonko would approve; even without any Stella). We spent some time flitting between apps looking at how the Olympics were going and the weather forecasts. Okay, mainly looking at the weather. There was no consensus between the weather apps (which I never get, as surely they use the same data—please don’t blame the algorithms), but generally the sun was due to come out some time after 11am or maybe after 2pm. If it was 2 then that was fine anyway, so on this occasionlet the apps argue amongst themselves.
We’d developed a consensus that we would go to Ludlow for the day. Jeanette kindly offered to drive the four of us there rather than take two cars. And, other than having to circle the car park for a frustrating age waiting for a space to appear, the drive both there and away was fine. It was still grey and wet until not long after we parked up. Then the sun came out (before 2) just as one or two of the apps had suggested could happen. On the way round we went past a wonderful sandwich shop selling baps and baguettes of beef or pork—with apple sauce, stuffing and crackling—it smelled wonderful and whilst it was too early to join the extensive queue we agreed that it would be a good shout to go back. We all crossed our fingers that there would be some left. Anyway, this is getting too wordy isn’t it? Suffice to say that we got pork rolls and sat in the sun by the castle walls enjoying every bite. I’d bought a couple of books from Oxfam whilst Jeanette had manned the queue for the pork. Dare say I didn’t really need any more books, but hey. The sun soon got very warm and the rain became a memory. We visited three pubs in Ludlow. Not a mighty crawl, but we weren’t there for that.
Back in Bishop’s Castle I lay down in the sun listened to some of the Olympics on iPlayer. My forehead got pretty burned from that twenty minutes or so and I’d feel it for a while. We eventually walked into Bishop’s Castle and went straight down to the Six Bells at the bottom of the village with the sun still out. They had a BBQ on, but we didn’t fancy it. We actually ended up going back to the campsite without eating anything. The pork baps had been enough.
I sat outside under the clear skies and saw two shooting stars in relatively short order. I was disappointed not to see anymore having seen two early doors, but I did watch a satellite make it’s way across the sky too. Didn’t have the app to check whether it was the ISS or not.
It was possibly the best thing about the night, but maybe it was a score draw with the other thing that was to come…: Earplugs. I’d been given a couple of wax plugs and boy did they make a big difference? Yes, they did. Slept really well and even though I would hear the wood pigeons I no longer hated them. Maybe that’s the easiest route to world peace: earplugs. I’ll defo be ordering some before the next camping trip.
A relaxed Andy with a mug of coffee.
The weather forecast on the Sunday was sun all day and quite hot too. It was actually okay to begin with and the intermittent clouds were enough to keep the morning pretty damn fine for breakfast (bacon baps) and the taking down of the tents. Later on it was to get a wee bit (very) warm. We ended up with a double-header and first we headed down to Much Wenlock (another Shropshire market town). It had been a rich town back in the day and was the site of the Wenlock Olympian Games, which was established in 1850 by William Penny Brookes. Pierre Courbetin who was to establish the IOC was an enthusiast of the event. With the Olympics in Paris closing on the same day it was nice to see the museum celebrating that we’d already had the Olympics in Shropshire before they stole the idea. In the middle of the town was a nice little museum—defo worth the visit (it had some nice archeology and geology in addition to the Olympic stuff). After a bit of a wander around the museum and the Guildhall we ended up having a Sunday lunch sat outside in the courtyard beneath the sun at the Talbot pub. Roast beef and Yorkshire pud was a fine choice.
We carried on the few miles after that to Ironbridge. It’s one of those place I’ve always wanted to see. It was actually hot work walking around in the sun by then and after walking over the eponymous bridge we ended up quickly getting ourselves an ice cream cone and finding some shade. The bridge looked fab and the place was busy; it was Sunday and weather was fab after all. After a bit of a mooch there was time for one beer in the White Hart. It was nice to sit inside, and out of the heat really. Then it was time to head home. The trip back went smoothly like the weekend itself.
The museum and the Guildhall, Much Wenlock.
Sunday lunch at the Talbot in Much Wedlock.
An old and iron bridge, in Ironbridge.
