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.
Comments
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.
A Festival on the East Coast
DocksFest 2024
Originally I only got a ticket for DocksFest because I spotted it when I was looking for an opportunity to see Frank Turner again. So I was made up when I found this day in Cleethorpes—especially when I saw the Lottery Winners were playing the event too. Two of my favourite acts of the moment in one place. And an utter bargain to boot (£55) and Feeder and Razorlight too. Not too shabby.
Of course I couldn’t get there and back in a day so I ended up booking a room in a house in nearby Grimsby for two nights. My original aim was to have a day in Grimsby, the following day in Cleethorpes for the festival and then Hull on the Sunday. The best laid plans, eh?
Stagecoach buses were on strike in Liverpool for four days from the Friday which was unfortunate for me as that meant there were no direct buses to Liverpool city centre from my neck of the woods. But amazingly I ended up getting two Arriva buses into town and made it to Lime Street Station on time. I even had time to pick up a decent—and most required—large coffee. Job done.
The train left a few minutes late and it was pretty packed due to the previous Manchester train being cancelled. But I got a good seat with a table for the journey. The train takes all in 3.5 hours direct from Liverpool Lime Street to Cleethorpes (but I was to get off the stop before at Grimsby Town). There were several stops in a few places I’ve never heard of once I was in Lincolnshire. It’s lucky there is a direct train to Cleethorpes—even if I don’t quite understand why—and it is damn regular too (every hour).
Check in at my digs (which was just a room in a house in a housing estate in the southern part of Grimsby) was not accessible for “check-in” (in theory) until 4pm so I headed for a few pints in Docks Brewery, which is just to the north of the town centre. Ended up chatting to a few staff there, including Stu, Dan and Callum. All were good blokes who were very excited about the festival. People were coming and going between the brewery and the event space: the Meridian Showground—which was at the southern end of Cleethorpes, the next town along. They were all into music as well as beer and I managed to get a couple of new fans for the some Liverpool bands including the Heavy North and Casino: spreading the gospel. They had three cask lines on and plenty of keg. I was even shown the upstairs room which is basically a hall at the top of the converted church. Was a lovely space and had its own bar too. They have some pretty decent gigs coming up over the months ahead.
Docks Beers Brewery, Grimsby
Docks Academy, the venue space upstairs at the brewery
The house proved to be a modern three storey mews and it had a key box with a code entry to get the keys, and there was a code on the door lock for the room too. The only person in the bedroom accommodation in addition to me was a Polish construction guy who had lived there for over a year. Assume he’s negotiated a decent rate. I never met the people who owned the house (or checked in of course). On the Friday I ended up staying in and watching the footy on the TV by the kitchen. There was nowhere local to go to and I didn’t really need another couple of bus journeys. Besides, I was knackered.
I didn’t get to sleep particularly quickly as it happened, as my phone wouldn’t charge. Whilst I had a print out of the ticket for the festival the phone had my rail ticket on—and my Railcard. It took a lot of effort trying to clean the charging port to finally get it charging again. I was a bit panicky for a while thinking I’d have to go to a phone shop the next day (with no access to maps, bus information and the like).
Next day was a cold shower, as I couldn’t get the hot water going on it. As it happened the weather was atrocious and I ended up wetter waiting for the bus than I did in my limited visit to the cold shower. I headed up town to the Courtyard Cafe for a Full English to set me up for the day. The weather forecast was all over the place with some suggesting rain until 6pm with thunderstorms for several hours. Not ideal but would at least mean it would be dry for Frank Turner and Razorlight. But who believes in weather forecasts anyway. And lets face it thunderstorms are usually localised and therefore hard to predict. Perhaps we’d be lucky.
First up though I had been given the heads up on a few places to have a pint in Cleethorpes by the guys at Docks Brewery (and from my cousin who is from Cleethorpes) so I checked out the locations, on my thankfully functioning phone, and planned my route (they were along the front of the seaside resort). I walked up to the beach first to take a look and a couple of shots (photos, not drinks) as it would have been wrong not to. Historically of course John Prescott the Labour MP from Hull had suggested in an early incarnation of the Northern Powerhouse that Liverpool to Hull should almost be considered as a single city with Sheffield, Leeds and Manchester in the middle, so the Cleethorpes beach is just the very eastern side of Liverpool and is twinned (in all but fact) with Crosby beach. Probably.
The Old Vic, Cleethorpes
The Nottingham House, Cleethorpes
Willy's, Cleethorpes (note that it had finally stopped raining!)
The Old Vic at the top of the promenade had three casks on, and two were from Docks Brewery. So I had a pint of Flypast by Docks. After a bit of a chinwag with the staff and much checking of the weather (both through Apps and the window) I headed down the front to Nottingham House. Had a pint of Oakham Citra there. Saw a group of lads in there heading to the festival and spoke to the barmaid. She was made up about the festival as there is not usually many options for people in the vicinity. Heaven knows where they normally have to travel to to get to watch a band or two—other than tribute acts.
