Northern Englands Inspiration: Manchunian's

Be aware this does contain graphic innuendo

Yesterday I left Manchester Piccadilly train station for London. It's the bank holiday weekend, Sunday 29th August 2010 every engineering feature was being worked on. When I left London Euston in the evening and had to take the slow train back I was tired, but my journey which began as the Virgin Trains London Euston to Crewe at 1843 with my change over in Stoke for Manchester Piccadilly's arrival at 2331 left me in no doubt, a story had to be created...

The journey that left Euston at 1843 was quiet. Little really was happening all the way up as we passed through the Chilterns to Oxford and crossed back again for Coventry, slow chugging our way through the countryside. The sun setting gradually as we slowly meandered north. At Coventry all was fine, arriving at 2130 some people got off: teenagers playing music on their iphone or ipod. The child with his mother carried on running up and down the carriage whilst I read my book attempting to ignore this energised human. He was only six, I just hoped he ran out of energy sooner rather than later.

We carried on north up through Tamworth and on to Stoke, the child had gradually quieten-d down, but I got off at 2230 hours and waited the nine minutes for the 2239 local train to Manchester Piccadilly. The train hadn't yet arrived and was to pull into platform three. For all I knew the way the place looked it could have been a scene out of Harry Potter. Something smelled wrong, something looked wrong. I had stopped at Stoke to change on my way down, but the darkness of night was playing tricks on my mind. Was I sure I was seeing and hearing what my brain was telling me? I was not anaesthetised by any substances, but I clearly could feel something different. I wandered between platform 2 and 3, a cyclist came up and waited, I tried to stand still and watch the world go by, but the cold chill in the air was starting to bite, I wrapped my self up completely. "Dam no gloves", put your hands in your pockets.

At Stoke-On-Trent there was no more than a half dozen people waiting for a train. Two young girls waited around on the platform opposite, the station manager looked bleakly across the tracks at them trying to huddle up and keep warm. The cyclist stood macho with his bike propped against him studying the non existent car park that existed through the blackened night across platform 3. The air was getting heavy, the few lights leaving shadows across the platforms and rails. The Pendalino hook up showed evaporation rising gradually from the lamp heat. It must have rained, but didn't smell of rain just bad hot chocolate.

That's because I could still taste the hot chocolate I had bought from my previous train. On boarding the 2239 to Manchester Piccadilly the whole train smelt bad, it also looked bad, no where to sit the party's had left enough rubbish, the stale coffee's and teas and the opened window attempting to vent the stench of an unclean train loo turned the air against my lungs. I sat and began to read and hope no one else would get on board.

I was wrong, we didn't have three stops, the usual, Macclesfield, Stockport and Manchester Piccadilly. We had seven or eight. All was fine, the cyclist leisurely bored and asleep, me reading in the same carriage. And then at Macclesfield a party got on board. For half an hour, the teenagers sang chants on 'Manchester is the best' in football rhythms, 'Manchester has got it all'. The boys and girls drunk and attempting to get up to the night clubs in the city centre. Suddenly the atmosphere changed, they wanted more than just singing, through the length of the cabin they started chanting/poorly singing sexual connotations for all to bare all. Everyone joined in as the ring leader dared himself:

'Show us your n**' came the chant in football hoots from the group.

Unaware of whether this went through or not, a soon response was replied by the boys 'show us your g***'. The alcohol had certainly taken its toll on them and thank god I couldn't see any of it.

At Poynton Rail, three boys got on board, a separate state of affairs. Except they had even ruder 'jokes' of a sexual nature including: "Weekend Defender". With the dress sense of a ant for a night out and the not so obvious joke said, I burned my memory attempting to work out what it was all about. Suddenly I remembered the advertised material across the city

"The Gay Pride March: August Bank Holiday Weekend". Every creep was out tonight and I had to go via it to get home.

The train journey continued north to Stockport as the three boys opened yet another can of beer and left the empty on the floor to spill over. The group of boys and girls chanting more and more. Was the cyclist and I the only two sober and non confrontational on board? I knew I was being watched, heads turned. How many people travelled that late reading a book, how many travelled looking like death could strike at any moment?

