Snow White & The Huntsman (2019 Edition)

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do / S’mae / Namaste

 

This week has mostly been spent preparing for and running examinations. I’ve recorded six listening tests. I’ve assessed 76 students in their oral English examinations. I’ve also ran 26 mathematics and English papers for my class. Yes, we’re firmly into the final furlong of the school’s academic year. Next week will be spent writing 26 student reports and seeing their parents. In some ways it is a pleasure to feed back how good many of the students are behaving and how well they are achieving. My class’s students will have reports based on a school report I had at a similar age. The sections will include:

  1. Attitude
very talented / demonstrates a great capability / increasing in ability / consistent / vocabulary impressive / grammar improving / understanding of work clear / thoughtful / focused / cooperative / enthusiastic /often overzealous / observant / strong / very creative / daydreamer / seeks information independently / good organisational skills / positively curious / passionate / great listening skills / energetic / often a model student / great eye contact and rapport
  1. Interests
  2. Handwriting
excellent / very clear / very good / good / satisfactory / improving
/ needs improvement / poor at times / poor
  1. Effort
Almost the same options as per handwriting.
  1. Recommendations
  1. Read English books or comic books. e.g. Roald Dahl, Dr Seuss, Judith Kerr, Michael Bond, Judy Blume.
  2. Watch productive English videos. e.g. Blue Planet II, Our Planet, Life on Earth, ManCity.com
  3. Listen to English music. e.g. BBC Radio 6 Music, Doves, Arcade Fire, Cherry Ghost, David Byrne
  4. Keep building up their confidence. This is the beginning and we can only get better!
  5. They need more self-belief! YOU CAN DO IT! We can do this together. We need you!
  6. Try to speak English more often. Raise their hand more often. If you don’t try, you don’t do. Practice phonetics/phonics/sounds/reading aloud often.
  7. Practice and improve handwriting. Copy words and sentences from difficult storybooks. Improve accuracy.
  8. Improve teamwork skills. Be more patient. Stop shouting out! Share more. Use manners often. Follow the class rules more closely.
  9. Keep learning! Make mistakes without fear! Talk English as often as possible. Stay curious. Ask questions and look at new things.
  10. Find an interest in cultures, history, wildlife, music, entertainment, etc. What? Who? When? Why? Where? Which? Do? How? Which?
  1. General comments
WORK/CHILDREN/ADULTS excellent / very good / satisfactory / poor at times / poor
OVERALL considerate / well-mannered / positive attitude / would benefit from a little more care and attention / sometimes distracted by others / sometimes needs help controlling emotions / needs further encouragement / expresses ideas clearly / bubbly / dependable

From this, the conversation with each student’s parents will last around 15 minutes. My colleague Cici will provide a great translation service for some but not all the parents.


The raging battle for Number 10 Downing Street’s hot seat goes on. Jeremy Hunt, Tory MP said, the next Prime Minister “must be trustworthy to avoid no Brexit”. He them went on to say he is trustworthy. Is he oblivious to why people call him an obscenity that rhymes with his name? A year as Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs, followed around 6 years as Secretary of State for Health and Social Care. Before that he was the Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport during a time when London held the 2012 Olympics. He was the Minister for the Olympics, having been Shadow Minister for the Olympics and Shadow Minister for Disabled People. Since 2005 he has represented the poor region of South West Surrey as their Member of Parliament. So what is wrong with 52 year old Jeremy Richard Streynsham Hunt?

Some would argue he is a cunt. Others just slip it into news broadcasts and interviews. As a son of a senior officer in the Royal Navy (Admiral Sir Nicholas Hunt), Mr Hunt hasn’t done bad for himself. His rise from impoverished Lambeth to the Houses of Parliament has been meteoric. It hasn’t been helped by him being a distant relation of Elizabeth II and Sir Oswald Mosley. Mr Hunt was educated at a school for the needy, Charterhouse. Here, as headboy, he read Philosophy, Politics, and Economics before attending Magdalen College – a kind of inner-city comprehensive blighted by gun and knife crime. Mr Hunt has been an English language teacher in Japan, on a TEFL-scheme but couldn’t sell marmalade to the Japanese. He needed to explore the Peruvian market.