Next up was a walk further along the front to Willy’s. Had a nice pint of Lune Pale there before heading on to the bus stop for another bus to take me to the Meridian Showground. The last top before heading on into the festival was the ‘Smallest Pub in the World’ (I’ve not verified that) which was the Signal Box Inn. The weather though cloudy was breaking up. There were dark clouds and light ones and even patches of blue. Things were definitely looking hopeful. The outdoor area by the pub was packed. There were Frank Turner and Lottery Winners T-shirts everywhere. It felt like coming home. I ended up chatting with Lottery Winners fans in the main and a few Frank fans too of course (hell it’s a big club)—meeting people who travelled from Glasgow, Coventry, Bradford and Peterborough etc who’d just come to the town for the festival. Didn’t spot anyone wearing Feeder or Razorlight T’s but I dare say there were some there.
Signal Box Inn 'the smallest pub in the world' or certainly Cleethorpes
A pint of Docks Beers 'Demolition' outside the Signal Box (with the rain still staying away)
After two pints of Demolition I headed into the site with my Winners T-shirt on. I had my little rucksack with me and after showing my ticket got through security pretty damn quickly. It wasn’t long before I was at the bar and with a pint of Docks ‘Clap, Clap Fish.’ Everything was working like clockwork. I bumped into—and bumped fists—with Stu from Docks who was looking pretty happy (hell, it was his birthday apparently). I caught the very end of Afflecks Palace in the dry, with an occasionally blue sky backdrop, before bumping into some Lottery Winners fans I’d chatted to at the Signal Box. There were Winners T-shirts everywhere as we headed in towards the stage. The rain seemed to be a memory.
The Lottery Winners, DocksFest 24
Lottery Winners, DocksFest 24
The chat was great as everyone was looking forward to seeing them and enthused about having seen them before at gig a) or b)—(or in the Coventry case—26 times! (If I remember rightly)). Some were looking forward to seeing them for the first time (hard to believe I know). Before too long Thom and the band came on—with Thom complaining he wasn’t feeling very well. He soon felt better as he wound the crowd up to give him massive cheers as if he was a superstar (he IS). The performance from the band, including the ill/not ill, Thom was fab and they got their fans going mad for it: and I dare say captured plenty of new fans too. People were dancing, singing, and raising their fists (to the now forgiving sky) in accompaniment to the band. I’ve been lucky enough to see them a few times and they are never less than full value for money—and proper uplifting. You can’t not smile at the gig (which explains Kate’s always smiling face).
Feeder were on next and it was time for another pint of Clap, Clap Fish and a dewatering visit. The toilets, food, and the beer buying went very smoothly indeed for a festival.
I sat down near the sound tent with my pint and slightly tired legs. Feeder were soon up then. They opened up with the most familiar Buck Roger’s (“it’s got a CD player, player, player…”). Brave to start with that and not end with it. The sound throughout was good and the weather was behaving too. Walking around there were some isolated patches of surface water but there was no mud at all: amazing given the way the rain came down in the morning.
After Feeder it was time to get another pint in before putting on my Frank Turner T-shirt above the Winners one and then heading towards the stage. I chatted to some people who were trying to listen to the England match or watch it on their phone on iPlayer (sorry, it was Switzerland v England in the Euros QF). I got hit on my knee by a mobile phone as a rather ‘happy/unhappy’ guy celebrated (not) when Switzerland scored. He wasn’t throwing it at me, he’d just not caught it after tossing it in the air—like his phone; I’ll live.
Frank Turner (without the Sleeping Souls), DocksFest
Frank Turner getting the crowd singing, as ever.
Well Frank was quite frankly, Frank. Excellent and coolness personified. He was introduced to us—like all the acts—by the local lad Lloyd Griffith who informed us that England had beaten Switzerland on penalties (Trent had scored the winning penalty). Can’t say I was sorry to have missed the game. Watching live music in a field is preferable to watching England anywhere. As I say though Frank was bloody excellent. If you’ve not got on that train yet then it’s time to jump on board (and that goes for the Winners too (the Lottery ones, not the England ones).
It was a tough day on my knees and I had to make the unfortunate decision to miss Razorlight. I went (via one in the Signal Box) to get a bus. I thought a bus part way would be better than no bus at all. It was definitely the correct call as I struggled to walk and needed frequent rest breaks over the 2 miles or so I had to walk. I got home in one piece though.
