Music I Haven't Been Listening To This Week

I haven't actually been here this week. I've gone south... quite a long way, but not quite as far as France. This may also explain why I haven't popped over to your blog to be as abusive as I usually am. I've been elsewhere. All this week's posts were written last week and posted by the SOS Rol-bot.

That's why there isn't a Music I've Been Listening To feature today. I'm stopping writing about music... in fact, I'm going to be writing about it more than ever.

The Mixtape Lives On...

I'll tell you more about that, and where I've been this week, very soon.

Here's an appropriate song to fill the gap...

Top Ten Seaside Songs

Following my Return To Reighton Gap post, this seemed apt. You may be going on holiday soon. You may just have come back. Either way, here's ten seaside songs that might get you in the mood / jog your memories. I could easily have made this a Top 20 or 30 but I'm trying to reign myself in and stop boring your speedos off.

10. Led Zeppelin - Down By The Seaside

(From 'Physical Graffiti'.)

The sea air makes messrs. Page and Plant go all mellow. Nice.

9. Queen - Seaside Rendezvous

(From 'A Night At The Opera'.)

It has the opposite affect on Mr. Mercury, sending him quite, quite bonkers. Not that he has very far to travel.

8. The Kooks - Seaside

(From 'Inside In/Inside Out'.)

I like the way they've recorded the acoustic guitar on this track. It sounds like he's busking on the sea front. Without the seagulls stealing coins from his hat.

7. Kirsty MacColl - He's On The Beach

(From 'The Best of Kirsty MacColl'.)

Poor old Kirsty, she's doesn't have much luck with men. This bloke tells her he's going on holiday without her... next thing she knows she's getting a postcard from the seaside. Sydney, Australia.

And he says it's brilliant there
There's something in the air
There's sunshine everywhere
He's on the beach

Was it something she said?

6. Bruce Springsteen - 4th Of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)

(From 'Greetings From Asbury Park N.J.')

Being brought up in Asbury Park, Bruce had a lot of seaside stories to tell on his early records. This one brings a tear to my eye if I'm in the right mood (melancholic).

Every summer when the weather gets hot
They ride that road down from heaven
On their Harleys, they come and they go
And you can see 'em dressed like stars
In all them cheap little seashore bars
Parked making love with their babies
Out on the Kokomo

I've never been to Asbury Park, but for some reason I imagine it to be like the New Jersey equivalent of Blackpool.

5. Rialto - Summer's Over

(From 'Rialto'.)

A song that obviously owes an enormous debt to our number two record this week (no jumping ahead, kids, we'll get there soon enough). It's no worse off for that.

Kamikaze seagull planes fighting over chip shop take-away remains
When you're walking on the cliffs
You can't help thinking of how far down the sea is
And what if it should give...

Quite beautiful.

4. Squeeze - Pulling Mussels From A Shell

(From 'Greatest Hits'.)

I never really understood the innuendo of this song, but it's obviously a gloriously mucky tale of a holiday romance and what goes on behind the chalet. If anyone wants to explain just what Chris Difford and Glenn Tilbrook mean by "pulling mussels from a shell", you know where the comments box is.

On second thoughts...

3. The Drifters - Under The Boardwalk

(From 'The Very Best of the Drifters'.)

If this song doesn't make you want to go lie on a blanket down by the sea, you're obviously dead from the sunglasses down.

Just be thankful this child of the 80s didn't inflict the Bruce Willis version on you. (One of the first records I ever bought!) Hey, Bruno...!

2. Morrissey - Everyday Is Like Sunday

(From 'Bona Drag: 20th Anniversary Edition'.)

Hands up if you thought this would be number one? Well, yes, it is one of Mozzer's best. And it is wonderfully evocative of those dreary seaside towns where the highlight of the week was sharing some grease tea and celebrating winning a cheap tray on the bingo. But hey, Morrissey - I actually like those tacky resorts. I can think of far better places to bring down your nuclear bombs. Is is really so bad that Every Day Is Like Sunday?

1. Beach Boys - Surfin' USA

(From 'Surfin' Safari/Surfin' USA'.)

I'm sure that seaside holidays are completely different kettles of fish in the USA, but nothing says sun and sand and sea to me more than the Beach Boys and nothing gets me more in the mood for a holiday. I'm waxing down by surfboard as I type...

(No, that's not a Squeeze-esque euphemism, Steve!)



So those were my bucket and spade / sandcastle / ice cream on the beach songs... but what song reminds you of seaside holidays gone by... or gets you in the mood for future ones?

Return To Reighton Gap

When I was a kid, back in the late 70s and early 80s, our annual family holiday would be to a small pebble-dash bungalow at Reighton Gap near Filey. Me, my mum and my dad. I look back on those holidays with enormous fondness.

