Random Scribble # 19

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A middle-aged day out in Greenwich

You could say that Greenwich is the place where, erm, time began... all the clocks in the world are set by Greenwich time, forward or back from it. Jolly facinating, eh? Well, George, Claire and I certainly thought so, and decided to venture out over the river last Saturday.















There's a really quaint foot-tunnel which is the only one in London where you can walk under the river. The best thing about this is you feel like you're going back in time - the tunnel has been there for years and I presume hasn't changed in the slightest in that time. There are lifts on either side which are manned by two middle aged gents who hapenned to be rather talkative.
The first one criticised a passenger with a huge dog for being drunk (he seemed more drunk himself). Then, when we'd walked to the other side, the other lift attendant criticised the first lift attendant for being a "bit of an idiot." Good thing they were seperated by the tunnel.

Funny thing was, you could watch CCTV in either lift which showed what the other attendant was doing. Therefore, the only source of entertainment for either gent during their working day is monotonously watching the other. No wonder they seemed to hate each other's guts...



























































We ventured past the Cutty Sark and on to Greenwich itself, where we went to the time building thingy on the top of the hill - where a green lazer beamed out along the time-line. There was also a globe which moved up and down on a pole so that ships in the distance could set the time... the best bit was looking through a telescope at the Maritime College by the river. It beamed down in a pitch-black room and we could see little people walking around in the distance. Started to feel middle aged when I realised I was enjoying this kind of entertainment. Nothing against middle-aged people, of course(!).















Our day ended with a Spanish Tapas meal in Black Heath, (where all the plague victims were buried in times past). Slightly macabre walk over the heath, but the meal was darn good when we got there.














Another day out in London, another new place to see. London never seems to run out, somehow.

Got some good news - I've been comissioned to do some writing for a website - and I'm going to be paid for writing for the first time in my life! Good stuff! I do so much writing for free, I thought why not get paid for once? And so I shall. Hopefully I can write a little better than my efforts above, though, my mind is a little weary this week. Things are hotting up at work of late - and my evenings have been spent more in lethargy than in sribbling inspiration. Still, I try, dear reader, I try!

Lifesnaps # 6

Eddie the Pool Shark

This 'ere is my brother Edwin setting up the rack for a game of pool - he's a bit of a hustler when it comes to sinkin' a few holes. He started getting really good when he was about 9 or10, when he was able to play every evening at boarding school. He was also phenomenally good at swinging on the monkey bars in the school playground - even perfecting a method which involved breathing hot air onto his palms so that he didn't get any blisters! Quite incredible.

It'd been a while since we'd played - I remember him beating me when I was about 15 and he was only 11...(I still think of revenge)! We racked up again, and I started well. However, Edwin then started assuredly potting balls like he'd hadn't rested his cue in years. I tried to counter, but alas, my shots hit cushions, my white fell down the pocket, and Eddie the hustler began to dominate.

Soon I was beat, well beat.

There's something humbling about being beaten by a younger brother. The only words I can mutter in compensation are "I taught him well." Unfortunately, these words are not true.

He's just better than me.

The 'proud' winner of the Scribbler '1000' t-shirt is my old uni housemate James! (and doesn't he look pleased...)

Some people get all the luck. Not only is my old chum James the lucky winner of the lucky '1000th' hit Scribbler t-shirt, he's also got a pretty girlfriend he can show off the beautiful t-shirt to! Colette (for that is her name) is probably even more pleased than he is! (she certainly looks that way).













It's been a couple of years now since James and I shared 61A Ilkeston Road for our final year at Nottingham Trent University. We had met when we both lived in Sandby halls in the first year, and three years later, became renouned for throwing incredible houseparties (one of which was videoed - we both own a copy - and sums up the madness of university life; not least the most shambolic game of murder in the dark you've ever seen in your life).

James was always a hard worker - spending many evenings working on his PC while I shouted upstairs whenever something good came on the box. He also proof-read and encouraged me to write my Mr. columns, which was featured in the university magazine, and is probably the sole reason I'm working in the media now...

Currently working up in Leeds, having been in America (and met Colette along the way) there's hardly a more deserving reader of the blog. His email reads like this:

I would like to see something written about the following and I would also like the quote "life is for enjoying, not enduring" included OR "life is short, work lasts forever".

Topics:

The Freedom of Travel
City Vs. Country
The Origin of Friendship
Money Vs. Happiness

Cheers pal, hope to see you in the smoke or up in green leeds soon!

James, consider it done.

The Scribbler salutes you.

You can check out James's World Travels blog by clicking the following link: http://www.jamesworldtravels.blogspot.com/ or the link in the right-hand column of this page.

WIN! a Scribbler T-Shirt... for the 1000th hit!

This here, ladies and gentlemen, is the first Scribbler T-Shirt! As with every scribble, it's been painted entirely at random for the sheer fun of it. There's a character there, a face, but no meaning whatsoever. Except any meaning you might wish to put on it.

As it's a first edition, it's got the potential to be an extremely valuable (and unique) piece of fashionware. And it could easily be yours.