On the Sunday I went to Grimsby by bus and got myself a nice breakfast and a very large coffee at Riverhead Coffee. I’d had to give up on the idea of going to Hull. In my head I thought Hull and Grimsby were very close together, but it’d be an hour and a half minimum each way, which wouldn’t have left much time for a mooch (in my head the distance between the two places was similar to Liverpool and Birkenhead. My head was wrong on this occasion.) In the end I just walked (slowly) to the Docks Brewery (there not being pub options in Grimsby other than a Wetherspoons) again. The place really is not vibrant enough for much of a music scene. So much kudos to my new buddies for giving them a permanent venue in Grimsby and the festival too in Cleethorpes. Wasn’t sure they’d be open after the Saturday exertions, but they were. Ended up meeting Stu and Dan again. Both were made up with the way it had gone and both were pretty knackered.
It was then time to return to Grimby Town station and head on back to Liverpool. The train was on time and got to Liverpool on time (thankfully, because the toilets were fooked). All in all it had been a top weekend. The Docks people had done mighty good stuff. And I’m glad my search for another Frank Turner gig had led me to this event. Roll on DocksFest 2025.
Oh and the buses were still on strike so it was another two bus journey to go the six miles to mine. Ho hum.
Originally I only got a ticket for DocksFest because I spotted it when I was looking for an opportunity to see Frank Turner again. So I was made up when I found this day in Cleethorpes—especially when I saw the Lottery Winners were playing the event too. Two of my favourite acts of the moment in one place. And an utter bargain to boot (£55) and Feeder and Razorlight too. Not too shabby.
Of course I couldn’t get there and back in a day so I ended up booking a room in a house in nearby Grimsby for two nights. My original aim was to have a day in Grimsby, the following day in Cleethorpes for the festival and then Hull on the Sunday. The best laid plans, eh?
Stagecoach buses were on strike in Liverpool for four days from the Friday which was unfortunate for me as that meant there were no direct buses to Liverpool city centre from my neck of the woods. But amazingly I ended up getting two Arriva buses into town and made it to Lime Street Station on time. I even had time to pick up a decent—and most required—large coffee. Job done.
The train left a few minutes late and it was pretty packed due to the previous Manchester train being cancelled. But I got a good seat with a table for the journey. The train takes all in 3.5 hours direct from Liverpool Lime Street to Cleethorpes (but I was to get off the stop before at Grimsby Town). There were several stops in a few places I’ve never heard of once I was in Lincolnshire. It’s lucky there is a direct train to Cleethorpes—even if I don’t quite understand why—and it is damn regular too (every hour).
Check in at my digs (which was just a room in a house in a housing estate in the southern part of Grimsby) was not accessible for “check-in” (in theory) until 4pm so I headed for a few pints in Docks Brewery, which is just to the north of the town centre. Ended up chatting to a few staff there, including Stu, Dan and Callum. All were good blokes who were very excited about the festival. People were coming and going between the brewery and the event space: the Meridian Showground—which was at the southern end of Cleethorpes, the next town along. They were all into music as well as beer and I managed to get a couple of new fans for the some Liverpool bands including the Heavy North and Casino: spreading the gospel. They had three cask lines on and plenty of keg. I was even shown the upstairs room which is basically a hall at the top of the converted church. Was a lovely space and had its own bar too. They have some pretty decent gigs coming up over the months ahead.
Docks Beers Brewery, Grimsby
Docks Academy, the venue space upstairs at the brewery
The house proved to be a modern three storey mews and it had a key box with a code entry to get the keys, and there was a code on the door lock for the room too. The only person in the bedroom accommodation in addition to me was a Polish construction guy who had lived there for over a year. Assume he’s negotiated a decent rate. I never met the people who owned the house (or checked in of course). On the Friday I ended up staying in and watching the footy on the TV by the kitchen. There was nowhere local to go to and I didn’t really need another couple of bus journeys. Besides, I was knackered.
I didn’t get to sleep particularly quickly as it happened, as my phone wouldn’t charge. Whilst I had a print out of the ticket for the festival the phone had my rail ticket on—and my Railcard. It took a lot of effort trying to clean the charging port to finally get it charging again. I was a bit panicky for a while thinking I’d have to go to a phone shop the next day (with no access to maps, bus information and the like).
Next day was a cold shower, as I couldn’t get the hot water going on it. As it happened the weather was atrocious and I ended up wetter waiting for the bus than I did in my limited visit to the cold shower. I headed up town to the Courtyard Cafe for a Full English to set me up for the day. The weather forecast was all over the place with some suggesting rain until 6pm with thunderstorms for several hours. Not ideal but would at least mean it would be dry for Frank Turner and Razorlight. But who believes in weather forecasts anyway. And lets face it thunderstorms are usually localised and therefore hard to predict. Perhaps we’d be lucky.