The bungalow was located on the edge of Reighton Sands holiday village and every day I'd get on my scooter and ride down to the beach, up to the slot machines or round to one of the three shops in the area that sold old American comics from spinner racks.

Even though I was only 7 or 8, I'd go off by myself on that scooter and my parents wouldn't worry because it was a different time, a safer time, far more innocent. Plus they trusted me not to go near the sea, not to go of with strangers, not to get in any trouble. I was a good kid. Not an only child but my brother and sister were both much older and had left home so I was used to playing by myself.

Most days Mum and Dad would take me down to the beach. At the bottom of the hill from the bungalow a long concrete path led down from the clifftops to the beach where the remains of old wartime sea defences and bunkers were gradually dissolving back into the sand. I'd take my Star Wars figures down to the beach - not all of them, but usually Luke, R2D2 and my battered up landspeeder. Where better than to play at being on Tatooine?

We'd also go on day trips to Filey, Scarborough, Bridlington, Flamborough and Whitby. Sometimes we'd go up to Seamer Market so Dad could look at the cattle. We'd have fish and chips and ice cream and all the usual seaside treats. They're some of my happiest childhood memories despite the fact that around this time my dad was made redundant from his long standing job as a car auctioneer and set about starting up his own auction site on the outskirts of Leeds. Most holidays Dad would drive back there twice a week to run the auctions. Money was tight but that never stopped my parents from spoiling me. I still remember one year (1980, it turns out) Mum and I walked 3 and a half miles to the nearby village of Hunmanby to buy a Spider-Man Summer Special I'd seen there the day before. We couldn't afford both bus fair and the 40p comic below. It was one of the best comics I ever owned.

A couple of weeks back, I took Mum back to Reighton Gap for the first time in years. (Dad was invited too but he passed - "too many hills!") We stopped off in Filey for fish and chips then drove down the coast to park on the cliffs at Reighton, sitting in the sunshine and watching the sea.

The old bungalow is long gone, demolished years ago along with most of its neighbours. I expected it would have been replaced by more caravans but the site itself is mostly just a grassy field now, the odd bungalow still standing, but mostly empty land. The concrete path from the cliff to the beach has crumbled and broken up and the old WWII sea defences have been bashed to sand by the sea. Reighton Sands holiday village remains, just over the rise, but all the old shops with their spinner racks of American comics have disappeared and the slot machine arcade where I played Pac Man, Space Invaders and Dragon's Lair has been replaced with a flashy bar. It's all changed from when I was a kid; all except the view from those cliffs. Some things are forever - the sky, the sea, and how much I love my mum and dad.

The Cats Of Kefalonia

Stray cats rule Kefalonia. They prowl the streets between the outdoor cafes and tavernas, waiting for cat-loving holiday makers to share tasty morsels with them. They hole-up for the night in the old, deserted pre-earthquake buildings that are slowly sliding into picturesque ruin around the island. They lounge in the sun, climb vines in futile attempts to capture collared doves, and occasionally scrap with their rivals for territory.

Here are some of the cat characters we met on our recent holiday...

This is Groucho. You may be familiar with the Cats That Look Like Hitler website wherein people post pictures of... erm... cats that look like the Führer - or Kitlers, as they're more affectionately known. Well, Groucho didn't resemble Hitler. He was one of many cats in Assos who looked exactly like Groucho Marx. Miaowcho!

Here's Groucho again, lounging in his favourite spot - beneath a giant statue of a cigar erected in his honour in the town square.

At least, I think that's what it was.

The best thing about Groucho was that he wouldn't join any club that would have someone like him as a member.

The cat above was known as the Sun King. Unlike the majority of his peers, the Sun King didn't need to go scrounging round the restaurants of Assos for his meals... people brought his meals to him. He spent his days snoozing in the sun on this roadside bend just above the beach, waiting for his loyal subjects to bring him food. So much food... he didn't know what to do with it. But no other cats came to steal his stash. Because he was the Sun King, worshipped by all.

Finally, this is Ginger. Ginger was the raggedy-old, scraggedy-old bagpuss patriarch of the Kefalonian cats. Like a retired prizefighter he prowled the streets, scrapping occasionally with young upstarts who thought they might make a name for themselves by taking him down, then turning on his weather-beaten charm to impress the dining humans. He sprayed his scent to mark his territory wherever he went... rumour had it that one night he climbed up onto the awning above one of the tavernas and let his mighty wee rain down on everyone. A sight to behold, to be sure... we were almost sorry to have missed it. Almost...

Best Holiday EVER!