There really was a small amount of beer (and gin) consumed over the three days—based on our historical exploits in Bishop’s Castle at any rate. No one even lit any fires to burn their shorts: always a risk. We all enjoyed the weekend away. Camping can be really fine, especially when the weather blesses us. It was a fab weekend. Maybe we’ll try and fit in one more camping trip this year. Hope so.
Incidentally I’d asked Jeanette what Ironbidge was called before they had the bridge. She asked Doctor Google the next day and it said the gorge—at least—was known as Coalbrookdale before the first ever iron bridge was constructed. It is amazing that they actually aren’t completely sure where the bridge segments were forged. Time hey, it kills everything. Maybe the French will claim it.
Southport
04/08/24 23:34 Filed in: Southport
Southport is never in the news really. Maybe something about the dodgy pier or the general demise of Victorian seaside resorts, or maybe some powder-puff pieces about the annual Flower or Air Shows. But not much in the News news. Until this week. And needless to say I wish it was once again not in the news. I expect most of the UK wonder where Southport is (it’s neither south nor a port so the name doesn’t help). And it is most definitely NOT Stockport either.
It was my hometown and I grew up there until I left to go to university in Leicester in the second half of the 1980s. The murders this week of the young children at a summer dance class on a normal suburban road—between the town centre and Southport Football Club—and then the subsequent trouble after the peaceful vigil, hits too many points in my growing up there. And as for Banks, well my mum worked there for years at a mental health hospital (before the Tories suggested closed them all down and moving to a ‘no care in the community’ model) — I had a short summer job at the same hospital and did tomato picking in the greenhouses in the town too (hard, hot and very smelly work, but paid okay at the time—yes, a Brit picking fruit. Who’d have thunk it?).
When I was 16-17 I was at KGV sixth form college about half a mile from where the murders took place. The college was just next door to Haig Avenue where Southport FC play. I was amongst a group of students who managed to start their first Young Supporters Club at Southport. To be honest we’d just watched a lot of Murphy’s Mob on the telly and wanted to play pool and drink Coca-Cola during the week—a year later I’d be down the Baron’s Bar in the Scarisbrick drinking bitter before heading on to the Kingsway for Carlsberg and some Marlborough fags. You grow up fast really—if you get the opportunity. It was a lifetime ago. Even the idea of people smoking in clubs seems a distant memory.
Now Southport will forever be remembered by people who’ve never been there for the atrocity perpetrated by a teenager with a knife at a summer event for young children, who should have had a long life ahead of them (hopefully most of those attacked will). It seems the town will become synonymous with the nightmare event much as Dunblane or Lockerbie will always be remembered for the events there.
(L-R) Elsie Dot Stancombe, Alice Dasilva Agular, Bebe King
I’m hopeful but worried of course about the subsequent trouble that has been started by racist bigots and thick as shit followers and hangers on to the bile and bigotry spouted by the Farage/Yaxley-Lennon/Laurence Fox/Hopkins/Braverman brigade. Most people are good. There have been some nice moments amongst the subsequent riots and attempted trouble making in Southport and Liverpool: the woman with the handwritten poster declaring to everyone that there is ‘One Race: Human’ amidst the flying bricks taken from kicked down garden walls in Southport on Tuesday, and the woman with the ‘Nans against Nazis’ sign in Liverpool outside the mosque in West Derby. Then there was the Imam from the mosque coming out with chips and sandwiches for both the local antifascists and those that had come to cause trouble—the video of him speaking afterwards was great, as was the picture of him with his arms around one of the prospective bad guys. It gives me some hope.
Of course it is a nonsense that the trouble makers and those mobilising them through social media (and real media) have chosen to focus on Muslims and refugees (and, let’s face it, people of other races/religions). The ‘Stop the Boats’ proclamation has been permitted to be normalised and an accepted signature tune for these guys. It is wrong in every way. And to make it worse has absolutely sweet FA to do with the murderous events of Monday morning.