First up though I had been given the heads up on a few places to have a pint in Cleethorpes by the guys at Docks Brewery (and from my cousin who is from Cleethorpes) so I checked out the locations, on my thankfully functioning phone, and planned my route (they were along the front of the seaside resort). I walked up to the beach first to take a look and a couple of shots (photos, not drinks) as it would have been wrong not to. Historically of course John Prescott the Labour MP from Hull had suggested in an early incarnation of the Northern Powerhouse that Liverpool to Hull should almost be considered as a single city with Sheffield, Leeds and Manchester in the middle, so the Cleethorpes beach is just the very eastern side of Liverpool and is twinned (in all but fact) with Crosby beach. Probably.
The Old Vic, Cleethorpes
The Nottingham House, Cleethorpes
Willy's, Cleethorpes (note that it had finally stopped raining!)
The Old Vic at the top of the promenade had three casks on, and two were from Docks Brewery. So I had a pint of Flypast by Docks. After a bit of a chinwag with the staff and much checking of the weather (both through Apps and the window) I headed down the front to Nottingham House. Had a pint of Oakham Citra there. Saw a group of lads in there heading to the festival and spoke to the barmaid. She was made up about the festival as there is not usually many options for people in the vicinity. Heaven knows where they normally have to travel to to get to watch a band or two—other than tribute acts.
Next up was a walk further along the front to Willy’s. Had a nice pint of Lune Pale there before heading on to the bus stop for another bus to take me to the Meridian Showground. The last top before heading on into the festival was the ‘Smallest Pub in the World’ (I’ve not verified that) which was the Signal Box Inn. The weather though cloudy was breaking up. There were dark clouds and light ones and even patches of blue. Things were definitely looking hopeful. The outdoor area by the pub was packed. There were Frank Turner and Lottery Winners T-shirts everywhere. It felt like coming home. I ended up chatting with Lottery Winners fans in the main and a few Frank fans too of course (hell it’s a big club)—meeting people who travelled from Glasgow, Coventry, Bradford and Peterborough etc who’d just come to the town for the festival. Didn’t spot anyone wearing Feeder or Razorlight T’s but I dare say there were some there.
Signal Box Inn 'the smallest pub in the world' or certainly Cleethorpes
A pint of Docks Beers 'Demolition' outside the Signal Box (with the rain still staying away)
After two pints of Demolition I headed into the site with my Winners T-shirt on. I had my little rucksack with me and after showing my ticket got through security pretty damn quickly. It wasn’t long before I was at the bar and with a pint of Docks ‘Clap, Clap Fish.’ Everything was working like clockwork. I bumped into—and bumped fists—with Stu from Docks who was looking pretty happy (hell, it was his birthday apparently). I caught the very end of Afflecks Palace in the dry, with an occasionally blue sky backdrop, before bumping into some Lottery Winners fans I’d chatted to at the Signal Box. There were Winners T-shirts everywhere as we headed in towards the stage. The rain seemed to be a memory.
The Lottery Winners, DocksFest 24
Lottery Winners, DocksFest 24
The chat was great as everyone was looking forward to seeing them and enthused about having seen them before at gig a) or b)—(or in the Coventry case—26 times! (If I remember rightly)). Some were looking forward to seeing them for the first time (hard to believe I know). Before too long Thom and the band came on—with Thom complaining he wasn’t feeling very well. He soon felt better as he wound the crowd up to give him massive cheers as if he was a superstar (he IS). The performance from the band, including the ill/not ill, Thom was fab and they got their fans going mad for it: and I dare say captured plenty of new fans too. People were dancing, singing, and raising their fists (to the now forgiving sky) in accompaniment to the band. I’ve been lucky enough to see them a few times and they are never less than full value for money—and proper uplifting. You can’t not smile at the gig (which explains Kate’s always smiling face).
Feeder were on next and it was time for another pint of Clap, Clap Fish and a dewatering visit. The toilets, food, and the beer buying went very smoothly indeed for a festival.
I sat down near the sound tent with my pint and slightly tired legs. Feeder were soon up then. They opened up with the most familiar Buck Roger’s (“it’s got a CD player, player, player…”). Brave to start with that and not end with it. The sound throughout was good and the weather was behaving too. Walking around there were some isolated patches of surface water but there was no mud at all: amazing given the way the rain came down in the morning.
After Feeder it was time to get another pint in before putting on my Frank Turner T-shirt above the Winners one and then heading towards the stage. I chatted to some people who were trying to listen to the England match or watch it on their phone on iPlayer (sorry, it was Switzerland v England in the Euros QF). I got hit on my knee by a mobile phone as a rather ‘happy/unhappy’ guy celebrated (not) when Switzerland scored. He wasn’t throwing it at me, he’d just not caught it after tossing it in the air—like his phone; I’ll live.
Frank Turner (without the Sleeping Souls), DocksFest
Frank Turner getting the crowd singing, as ever.
Well Frank was quite frankly, Frank. Excellent and coolness personified. He was introduced to us—like all the acts—by the local lad Lloyd Griffith who informed us that England had beaten Switzerland on penalties (Trent had scored the winning penalty). Can’t say I was sorry to have missed the game. Watching live music in a field is preferable to watching England anywhere. As I say though Frank was bloody excellent. If you’ve not got on that train yet then it’s time to jump on board (and that goes for the Winners too (the Lottery ones, not the England ones).