Mr Hunt has never had trouble with expenses, rules, and has never had a topsy-turvy attitude to exiting the European Union. Nepotism and privilege are word unfamiliar to him. The News Corporation takeover bid for BskyB went well. Nor did he need to apologise over anything relating to the Hillsborough football disaster and national scandal by governments since. If he did, he could use his tax savings from his Hot Course project.

Throughout it all Mr Hunt has supported the NHS – even at the Olympics, via the proven science of homoeopathy, abortion control, chasing foreigners for lost money, hammering back any payrises for medical staff (the greedy undeserving bastards), and managed 231,136 followers on a UK Government website. He has dispensed helpful advice, championed experts, assisted Accident and Emergency departments, and backed extra weekend work. He has truly understood junior doctors, expanded medical care, followed peer reviews closely, without a worry about his own interests. After the NHS he backed the bombers and our bombs and has since battered the EU for being like the former USSR. How his Chinese wife Lucia Guo finds time to see Mr Hunt is beyond me? His political heroes are Hull-born William Wilberforce and Maggie Fucking Thatcher. Mr Hunt cannot be mixed up with the retired cyclist Jeremy Hunt because that 2001 and 1997 British national road race champion wasn’t a cunt. The now director sportif of Azerbaijani Continental team Synergy Baku Cycling Project. The cycling Jeremy Hunt would never refer to his Chinese wife as being “Japanese”. Bad stereotypes, talking about your own wife, and difficult rival nations aside, political Jeremy Hunt is a [INSERT EXPLETIVE HERE].

On the 24th of July, either The Right Honourable Jeremy Hunt or Boris Johnson will enter Number 10 as Prime Minister. The comedian and pub landlord sang. “If we’re going to go down, we’re going to go down together.” Knuckle down and strap yourself in, welcome to the new Blitz,. Snow White or The Huntsman?

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye / Hwyl Fawr / Dhanyabaad / Alavidā

Mum.

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do / S’mae / Namaste

To quote Salford’s Jason Manford, his autobiography is called Brung Up Proper: My Autobiography. Without the words my autobiography, that’s how I feel. I feel ‘brung up proper”. My reasoning is simple. My mother did a great job. Now let’s drop the word mother and never use the American word mom. Mum, that’s what I call her. That’s who she is. Always will be. Dad and Mum in spring 1982 did something that my imagination will not entertain a single thought for. About 9 months later, out popped me. Dad’s second successful sperm. Asa won the race in Dad’s previous marriage. Good luck at winning a race now Asa, I’m faster and fitter! I think. Anyway, here I was and Mum, previously known as Elaine became a mam, not mom. We’re not American.

Mum and Dad divorced before I was old enough to dash Lego away. Although, I last bought a Ghostbusters Lego set three years ago, so that’s no barometer for my life. Anyway, somewhere in my infant years at New Moston Primary School, I found out life was not going to be all happy families. I suddenly had no father at home, and Mum was left to carry the burden: me.

Mum juggled hard and cooked reasonably well. I grew. New shoes always found my feet, even if I was a titleholder at breaking those shoes soon after. Some of those pairs of shoes managed a whole week without damage. Once? Weekend Dad was there as often as he could be, but Mum was always there to pick up the crying boy waiting at the window all day. Mum would ensure I could see wildlife in the park and chase around for me, when I stumbled over fences to look at dead birds on forbidden embankments. The dangers that I encountered only made Mum more of a great guide. With my endless energy, I’d launch myself over the sofa into the walls and no doubt give Mum occasion to talk with the Social Services. Those awkward moments probably followed Corn Flakes mixed with washing-up liquid in the toilet bowls and peaceful baths in the sink.

Mum, accompanied by my boyhood companion Pup the wonder dog and Basil the cat (until he ran away, probably through ear trauma) raised me. The many days getting me to focus at schoolwork gave me somewhere to channel my energy. In 1988, my sister Astrid arrived and we’d all share the affections of a great mum.

After Mum’s circumstances changed, we ended up moving from Warbeck Road in Moston to Range Street in Clayton. Here life became a little more tough and bumpy. I started at Clayton Brook Primary School and encountered some bullying. I can’t recall too much of life there, just a few summer sports day events and my first task writing a list of words beginning with the letters st. That and the maths books being too easy.