This blog has been running for over three months now, and is on the verge of it's 80th post, and more importantly, its 1000th hit. (You can count the number of people who've read the Scribbler by scrolling to the very bottom of this page) To celebrate, the first person to send an email claiming the T-Shirt after the 1000th hit, will receive it through the post, entirely free of charge.

That's an offer you can't refuse surely?

All you have to do is email me, The Scribbler, claiming your prize, while also telling me one random thing you'd like me to write about on this blog. It can be anything you like. Email me at: charlieswinbourne@gmail.com

Happy claiming!

Lifesnaps # 5 Shardlow, Derbyshire

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The Engine Room

Random Scribble # 18

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Lifesnaps # 4 Doin' the dishes

And though I grant that I have prayed
That we might find a serving-maid,
I'd scullion all my days I think,
To see Her smile across the sink!














The man who never in his life
Has washed the dishes with his wife
Or polished up the silver plate-
-He still is largely celibate.

Poem: Washing the dishes, by Christopher Morley






























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Random Scribble # 17

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The great Soho bar crawl

It's not often I manage to prise Steve away from the delights of Birmingham (!), nor indeed the delights of his fiance, Laura. Last weekend, however, was an exception. He loves Brum (especially spaghetti junction, his favourite landmark), and he loves Laura (in a lifelong, devoted, all-encompassing way) but needed some lad time, a chance for a chat with his adviser and mentor, best man at his wedding no less (shall I mention that again?!)... that is, erm, me.

So I thought the best idea would be for us to go into town for a few drinks. Nay, a bar crawl. He'd get to choose one bar, then me the next. We had visions of an all-night session, but as you'll gather, things didn't quite work out that way. We're getting old now, you see.

Still, as ever, I had the camera phone poised and ready to shoot and decided I'd record the evening's events for the delights of this vast, culturally diverse electronic audience.

5 licenced premises... one night. Here we go...














1) The Red Lion - just off Old Compton Street. As you can see from Steve's delighted expression (and the solitary finger he is raising to the sky) this was the 1st pub we went into. Bit of a traditional interior. Lots of guys... We saw a great volleyed goal by Spain's Fernando Torres, and the pub went mental...














2) Garlic and Shots - can't argue with Steve's comedy genius photo here, the confused look on my face was probably down to me wondering why the camera had been tilted up so much. I like to project myself as a pretty cool guy and this photo doesn't help, in the slightest. Strong message though, for all drivers out there. I do like the blog to carry a strong message...

We started a great big long conversation about our favourite music and albums, particularly the Beatles, and even more specifically, the work of Paul McCartney. We agreed that despite his uncool reputation, even within his solo career there are at least 12 classic songs. They are: Maybe I'm Amazed, Live and Let Die, My Love, Uncle Albert/Admiral Walsey, With a Little Luck, Jet (!), Waterfall, Let me Roll it, Mull of Kintyre (even though we know it's rubbish), Let 'em In, Heart of the Country, and by an absolute country mile, the best song is Junk. In fact, forget all the rest, just listen to Junk on repeat for a couple of days - or so we decided, before moving on...














3) Dog and Duck - what I remember mainly about this place is a guy who stood at the bar not speaking to anyone, listening to his personal CD player with huge headphones on. When I went to the toilet later, he was coming up the stairs when I opened the door and nearly sent him tumbling to an early grave. He was one of those people who you see and think "something's not quite right there..." Needless to say he survived, and presumably got onto the 2nd CD of Queen's Greatest Hits before the night was out.














4) The Carlisle Arms - a tribute to Laura this one, since she comes from Carlisle(!). A rowdy group were singing Happy Birthday and Steve was agreeing by this stage that I could say whatever I liked about him in my best man's speech (just to remind you again, I'm going to be best man!), even if what I say isn't true. Wicked! Any good fictional stories you can think of, send them my way, and I'll make Steve personally responsible.














5) Detroit Bar, Covent Garden - amazing place this one, first went there for Lucy Clark's birthday party back in January (or was it Feb?) and then conicidently recognised it in the film Following a few weeks later. Bizarre.

Here, a girl smiled and waved at me before leaving with her boyfriend. I was slightly gutted that she had a boyfriend, but then gave the matter some thought. I have since developed a theory that women have suddenly started finding me devestatingly attractive after 4 months of gym work. In 4 further months, no woman on earth will be able to resist. After another double vodka, Steve concurred with my view.















On the way home, not only did Steve buy a dodgy CD from a street guitarist who was actually very talented (thankfully it worked when we got home and played it) he also helped the flowers in the garden of Fitzrovia Square grow somewhat faster this week than they otherwise would have done. It's a man thing.





























All that was left was to partake of a beer and a roast dinner at the Queen Mary pub in Primrose Hill before acting even more like adolescents by watching the new Wallace and Gromit film in the afternoon. "Cracking cheese, Gromit!" Loved it, recommend it.

And that was that.

Random Scribble # 16

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The day after Phoenix Nights... an altogether more rural escapade in Wooton Wawen...