It was a tough day on my knees and I had to make the unfortunate decision to miss Razorlight. I went (via one in the Signal Box) to get a bus. I thought a bus part way would be better than no bus at all. It was definitely the correct call as I struggled to walk and needed frequent rest breaks over the 2 miles or so I had to walk. I got home in one piece though.
On the Sunday I went to Grimsby by bus and got myself a nice breakfast and a very large coffee at Riverhead Coffee. I’d had to give up on the idea of going to Hull. In my head I thought Hull and Grimsby were very close together, but it’d be an hour and a half minimum each way, which wouldn’t have left much time for a mooch (in my head the distance between the two places was similar to Liverpool and Birkenhead. My head was wrong on this occasion.) In the end I just walked (slowly) to the Docks Brewery (there not being pub options in Grimsby other than a Wetherspoons) again. The place really is not vibrant enough for much of a music scene. So much kudos to my new buddies for giving them a permanent venue in Grimsby and the festival too in Cleethorpes. Wasn’t sure they’d be open after the Saturday exertions, but they were. Ended up meeting Stu and Dan again. Both were made up with the way it had gone and both were pretty knackered.
It was then time to return to Grimby Town station and head on back to Liverpool. The train was on time and got to Liverpool on time (thankfully, because the toilets were fooked). All in all it had been a top weekend. The Docks people had done mighty good stuff. And I’m glad my search for another Frank Turner gig had led me to this event. Roll on DocksFest 2025.
Oh and the buses were still on strike so it was another two bus journey to go the six miles to mine. Ho hum.
DocksFest 2024
Next weekend I’m going to Cleethorpes for the first time in 35 years or so. It’s an old resort town, maybe an east coast version of Southport or perhaps Rhyl, just south of the river split conurbation of Grimsby and Hull. But I’m not going there to check out the beach or the faded past. Nope I’m going to single day music festival. Two of my favourite acts are playing there: the Lottery Winners and Frank Turner. The headliner for me is Frank, but on the poster it’s Razorlight. In addition Feeder are playing too and a couple of other bands: Affleck's Palace, Orphan Boy, and Healer.
I’ve seen Razorlight play far too many moons ago at music festivals and I saw Feeder supporting REM at Old Trafford some years ago too. All in all it should be a good day.
It was only this weekend I discovered that DocksFest is not named directly after any local docks, but is actually named after the Docks Brewery, which is in a converted church in Grimsby. That’s good news. Let’s face it after years of going to T in the Park and V Festival the fear of really poor and greatly overpriced beer is great ("T" was for Tennants after all, which left me with a weekend avoiding that and settling for mass produced cider). So at this festival (and in the surrounding areas) there should be a few beer options to accompany some mighty fine music. They are obviously well into music with plenty of gigs listed on their website, and this is to be their first festival—at the Meridian Showground in Cleethorpes.
The weather forecast at the moment is dry with sunny intervals (but a week in advance it’s really anyone’s guess). I can’t wait whatever the weather.
There may still be tickets available. If you’re in the area look it up. Good beer, hopefully okay weather, and very definitely fab music (I’d happily watch Frank Turner and the Lottery Winners every week): bring it on.
———————
Check out Docks Brewery at https://docksbeers.com
And look for tickets at https://docksacademy.com/event/docks-fest-2024/
I’ve seen Razorlight play far too many moons ago at music festivals and I saw Feeder supporting REM at Old Trafford some years ago too. All in all it should be a good day.
It was only this weekend I discovered that DocksFest is not named directly after any local docks, but is actually named after the Docks Brewery, which is in a converted church in Grimsby. That’s good news. Let’s face it after years of going to T in the Park and V Festival the fear of really poor and greatly overpriced beer is great ("T" was for Tennants after all, which left me with a weekend avoiding that and settling for mass produced cider). So at this festival (and in the surrounding areas) there should be a few beer options to accompany some mighty fine music. They are obviously well into music with plenty of gigs listed on their website, and this is to be their first festival—at the Meridian Showground in Cleethorpes.
The weather forecast at the moment is dry with sunny intervals (but a week in advance it’s really anyone’s guess). I can’t wait whatever the weather.
There may still be tickets available. If you’re in the area look it up. Good beer, hopefully okay weather, and very definitely fab music (I’d happily watch Frank Turner and the Lottery Winners every week): bring it on.
