Rocky has the only bacon in Ladywood

12

Not the number 12 bus

Nor the amount it costs for a taxi from town to the N.E.C

And nothing to do with 12 drummers drumming

Yesterday afternoon I was greeted, upon my arrival into Aston train station, by 12 police officers. 12 police officers who were there for no other reason than to desperately try to catch the occasional fare jumper.

12

Now let us compare that figure to the amount of police currently active in my neighbourhood. Yep, you guessed it – that’s 12 more than walk the beat in Ladywood.

Let me reminisce over the times that I’ve needed the police… House broken into twice, chavs clambering over my roof looking for a way in and that time a runaway kid chose my house to seek refuge and how long did the police take to come? Between 2 to 3 hours in each case.

It would seem that they are all at Aston train station on their top priority sting.

Well....

If you insist on standing in the middle of a busy corridor,
holding a loud conversation with your rebellious brother-in-law,
whilst a queue forms behind you that you’re too involved to see,
I might set fire to your legs.

And then I stomach your presence whilst waiting for my dinner,

listening to ‘who kissed who’ and your plans to get much thinner,

then you invite your friends to go before you so you can sit together,

so I decide I might cut your brake line.

But I’m more inclined to mutter...

...and I bet you'll be on my train.

Meh

I borrowed 100 pepper sachets from the university café
and recreated the Blue Meanie invasion with blue-tak figurines.
I like to listen to music in my left ear and leave the right open.
Stereo is over-rated.

Too many clocks, not enough batteries.
Too much politics, not enough concern.
I’m contactable 24 hours a day.
I choose to disregard your calls.

When I’m home alone I walk around fully clothed.
I dream of owning a 6 lane Scalextric track; utterly meticulous, of course.
My phone battery does not match my lifestyle.
Neither does my attire.

Too many buttons, not enough zips.
Too many laces, not enough Velcro.
Waking up on time is a commodity.
Taxi drivers are not acquainted with my road.

5.1 does not excite me.

What I'm listening to this month.... Old and New

Little Dragon - Little Dragon











Colin Macintyre - Island











Turin Brakes - The Optimist LP

Nick Drake - Bryter Later










The Decemberists - Castaways and Cutouts










Fever Ray - Fever Ray











Iron & Wine - Around the Well










The Postal Service - Give Up

Not much to say and too much to do.

It's been a while since I last wrote in this blog. Part of this is due to my creation of a Birmingham City University blog to detail local events and student information.

Why not check it out...

http://birminghamcityuniversity.blogspot.com/

He's a wonderful talker, who has the art of telling you nothing in a great harangue

In a world full of wasps

I’m a simple worker bee

Not remarkable, nor discernable

From most the staff you see.

A child that longs to scream and shout

And throw his toys out of the pram

Because he has to listen to your tales

As you devise new hopeless plans

Or when I listen to you tell them

How you think it all should work

Even though your executive style

Simply confirms that you’re a jerk

I’d love to strip you of your right of speech

Or leave you in Nepal

I think a dose of realism

Would plainly help us all

You put the dick in contradiction

And you put the spin in spineless

You love garrulous administration

You’re a pig wallowing in waspiness

But instead I sit and wonder

How you have survived thus far

Your attitude is my melanoma

You wish your status matched your car

Driving a Porsche Cayenne twin turbo

bellow at 90 on your iPhone

Call your colleagues by their surname

I trust you’ll likely die alone

But don’t think you cause me lack of sleep

Or undue extra strain

I’d rather worry about higher issues

Like my recently blocked drain

Which is probably due to strands of hair

That collect and clog til blocked.

Maybe you would like it as you’re balding

A gift for you smug, odious cock

You put the dick in contradiction

Whilst you put the spin in spineless

Lecturing me on your power tools

Stop. I wish your voice was cordless

He's a wonderful talker, who has the art of telling you nothing in a great harangue.

- Moliere

Artsfest '09 - Well Done

I’ve just enjoyed a gratifying weekend of sunshine, melody, grub, cider and charming company along with an estimated 270,000 other revellers at Birmingham’s Artfest.

Now; maybe it’s my mind putting a glossy spin on life but as I was sitting on the, inevitably delayed, train to Walsall this morning I couldn’t help recall that the last 3 years have all delivered hot weekends for Artsfest. This weekend had a lot to live up to and it delivered.

Well done Birmingham.

Here are a few of the acts whose names managed to permeate the alcohol induced fog shrouding my brain this weekend;

Flatworld – A bit of Eastern European gypsy Balkan dance to start any day.

Is I Cinema – Some post-rock soundscapes. Best served chilled.

The Father Teds – Irish innit. Trad. Arr. Tunes.

The Acoustic Theatre – Now I think it was these guys that were playing some ace revival ska tunes.

Soweto Kinch – Sax, Drums, Bass and occasional M.C. Hmmm. It works.

Reverend & the Makers – Suprisingly fun (embarrassingly enjoyable)

Athlete – Suprisingly singable (embarrassingly enjoyable…. again)

As Sunday evening began to meander towards something resembling an end I found myself knee deep in discussion with a vast majority of the Rep bar staff. What a wonderful bunch of people they are (and that’s not purely down to the flow of cheap gin that was heading my way). Not one person had a bad thing to say about this year’s Artsfest, in fact, the general consensus was that Birmingham should hold more events like this.

Cultural capital 2012 was it Baron?