After suffering through an incredibly bad band (I've nicknamed them The Pits) the night before (see yesterday's post) we decided that the best course of recovery on a late Sunday afternoon would be to take a drive into the Warwickshire countryside for a good old Sunday roast (and not a footballers one), and a wandering walk along the canal.















In soap operas such as Eastenders, Dirty Den would have popped out of the shadows, pulled out a gun and committed a muder along the way. In trash clip shows such as You've been framed, someone would have hilariously tripped and fallen in the water. In Jackass: The Movie, someone would have jumped in the water, pulled up a rubber tyre from the bottom, then pretended to drown before swallowing a gulp of raw sewage. Then their mates would have taken golfing pot-shots at them.

Alas, this was not TV (for a change). This was a relaxing Sunday afternoon in Wooton Wawen, thank-you very much. Keep on reading if you fancy a relaxing account, but if you want something a little more edgy and exciting, you might want to check out http://www.theonion.com/content/index, instead..!














So, erm. The sun was shining, the weather was pleasant, the trees glistened with dew...

Nice. Really nice. Not the most exciting thing to write about, but really, really nice.














What a nice tree! This tree reminded me of one I always used to see on the way to my terrible estate-agents job two years ago. It was a tree that gave me hope. If it could persevere in a farmers field, alone, for so long, maybe there was hope for us all. Or something like that...

A really, beautiful tree. Could I emphasise that any more?





























Driving shots. Would like to say we were involved in some mad chase, but we weren't. It was an ordinary, quiet Sunday afternoon made spectacular by some gorgeous contryside. Boring stuff. Beautifully boring stuff.















I'll find some exciting car chases to write about next time.

Real-life Phoenix Nights... with the great Ricky Jarvis

The night started with such promise. In rehearsals, Steve and Dan did a rendition of John Martyn's 'Don't Want to Know' which sounded so much like the real thing (at least to my ears) that I assumed the CD was playing.














Dan (below playing the guitar) was also playing the Kora (seen in the background), an exotic string-based intrument which is played by standing it down in front of you and plucking the strings. It's has a very mellow, calming sound. Kind of, erm, emotional...














I don't know much about music, but I know about the Kora because I copied a whole CD of Kora music from Steve (don't tell the cops - or Steve) about a year ago, and played it with Ady while driving through France and Spain, Summer 2004. It calms the road rage.

Steve has two bands, Clatter and a Samba band (Brazillian drumming) but he's having a bit of success doing his own thing of late - just last week finding out that one of his compositions was played on TV during a Live 8 debate between Tony Blair and Bono... it's a struggle leading a music life, but through teaching in the week, he earns his keep, while keeping his band projects on the go.

So, anyway, back to the evening of the 24th September.

We drove into Birmingham's Jewellery Quarter with no small amount of banter ferrying us along the way, four of us in the car with Kora, Speaker system and guitar weighing it down so that the suspension was practically non-existent. Upon arrival, we were slightly perturbed found the streets virtually dead, and entered the Red Lion to find the regulars loking us up and down with inquisitive stares. We weren't known faces in these parts.














The music room was located upstairs, where myself, Steve, Laura and Dan sat, listening to a woman who'd "fallen off the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down" (not my words - Steve's!) over-singing (nay, mutilating) a range of jazzy standards for our enjoyment... she finished her set by plugging her next gig and offering the chance to purchase her CD. There were guffaws from all seven members of the audience.














Next up were Steve and Dan. Steve's Mum and Dad arrived just before they began and sat with Steve's fiance and myself to listen in. It was good. Classy. I'm biased, but their stuff could be descibed as "electrifyingly mellow", or something along those lines. It was unusual, fusing a whole range of musical sub-genres. You now know why I never became a music journalist. "I liked it", perhaps that's the most enlightening thing I can say..!

There then followed what can be best described as an hour and a half of sub-standard, painful trash.

The band that came on (I've blocked their name from my memory - perhaps a good suggestion would be The Pits) comprised of a totally inexpressive lady and a rakish non-talented man for lead singers. They were joined by an incredibly over-ethusiastic fiddler, and somewhere halfway though their set, their mate who not only fell over on his way to the stage (the crowd gasped) but then followed up by singing the wrong verses out of tune. Pain was layered upon pain.













What made it worse is that he was wearing a Bill Hicks T-shirt and also a cap which he obviously thought was cool. I felt ashamed that Bill Hicks, (late innovative comic legend no less) should find his face worn by this oaf. Laura described him as Ricky Jarvis (she meant Ricky Gervais) such was the similarity. In a way, she got it dead on. He was an imitator. Although less Ricky Gervais than David Brent.

Things would have got better if we'd won the raffle, but unfortunately, Ricky Jarvis came out on top on this front too. He won twice. I'd decided not to buy a ticket, and he was next in line. It coulda been me.













All that was left was for the finely dressed old gent (pictured above) running the night to allow his dog to run amock through the crowd as we sloped off. I thought Phoenix Nights was a TV comedy, but for one night only, it was a reality show.