Stoke had been fine, just eerily dark the train journey though showed nothing more than excessive drinkers on the bend (excuse the pun). Getting off the train was no joyous attempt, like fresh meat of cattle to a slaughter house the drunken boys laid themselves up, all three of them attempting to believe they were straight, but all three knew where they were going. The group of boys and girls carried on out chanting 'Manchester, Manchester, Manchester, it has only got one end', 'Manchester is the best', 'Manchester has got it all'. Whilst the boys summed up posh Manchester as a place for 'her and her all nighters'. A comment on one of the girls previous nights out.

Grateful to get off the train and go back to a normal part of town, many people watched as I frog marched my cold body down to Fallowfield. Every queer in sight eyeing up their potential, with passing comments of:

'Would you like to come round the corner mate'
'Like a bit of wiped cream'
'Give's a bit mate'

Stone sharpened I stared them out as I caught them looking on in earnest for "fresh meat"

'you try me I'll make sure your screwed for life, screwed six foot under more like'

they all walked drunkenly to their party, dragging there sorry asses up the hill. I've met the bully's, weirdo's, freak's and many other people, but why is it I always get the dodgy comments. What so wrong with leaving a member of the public alone who isn't even thinking of going out anywhere.

I knew something was up when I got to Stoke, a different way of life. The liberal north, too liberal? Or just binge drinkers looking to get whatever they can. They say its only prisoners who get whatever they can how ever they can, "don't drop the soap", but up north, no rules barred it happens in public too. It happens in tasteless fashion.

"Welcome to Manchester, you have now entered a liberal free market of perverts."

Picture 1 by Woodrew
Picture 2 Picture 3

Photographs: Inspiring concepts and ideals.

Lambourn Stables, Berkshire

The photo above was taken in February 2009. At the time I was unsure of where I would be next I was hoping to come to Manchester for my Masters course. Today, I handed in my 7500 word dissertation on water quality. This means I am now free from university again, I am unfortunately back on the road of job hunting, I have been looking but to no avail.

The reason for this picture was because this was the first large snow fall, the second being last winter in December 2009. In my state of mood swings and job hunting I go out and attempt to formulate plans and get inspiration from the environment. However, I have packed most of my belongings off to family, which means whilst I still have ten days in Manchester and I want to wander around with the camera, I cannot. Maybe I shall buy a disposable one and attempt to see what I can do with it. Photograph some urban areas in Manchester...see what comes out, visit the art gallery on Walls are Talking: Wallpaper, Art and Culture before it closes. It intrigues me because it's a play on words from "Walls Have Ears", the old WW2 spy idiom.

I have a 35mm, Kodak 200 to develop yet, hope it hasn't degraded in the years I've owned the role and now the length of time its sat waiting to be developed. I used to know someone who developed his own film, I wonder how hard it really is, is it worth the while. Meanwhile I guess I'll have to rely on a shop for it. Most of my photos are digital these days, but sometimes, I like to escape fully and handle a manual once in a while, apply some pressure to the moment.

P.s.There's been some excellent photos of the Perseid Meteor shower this year.

"Alone We Stand Together"

Cancun, Mexico

Alone in this precipice,
Darkened Nights of terror,
And Days of misery,
Day by day and night by night we wander
Waiting for a brighter happier future.

Alone in this forsaken trash filled place
Darkened nights bring stars so bright,
For days of happiness quietly blow over,
Forgotten waiting of a journey, to a land not far from here.

Showering gloom and hot burning days,
Vented cold and dried burnt nights,
Seething air of misfortune hold little hope,
But air comes with misgivings of another front.

Hot coals sizzle under cold ice,
Alone the mischievous herald their power,
Together a future where all remain plain, but
Joyful, laughable slenderness of togetherness,
No room for the individual, only the brethren
Of family and groups, lost in place and lost in time.

Darkened Days and darkened Nights,
Filled with meteors filling up our light,
Where togetherness is everything but really,
Alone we remain,
Under a cloud of 'rain' in the night of meteor showers.

Alone we stand Together.

Skopje, Macedonia

Pictures from Perseid Meteor Shower from around the world
BBC News In Pictures

The Last Stand?