Oh, and while my mum and I both had work in Banks at one time and another and I studied at a college half a mile away from where the murders took place, what about my dad? Well he was a Southport policeman. Like I said, there have been too many points of contact in the news from these horrendous events. People are the same. We all want and need the same things for ourselves and our family; wherever we come from. Health, and sustenance: and security. It should not be a difficult idea to grasp.
I’ll remember Southport from growing up there with my family. It was a nice, safe place to grow up. Maybe a bit boring really. But boring can be good. Let’s face it, it doesn’t hit the news being boring. I suspect many people will now just remember Southport for what happened this week.
My thoughts and best wishes are for those that have been affected by the events of Monday 29th July.
It was my hometown and I grew up there until I left to go to university in Leicester in the second half of the 1980s. The murders this week of the young children at a summer dance class on a normal suburban road—between the town centre and Southport Football Club—and then the subsequent trouble after the peaceful vigil, hits too many points in my growing up there. And as for Banks, well my mum worked there for years at a mental health hospital (before the Tories suggested closed them all down and moving to a ‘no care in the community’ model) — I had a short summer job at the same hospital and did tomato picking in the greenhouses in the town too (hard, hot and very smelly work, but paid okay at the time—yes, a Brit picking fruit. Who’d have thunk it?).
When I was 16-17 I was at KGV sixth form college about half a mile from where the murders took place. The college was just next door to Haig Avenue where Southport FC play. I was amongst a group of students who managed to start their first Young Supporters Club at Southport. To be honest we’d just watched a lot of Murphy’s Mob on the telly and wanted to play pool and drink Coca-Cola during the week—a year later I’d be down the Baron’s Bar in the Scarisbrick drinking bitter before heading on to the Kingsway for Carlsberg and some Marlborough fags. You grow up fast really—if you get the opportunity. It was a lifetime ago. Even the idea of people smoking in clubs seems a distant memory.
Now Southport will forever be remembered by people who’ve never been there for the atrocity perpetrated by a teenager with a knife at a summer event for young children, who should have had a long life ahead of them (hopefully most of those attacked will). It seems the town will become synonymous with the nightmare event much as Dunblane or Lockerbie will always be remembered for the events there.
(L-R) Elsie Dot Stancombe, Alice Dasilva Agular, Bebe King
I’m hopeful but worried of course about the subsequent trouble that has been started by racist bigots and thick as shit followers and hangers on to the bile and bigotry spouted by the Farage/Yaxley-Lennon/Laurence Fox/Hopkins/Braverman brigade. Most people are good. There have been some nice moments amongst the subsequent riots and attempted trouble making in Southport and Liverpool: the woman with the handwritten poster declaring to everyone that there is ‘One Race: Human’ amidst the flying bricks taken from kicked down garden walls in Southport on Tuesday, and the woman with the ‘Nans against Nazis’ sign in Liverpool outside the mosque in West Derby. Then there was the Imam from the mosque coming out with chips and sandwiches for both the local antifascists and those that had come to cause trouble—the video of him speaking afterwards was great, as was the picture of him with his arms around one of the prospective bad guys. It gives me some hope.
Of course it is a nonsense that the trouble makers and those mobilising them through social media (and real media) have chosen to focus on Muslims and refugees (and, let’s face it, people of other races/religions). The ‘Stop the Boats’ proclamation has been permitted to be normalised and an accepted signature tune for these guys. It is wrong in every way. And to make it worse has absolutely sweet FA to do with the murderous events of Monday morning.
Oh, and while my mum and I both had work in Banks at one time and another and I studied at a college half a mile away from where the murders took place, what about my dad? Well he was a Southport policeman. Like I said, there have been too many points of contact in the news from these horrendous events. People are the same. We all want and need the same things for ourselves and our family; wherever we come from. Health, and sustenance: and security. It should not be a difficult idea to grasp.
I’ll remember Southport from growing up there with my family. It was a nice, safe place to grow up. Maybe a bit boring really. But boring can be good. Let’s face it, it doesn’t hit the news being boring. I suspect many people will now just remember Southport for what happened this week.
My thoughts and best wishes are for those that have been affected by the events of Monday 29th July.