———————
Check out Docks Brewery at https://docksbeers.com
And look for tickets at https://docksacademy.com/event/docks-fest-2024/
A Watch Too Far
24/06/24 23:17
A Watch Too Far (or not, it never seemed to know for sure)
I’ve always worn a watch. When I’ve not got one on I feel like I’ve not got fully dressed. Over the last few years I have tried a couple of monitoring ones. Whilst I prefer the look of a nice manual watch I quite liked some of the information on heart rate and sleeping—and even those pesky steps. But the watch I’ve been wearing lately was been my sister’s old Huawei GT2 watch after she got a new smartwatch at Christmas and I’ve got to the point with it now that I’ve stopped wearing it from this weekend. I’ve found my faithful and favourite Rotary is not working at the moment (I’m assuming the battery needs replacing) so I am actually going to be watchless for a few days. Ye gads! I’ll get it sorted at the end of the week as I got an Unlimited Replacement from Timpsons when I last changed its battery—and most incredibly I’ve found the card. Wonders will never cease.
Farewell, Matey. Time for you to get up and get ta….
The thing that wound me up the most about the Huawei was it’s constant menacing with the vibrating and the ‘Get Up and Move Around’ message. Particularly when you were actually up and moving around. Getting shouted at is bad enough, but when you’re actually doing stuff and it’s shouting out it really was too much. At its most annoying it would tell me the same when I was delivering beers at work. I’ve actually pushed around 100 kilos around whilst covering up to 2km and it’ll tell me to get up and move. So in fact it’ll be the most exercise of the week whilst it is badgering me. Of course pushing casks around on a trolley would mean your arms aren’t moving like when you walk. Grrr. No more!
Anyway I know I move enough thank you and I can live without the data. Let’s get a nice normal analogue thing going. Even if it’s a quartz one and not a manual wind up, or even an automatic one (I kinda miss my dodgy Chinese Rolex).
I’ve always worn a watch. When I’ve not got one on I feel like I’ve not got fully dressed. Over the last few years I have tried a couple of monitoring ones. Whilst I prefer the look of a nice manual watch I quite liked some of the information on heart rate and sleeping—and even those pesky steps. But the watch I’ve been wearing lately was been my sister’s old Huawei GT2 watch after she got a new smartwatch at Christmas and I’ve got to the point with it now that I’ve stopped wearing it from this weekend. I’ve found my faithful and favourite Rotary is not working at the moment (I’m assuming the battery needs replacing) so I am actually going to be watchless for a few days. Ye gads! I’ll get it sorted at the end of the week as I got an Unlimited Replacement from Timpsons when I last changed its battery—and most incredibly I’ve found the card. Wonders will never cease.
Farewell, Matey. Time for you to get up and get ta….
The thing that wound me up the most about the Huawei was it’s constant menacing with the vibrating and the ‘Get Up and Move Around’ message. Particularly when you were actually up and moving around. Getting shouted at is bad enough, but when you’re actually doing stuff and it’s shouting out it really was too much. At its most annoying it would tell me the same when I was delivering beers at work. I’ve actually pushed around 100 kilos around whilst covering up to 2km and it’ll tell me to get up and move. So in fact it’ll be the most exercise of the week whilst it is badgering me. Of course pushing casks around on a trolley would mean your arms aren’t moving like when you walk. Grrr. No more!
Anyway I know I move enough thank you and I can live without the data. Let’s get a nice normal analogue thing going. Even if it’s a quartz one and not a manual wind up, or even an automatic one (I kinda miss my dodgy Chinese Rolex).
Pokémon Go
I’ve been playing Pokémon Go for a few years now after being introduced into it by several bar staff in different pubs. I am unsure whether I should thank them or blank them. But suffice to say I’m now at the mighty Level of 41. That’s largely down to me getting buses into and out of town. The number of Poké Stops I pass and Pokémon I see makes progress relatively easy. Of course whilst those 30 to 40 minutes each way have regularly been used for progressing on Pokémon I could have used to for reading. I mean it’s mind boggling how many books I could have read instead of this basically nothingy game. But hell, I like it. Every Perfect or Shiny I get makes me happy. Not insanely happy, but it’s a game isn’t it? And I enjoy doing well in games whether it’s Wordle, Connections, Scrabble, or Pokémon.
I deleted the online Scrabble game I used to play (Words with Friends) a few years ago as I couldn’t stop myself playing as soon as a move had been made by someone else whatever time it was played. I realised it was eating my time up throughout the day. I suppose at least Pokémon is usually just eating time up when I’m on a bus commute. And I can confirm that the No. 17 bus I get into Liverpool isn’t necessarily the best place for book reading. I may not have read that many more books really: and I’m Level 41 now—with 33 Perfect Pokémon and multiple Legendary and Mythical ones too. Bet you’re jealous. Then again, probably not.
My Fave ones? Well I guess the ones I use most for battles would be Primarina and Swampert, which are both 4* (aka Perfect) but I still need a bit of work to get the CP maxed out—and to get a Mega Swampert.