Posting has been erratic this past week or so as I've been away from a computer, sunning my ass in Assos, Kefalonia. Here's me looking particularly smug in my Little Lebowski Urban Achievers T-shirt at our holiday destination of choice.

Over the week, we enjoyed good weather, delicious Greek cuisine, luxury accommodation...

...and even quality car hire!

But don't let that discourage you. If you want a peaceful getaway in the sun, I can't imagine anywhere better than Assos. This was the view from our terrace garden... 'nuff said!

Robin Hood's Bay

So I wasn't here yesterday. Or the day before. Or Sunday. (Not that you'd have noticed.) Instead, we were in Robin Hood's Bay, between Whitby and Scarborough on the North East coast.

I've visited Robin Hood's Bay a number of times but I do think you can only truly appreciate a place if you actually stay there. Although I've walked down the steep harbour road and admired the higgledgy-piggedly streets of row-upon-row of tiny cottages and grander houses built almost on top of each other, I've never really explored the village as much as we did on this visit.

Strolling these twisty-turny passageways you're never quite sure what you're going to find next. Another row of quirky abodes or a sudden dramatic view of the sea or harbour below. It's sad that the majority of these houses exist solely as holiday homes now, that very few locals appear to live here anymore, but it's still very easy to close your eyes and imagine yourself back in a time when this was a thriving community full of crusty old fishermen and their long-worrying wives, of smugglers and even pirates...

Robin Hood's Bay is a place steeped in legend, from its name which carries a story of Sherwood's most famous son taking a holiday on the coast to defeat French pirates... to rumours of underground smuggling tunnels that still connect these houses as the narrow pathways do above ground.

There's another thriving community at home here too - birds. Loud, fearless and territorial seagulls (we watched one chasing away a kestrel that may have been hunting chicks), sweet-songed chaffinches, and swarms of cheeky sparrows, a bird which is apparently becoming rarer in the towns and cities of the UK - perhaps because they've all moved out to the seaside.

It's a place that fires the imagination, there are stories around every corner, and those locals that do remain enjoy teasing the tourists... from the local shop that may delight in the name of Bob Killer's (ah, but is he Bob The Killer... or does he Kill Bobs?)...

...to the mysterious clifftop house with a spooky top-hatted face peering from the window one day...

...and even spookier faces the following day...

Robin Hood's Bay is a storyteller's delight. I'm certainly feeling inspired...

Giddy London - Is It Home Of The Free, Or What?

It's 20 years since I last set foot in That London (6th Form Art Trip - kinda like The Inbetweeners without the comedy) and the weather hasn't improved, nor have the queues... look at the grey skies outside the Natural History Museum (or "National History Museum" as some muppets behind us insisted on calling it) where we waited 20 minutes to get into the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition...

Well worth the wait though, particularly the winners.

Though we missed out on tickets to see Jeremy Dyson's play Ghost Stories as part of our Halloween trip, we more than made up for it with a big screen showing of The Shining in Hampstead's Everyman Cinema where tea and cakes are served to your seats... they know how to live in That London. Scarier still, who did we find sitting directly behind us in the cinema...? Only Frank from Donnie Darko...



Best use of a halloween costume ever, congrats to the lad who was wearing it - and sweating buckets for his art. It is rather hot in That London. Being from the frozen north, we forget what tropical conditions the south basks in - particularly on the underground. I've never been a fan of the tube, those hot winds and flashbacks to An American Werewolf In London (and Creep) bring on the worst of my claustrohypochondromisanthrobia. They really are a marvellous invention, but I couldn't travel on them in rush hour. And as we were staying in Belsize Park (a pleasant, leafy suburb where house prices undoubtedly start at 1 kidney and your eternal soul and go up from there), I was also forced to endure subway elevators. Maximum capacity 50 people!?! Thank god for quiet weekend traffic!

Still, travelling by road in That London doesn't seem much safer. Even the double yellow lines have been dyed crimson from all that spilled blood...

In the end, after fighting back the sloane-zombies in Harrods Food Hall (sauteed otter, anyone?), we were glad to get out and enjoy a little leafy greenery with a walk on Hampstead Heath. Here, on the third day of our visit, we heard our first Actual Genuine Eastenders Accents. Until then all we'd heard was American, European and the occasional comedy Northerner (that might have been me). Luckily Louise joined me in comedy Northerner mode when, on searching for a restaurant in which to dine, she screamed, "look - a Chinese!" just as one of its employees stepped outside for a fag. "I'm sorry," I explained to the potentially-offended Eastener, "we're from Huddersfield." He smiled, nodded, and replied "Cor blimey, guv - no worries, mate" or some other non-Northern slang we had to resort to our guidebooks to translate.

That London, then. A nice place to visit (really, we had a great time). But I wouldn't want to live there...