Almost as soon as my arrival at Clayton Brook, life moved us over to Levenshulme. Now with a younger brother in Paul. Mum completed studies via the Open University and enjoyed many tough years working for the Citizens Advice Bureau, initially on a voluntary basis before going fulltime. Mum’s social studies course has served her well ever since. Her love of cacti, succulents, and the garden is in full bloom. Sometimes some stitching is evident amongst her growing hobbies. Mum has travelled more and more, even going overseas to Cyprus and Malta. What’s next for Mum? The world is still her oyster. My Mum is brilliant – and she can go anywhere and do anything she likes, especially with her own powerful mind.

Mynah interruption

This writing was begun on the 20th of June. However, I am continuing now, a day later, due to writer’s block. The writer’s block in this situation being a mynah bird. It dropped into a class yesterday and following some commotion, ended up bunking at my place for the night. The playful bird nibbled my ear a few times and released its bowels on my shoulders more than a few times. We talked, we laughed, and we played but thankfully today I have been aware that the school gardener is the owner. Some pesky students let it out of its cage. All’s well that ends well, right?

“In the information society, nobody thinks. We expected to banish paper, but we actually banished thought.” ― Michael Crichton, Jurassic Park

Anyway I think considering I lived in there locations before I hit puberty and struggled at university, the fact that I am not a street cleaner or serving French Fries in the American eMbassy is testament to how Mum has always been a great friend for me – and put up with my teenage and youthful mishaps for far too long. She has listened to my problems, given great advice and acted as a great example. Also, Mum likes good music – and that has influenced me greatly. Without James, REM and Pulp, Led Zeppelin, Scottish-born Finley Quaye, and others my life would be less colourful. Mum let me watch London’s Burning on a Sunday night, passed my regular 9pm bedtime from an early age. Other comedy shows and a few great movies were permitted from time to time. Mum braved rains and flooding to see Ghostbusters 2 with me at The Roxy Cinema in 1989, took me and my mate Neil to Blackpool, and gave me Jurassic Park and Congo, to date my two favourite novels.

“It’s hard to decide who’s truly brilliant; it’s easier to see who’s driven, which in the long run may be more important.” ― Michael Crichton, Congo

Mum let me hang out with Peter and Dan. At times there was trouble and the odd broken thing or two, but throughout we formed unbreakable friendships despite testing their resilience from time to time. These friendships gave stability to my life. Mum encouraged us all. That’s how I ended up at university and ever since then I have been trying to be independent and pretending to grow up. If I ever crack this life, it will because Mum helped me to do it.

 

Meanwhile, after a great friendly tournament managed by Aaron and Murray’s F.C. last weekend, we had a game versus a Korean team midweek. Both dates were roasting. 90% humidity and mid-30s temperatures do that. Work has been going deep into injury time. By that, the last few kicks of the game of work will involve exams – and I need to prepare one final science paper and then mark it. Next week is my final student-facing week. Summer awaits soon after. Kind of. Well, after Friday the 12th of July.

Aaron, of Murray’s F.C. and general Dongcheng fame, mentioned his mate had some goods impounded on their way from Oman. The customs rules for importing or deliveries to China state: anything marked as ‘Made in China’ cannot be sent to China. Good look returning things to China. When I told Aaron the story of some of my unrecived parcels to China, he said how I’ve had some interesting and weird times. Spot on. It is an odd place. Especially, to send a parcel.

In closing, I want to wish everyone a happy Shaun Goater Day. FEED THE GOAT.

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye / Hwyl Fawr / Dhanyabaad / Alavidā

Roy Keane: City Manager 2.0

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do / S’mae / Namaste

We should talk more.

Fresh from the las few weekends is a wee bit of world coverage of Hong Kong’s protests. This follows The Guardian, Washington Post, NBC, refinitiv.com and HuffPost, facing exclusion in China. Wikipedia died a death in China a few weeks back. The 4th of June events at Tiananmen Square and around the country in 1989 may be the reasoning. Even the British embassy posted things on social media around that time and found that they were deleted. Other news websuites such as Bloomberg etc tone down their news. The state of play between China and the world is always so delicate. Between the parent state and the special administrative zone of Hong Kong, it is tedious and difficult. To Hong Kong residents protesting is “in their DNA”. Still, that beats releasing a charity single by a bunch of overrated talentless popstars.