These are some of my current collections of Legendary and Mythical Pokémon:
The Black Screen of Partial Death
My MacBook Pro—a 13" 2020 M1—passed away a couple of weeks ago. That’s not to say it has completely passed away as a computer, but as a laptop it has. I noticed as I walked past the spare room where the laptop was that the screen was flickering away with all too dodgy lines and blocks of mess. Before too long with some movement of the laptop the screen was suffering from the all too common symptom: The Black Screen of Death. After too many attempts of ‘Zapping the PRAM’ and all the other associated potential treatments of the Black Screen (i.e in case it was a software issue) it became apparent that the issue was a hardware one. Looking at the .net it is really crazy—and wrong—that this is not an uncommon problem and the issue should have been addressed by design over previous iterations of the MacBook.
Anyway the computer itself is still working when plugged into an external display so I guess I may have simply lost a laptop but been left with a desktop. Glad I bought the external screen a while back or else I would not have even known the computer was still working. To replace the screen on the laptop as far as I can see is around 360 quid—and that would still have the same physical issue as the original one so could fail just as easily over the next year or two anyway. I’m not spending that kind of money with that fear—or likelihood—waiting in the wings.
As far as I can see the issue is a hardware issue purely affecting the screen and there is no reason to deal with it; if I’m happy to use it purely as a desktop. Hope I’ve surmised the correctly. At the end of the day, when I’m out and about, I tend to use an iPad with a portable keyboard rather than take the laptop out anyway. And I use Dropbox to sync with my computer when I’m back home, so I guess I can continue doing that and just use the Pro in my spare room/office if I need to print stuff out and get stuff up on the website etc. I dare say I could print from the iPad if I set that up correctly too, but I wouldn’t be able to update the website (and use various other Apps that only work on the MacBook).
I’m leaving the laptop in clamshell form so I don’t have to face the miserable screen at all, but from time to time I will have to open it up—if I need to use the camera for iMovie and YouTube etc or maybe to use the thumbprint ID. I think I can use the iPad as a second screen if it comes to it, but in the main I guess it’ll just be used in a straightforward desktop configuration.
In short, I am gutted about the Black Screen of Death and my love of Apple leaves me thoroughly disappointed with them (in them knowing about the problem but doing FA about sorting it), but at least it is only a Partial Death and not a Death Death.
Anyway the computer itself is still working when plugged into an external display so I guess I may have simply lost a laptop but been left with a desktop. Glad I bought the external screen a while back or else I would not have even known the computer was still working. To replace the screen on the laptop as far as I can see is around 360 quid—and that would still have the same physical issue as the original one so could fail just as easily over the next year or two anyway. I’m not spending that kind of money with that fear—or likelihood—waiting in the wings.
As far as I can see the issue is a hardware issue purely affecting the screen and there is no reason to deal with it; if I’m happy to use it purely as a desktop. Hope I’ve surmised the correctly. At the end of the day, when I’m out and about, I tend to use an iPad with a portable keyboard rather than take the laptop out anyway. And I use Dropbox to sync with my computer when I’m back home, so I guess I can continue doing that and just use the Pro in my spare room/office if I need to print stuff out and get stuff up on the website etc. I dare say I could print from the iPad if I set that up correctly too, but I wouldn’t be able to update the website (and use various other Apps that only work on the MacBook).
I’m leaving the laptop in clamshell form so I don’t have to face the miserable screen at all, but from time to time I will have to open it up—if I need to use the camera for iMovie and YouTube etc or maybe to use the thumbprint ID. I think I can use the iPad as a second screen if it comes to it, but in the main I guess it’ll just be used in a straightforward desktop configuration.
In short, I am gutted about the Black Screen of Death and my love of Apple leaves me thoroughly disappointed with them (in them knowing about the problem but doing FA about sorting it), but at least it is only a Partial Death and not a Death Death.
You'll Never Walk Alone
10/05/24 13:43 Filed in: liverpool
A Fond but Sad Farewell Amongst the Social Media Mire
Jürgen Klopp’s era as Liverpool manager is shortly to come to an end—and what a fabulous ride it has been. It’s a wonderful club and we’ve had some long periods of winning lots and even in the worst of times we’ve still somehow continued to sprinkle in the odd trophy or two. We’ve had some really cracking players and brilliant managers—but of course we’ve had some bang average ones too. This current crop is a million miles away from those poorer times. Klopp brought a breath of fresh air to Merseyside when he arrived in October 2015 to replace Brendan Rogers. Fans from around the country (or indeed the city) were jealous of that the club managed to pull an absolute legend out of the hat. It has been a beautiful love fest between the club, manager, and the fans from day one. Winning the European Cup again was boss but of course finally winning the league again was the ultimate highlight—just a real shame it was during Covid time and not enjoyed by the fans in stadiums. Let’s hope it’s not a long a wait for the next one.