Where We Stayed On Holiday

Five Star accommodation as always.

More holiday stuff when I unpack my head.

Paralysed By My Day Off

I had a day off on Tuesday, and for a moment I was paralysed. There was so much I wanted to do! Not concrete plans like a day trip to the seaside or even a film I wanted to catch at the cinema (I can't remember a time when I've been less inspired by the choice of movies on release). Some of it was just basic household chores - washing a blanket, cleaning the mildew from the porch. I knew I wanted to go for a walk as it was such a beautiful day - but where? Then there was my proofreading course, I really needed to sit down and do some more on that. Obviously there's about a million things I want to write too, not to mention all the books I have stacked up to read, a few weeks' worth of TV shows on the recorder, a bunch of CDs I haven't had time to listen to yet... the list goes on and on.

I've reached the point in my life where time seems to be speeding up and getting away from me. This hit me for another reason recently. I was looking at all the books on my bookcases, so many of which I'm keeping to read again "at a later date". Yet how often do I actually get the chance to reread old books - even firm favourites? Maybe once or twice a year. The rest of the time, I've always got something new to devour. The same goes for music. One of the reasons I force myself to compile those top ten music lists is that it makes me go back and rediscover random gems from my record collection I might otherwise forget all about.

This is all to do with growing old. When you're younger, even in your twenties, time stretches ahead of you like an endless motorway. There'll always be time to do all the things you want to do - in the future. How often do we put things off when we're young because there's always tomorrow? An infinity of tomorrows. I wrote earlier about how much time I wasted in my youth watching shit TV. I mean really shit TV. Even shitter than Knight Rider and Manimal. Not even enjoyably shit TV. Nowadays, TV shows have to have real value for me to bother with them - or else I have to be doing something else at the same time (making the tea, ironing etc.) so I don't feel like I'm squandering my time. Because it's just too valuable to waste when there's so much you want to do... and the clock's always ticking.

The ironic thing is, you only realise this as you get older. But I'm only 38, and maybe I've realised it younger than many. Time is limited, and there's so much to do. I'm going to try not to waste so much of it in future. Now if only I didn't have to waste so much of it at work...

Holiday Catch-Up

Honestly, I take a few days off and everything happens! Lost finishes. Denis Hopper and Gary Coleman die. Jack Bauer goes off the deep end. So much to blog about, so little time...

I did consider adding to the morass that's doubtless already been scrawled in online blood and viscera about the last Lost, but in the end I prefer to let it stand. As far as I'm concerned, they delivered. I found it was a hugely satisfying conclusion both in terms of narrative and emotion. I can't imagine a more rewarding wrap-up, taking into account everything that's gone before. Yes, I could pick. I could niggle that this character or that didn't get the attention they deserved. I could wonder where Mr. Eko was (he wanted too much money?) but where would it get me? More than any other show, the Lost finale could so easily have fallen flat or failed to perform. It didn't. It made the whole journey feel worthwhile.

(See? That's me not saying anything and letting it stand.)



On from that, a few more highlights... and lowlights... from our holiday. Let's start with the underwhelming: Aira Force. Billed as the most famous of the Lake District waterfalls, a 20 minute hike led us through a pleasant forest of pine till we reached...

This.



I've seen a fair few waterfalls in my day, in all parts of the country. I love a good waterfall. But generally I expect a little more than a giant wee. For an area as breathtakingly impressive as the Lakes, I expected more from Aira Force. Maybe we just caught it on a bad day.

Far more impressive were the quartet of ducklings we encountered getting swimming lessons from their mum in Dovedale, Derbyshire. It's not that clear from the pictures, but they had to work their way upstream - a mini-waterfall that was in its own way far less disappointing than Aira Force - yet despite their tiny size and the speed of the river, they all managed... to cheers from the gathered spectators.




One curiosity we encountered both in the Peaks and the Lakes was the Log O' Coins. A large tree trunk at the side of the path with loads of 10 and 2p coins hammered into it... for no reason I could divine. If you've ever encountered such a spectacle, perhaps you know the why. Is it a good luck thing (a wooden wishing well)? Or something far more sinister...? Where's Mulder and Scully when you need them?



The guest house we stayed at in the Peaks was truly idyllic. The weather helped, of course, but taking afternoon tea and scones in the garden was like something from a dream... or Alice In Wonderland, minus the insanity.



But the real highlight of our week away was a little furry blighter called Dinky. Last time we visited this particular part of the Lakes, we met some very tame and friendly deer. On popping down to visit them again (they eat grass out of your hand), we found something even cuter. A newborn donkey. Again, the photos just don't do him justice - but sadly, this is as close as we could get.