The Last Stand for our trees: The Decline of the English Elm Tree
Here you can read on the current fight of the Dutch Elm's Disease by Mark Seddon (BBC). Full news publishing will occur on the 24th August 2010.
You can also read and listen to Carol Ann Duffy reading her poem: The English Elm.

Some details are also available by the Daily Telegraph, whilst The Independent talks of schools helping reduce the issue.

Picture from The Independent Newspaper

Of Inspiration and men plus one bear.

Seeing as you have mentioned the word earlier in the week.
Given, that I have found so many bleeding hearts recently.
I intend to write on inspiration.
There is nothing in the air.
There is a lack of inspiration around here.
I declare the word of the week to be inspiration.

Fools gold is found too rare.
Mild stares in fine lines through knotted crystal and shapeless pears.
No gift too short, a horses foot too long.
There is no inspiration to be found here.
Just another day in the wild filed* brown bear day.

*filled

Picture From Native Americans, First People - a focus on Bears

All I want to do is...stop

This morning I was reading through my many words that hold my dissertation together, editing, checking and sorting out the spelling, grammar and punctuation. I was meant to write loads more, but it seemed to take most of the day to tidy what I currently have.

So there I was, the next thing I know I'm humming away to myself. With a musical background from years gone by, I can still listen to random odd bits of tune and extrapolate something. Today I was humming from a ring tone which turned into a delicate classical guitar rift. This is quite rare for me as I'm a brass player by nature, Jazz and classical is what I know, whilst I do listen to other stuff, so humming something for guitar was an all together new feeling.

With all this angst about what I'll be doing in the next couple of weeks, I'm wondering when I'll be able to get back to playing music. Most likely when I have my own place. Cycling wise similarly, when I finally settle.

There's still a lot to do in the next couple of weeks, the course is under control, its what's happening after my course. I officially have 15 days to find myself a job and a place to live or else. I've already done the going back home from university to family once before, I really don't to do it if I have to. It's actually making me feel depressed.

I looked around for jobs, and I keep my ears open for them. But the markets gotten tough again. It's really quite worrying. Further still, getting in to the environment sector is very hard indeed, in fact I'm wondering if I actually own a pair and can hold my weight, this year has been so hard, all I want to do is hide away, sleep and keep warm. That holiday I am not deserving is still calling, basically I'm burnt out and need a rest. Except as the saying goes

Theirs no rest for the wicked

Where am I going, exactly :-S (2)

As I was saying before, I feel like I may have lost the plot somewhere.

In good heart and kindness I point you to the article here by Rebecca Bush (12/12/2008):
Just A Thought: The Prince of Darkness or How I've Spent The Last Three Months

This article along with some of the things written by Kristie in recent weeks have certainly stirred the water a bit. Knowing there are people in similar positions or writing stories and poems of the issues I struggle to convey to you makes it seem a lot better.

Unfortunately, this leaves me with a dilemma:
1. I have certainly become a very boring person of late, and I will only become more boring as I struggle to find work and start my own life.
2. I find my feelings through connections made over the internet more and more.
3a. I know this is not right, connections made through the internet are not necessarily as strong as those found by actual contact with a real person. Technology has taken over. I don't like it, but I have to live with it, I have to move with society or be forced to completely disappear and full behind.
3b. This is made worst by the fact I leave you with this evidence via the perils of late night BBC World Service

American Professor Nancy Baym says that at times of rapid technological change, questions such as what counts as authentic human connections (sic) are called into question. She explains that in discussing how these new forms of digital communication media affect the relationships that we have with each other, we are actually having age old discussions about human connections. The Forum (15/08/2010)

Illustration by Graeme Davis

I can't even gather well developed evidence, its from scientists in discussion on a radio program, which due to the way the BBC works will expire in five days and the evidence will be gone.

It's all so plain, its become another shade of grey. I feel like science is just gathering information in order to make more information without actually doing anything about it, it's not helping, academia lives one lifestyle and the world of work is living another, neither are talking to each other, evidence is potentially being duplicated and research is just being done for the hell of it.
Paris (2008) shows an interesting perspective of this as one of its themes shows a lost lecturer wanting to find a new route in life.

I suddenly feel the cold coming in, for some reason it reminds me of a period just before Christmas 2009, I was listening to Sting's If on A Winter's Night, the hollowness, dreary, cold...lack of soul.