We’ve had a great season really and whilst it is gutting to not get another league or trophy to add to the League Cup it has far surpassed what could have been expected at the start of the season, after last season’s disastrous campaign. The way an entirely new midfield was put together this season, when it’s usually a question of tweaking with the odd new player or two, and then the injuries to central team players too meaning some youngsters had some relatively long term spells in the side—well it’s been brilliant to see. Most fans would have taken any cup and a Champion’s League place before the the season kicked off. But of course as every sports fan knows: it’s the hope that kills ya. And god damn it, they gave us hope until the last month of the season.
For much of the season the online keyboard warriors and self appointed experts in football finishing and winning titles have been nothing less than embarrassing, frustrating and—far too often—just vile. Be it about players from other clubs, or are own—or indeed Klopp himself. It has been beyond disappointing to see. Unfollowing, Muting and Blocking apparent fans of your own club is a ridiculous fact of life right now. The demise of Twitter has been accelerating, and whilst we can’t blame Musk for some of the dickheads on the platform the Social Media platform has become a toxic environment, which I find depressing after the better early years of Twitter. Now when you visit the place it feels like you’ve got a bus to the wrong end of town, and indeed in the wrong town too.
The clue is in the name, people: Supporter. You support the team, the club, the players. Through thick and thin. You’ll enjoy the ups that more if you’ve had a few lows. That’s not to say you can’t have opinions on players, far from it, but there’s no excuse for posting negative, derogatory, or vile comments on player’s Social Media feeds. What the fuck is that supposed to do? Grow up—and preferably find another club whilst you’re at it.
I for one will look back on the Klopp years, and his players, with a great fondness. The teams he has built, the relationships with his players—and the fans—has been superb to observe. There have been so many good moments, weeks, months and football campaigns. Klopp himself has been a wonderful import to the league and our club and he’s been something else to behold: he’s Liverpool through and through. A modern day Shankly for those of us—a bit—too young to remember. And I love him for that and all he has brought to our club. Thank you, Jürgen. You’ll Never Walk Alone.
Jürgen Klopp’s era as Liverpool manager is shortly to come to an end—and what a fabulous ride it has been. It’s a wonderful club and we’ve had some long periods of winning lots and even in the worst of times we’ve still somehow continued to sprinkle in the odd trophy or two. We’ve had some really cracking players and brilliant managers—but of course we’ve had some bang average ones too. This current crop is a million miles away from those poorer times. Klopp brought a breath of fresh air to Merseyside when he arrived in October 2015 to replace Brendan Rogers. Fans from around the country (or indeed the city) were jealous of that the club managed to pull an absolute legend out of the hat. It has been a beautiful love fest between the club, manager, and the fans from day one. Winning the European Cup again was boss but of course finally winning the league again was the ultimate highlight—just a real shame it was during Covid time and not enjoyed by the fans in stadiums. Let’s hope it’s not a long a wait for the next one.
We’ve had a great season really and whilst it is gutting to not get another league or trophy to add to the League Cup it has far surpassed what could have been expected at the start of the season, after last season’s disastrous campaign. The way an entirely new midfield was put together this season, when it’s usually a question of tweaking with the odd new player or two, and then the injuries to central team players too meaning some youngsters had some relatively long term spells in the side—well it’s been brilliant to see. Most fans would have taken any cup and a Champion’s League place before the the season kicked off. But of course as every sports fan knows: it’s the hope that kills ya. And god damn it, they gave us hope until the last month of the season.
For much of the season the online keyboard warriors and self appointed experts in football finishing and winning titles have been nothing less than embarrassing, frustrating and—far too often—just vile. Be it about players from other clubs, or are own—or indeed Klopp himself. It has been beyond disappointing to see. Unfollowing, Muting and Blocking apparent fans of your own club is a ridiculous fact of life right now. The demise of Twitter has been accelerating, and whilst we can’t blame Musk for some of the dickheads on the platform the Social Media platform has become a toxic environment, which I find depressing after the better early years of Twitter. Now when you visit the place it feels like you’ve got a bus to the wrong end of town, and indeed in the wrong town too.
The clue is in the name, people: Supporter. You support the team, the club, the players. Through thick and thin. You’ll enjoy the ups that more if you’ve had a few lows. That’s not to say you can’t have opinions on players, far from it, but there’s no excuse for posting negative, derogatory, or vile comments on player’s Social Media feeds. What the fuck is that supposed to do? Grow up—and preferably find another club whilst you’re at it.
I for one will look back on the Klopp years, and his players, with a great fondness. The teams he has built, the relationships with his players—and the fans—has been superb to observe. There have been so many good moments, weeks, months and football campaigns. Klopp himself has been a wonderful import to the league and our club and he’s been something else to behold: he’s Liverpool through and through. A modern day Shankly for those of us—a bit—too young to remember. And I love him for that and all he has brought to our club. Thank you, Jürgen. You’ll Never Walk Alone.