Don’t misread my message or think wrong of me, music has power to change. Without the battle of Liam and Noel Gallagher, we’d have a dull world. Noel Gallagher supported by Johnny Marr was ace at the Castlefield Bowl a few years back. Even Liam Gallagher was a great night at Old Trafford Cricket Ground in 2018. Both reminded me of great Oasis gigs at the City of Manchester Stadium and Maine Road. Heaton Park’s homecoming giog just before Oasis disbanded had support from Kasabian. But for me, music has lacked something in the years that have followed Live Aid and Band Aid etc. U2 and Arcade Fire support their causes and you can find evidence if you look closely at their event programmes of website. You won’t see the kind of brilliance in political digs that The Levellers and Johnny Marr master. Seeing the mesmeric Cherry Ghost in Manchester Cathedral should have come with a message. It was the house of God, after all. Music has power but like sport, and other forms of entertainment, it plays to the popular and the masses. We need the Super Furry Animals, SFA and Doves to kick off people’s thoughts more. The world would be better if the Foo Fighters held a political revolver every now and then. If Ariana Grande or Celine Dion sang about a cause, or backed the flag of Taiwan, it would be controversial but it’d get people talking.

Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson & co.

The Right Dishonourable Boris Johnson MP is one and every reason why everyone should be careful of politics. If Donald Trump can succeed, so can this blubbering buffoon. The good people of Uxbridge and South Ruislip voted him in as an MP. The people of Henley had got rid of him before. Ken Livingstone and Sadiq Khan sandwiched him as Mayors of London. He was Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs for almost two years. Boris, born of Manhattan, New York City is the child of an artist. His mother, Charlotte Maria Offlow Johnson Wahl has suffered from Parkinson’s Disease for over 37 years. She has also suffered from her son for around 54 years. Boris Johnson’s father Stanley is a banker. A proper banker. The world’s World Bank banker of bankers. Surprisingly he comes from the modest Cornish town of Penzance. There is a history of Turkish and Germanic blood. Boris has a journalistic sister and a brother who is also the MP for Orpington. Boris Johnson married Marina Wheeler, QC in 2016 and has since divorced his second wife. I’m unsure if it was to do with her stance on public law, including human rights or infidelity. Boris is known to be a bit of a player. The powers of politics are everywhere to be seen in the Johnson clan.

Boris Johnson is dangerous. He is not just controversial. He is inflammatory and he is well-supported. He is the Man Utd of parliament. His humour is clear. It gives him an endearing quality. But, behind his blonde hair and his cold shark eyes stands more than entertainment. Elitism, cronyism, dishonesty, sexism, laziness, racism, homophobia and more follow this stray dog of a political jouster around. He is a smart monster but a shit version of Winston Churchill, at best.

The environmental and conservation-supporting Stanley Johnson said his son Boris Johnson’s burka comments did not go far enough. Nor do Boris bikes, written columns, sharing your lovechild, saving a filmmaker, or being a great spearhead of London 2012. Perhaps his defence of arms sales is okay? Or his love of poetry? Or was it the spy that loved him? Boris does not fear China as a superpower though.

The incestuous adventures of parliament continues…

The candidates of the Tory Party include a one-time reformed cokehead Mikey Gove (probably in force with Rory Stewart), probably Paul Scholes, Jeremy Hunt, Sajid David, and frontrunner/mop-head Boris. I wouldn’t be surprised if Pep Guardiola’s cardigan is in the running. The final two standing get to run their Conservative Party – and be temporary Prime Minister until the next one (whether voted in using democracy or filling in the boots of someone legging it).

Former Secretary of State for Exiting the European Union Dominic Raab is out. His past at Jesus College served him well in his role as that minister for a staggering 4 months. Now he “can rediscover and reward the lost virtue of hard-work” as he now re-joins a “a fairer society”. One down, too many more to go.

Based on all this crap going on, I reckon come December Roy Keane will be Manchester City’s new manager assisted by Sir Alex Ferguson and his pet dog Wayne Rooney. Stranger things have happened. And that is, why Boris Johnson will be the next Prime Minister. Let’s get it out of the way. Let’s do something as a nation that may in the end mess us up so much, that we switch it off at the power socket, do a system reboot and crack in with a long-needed upgrade. We can always call customer support at the White House, or wherever and be back up running just after the Apocalypse that brings us to the Armageddon.

Other signs of the impending doom of mankind include: Lightning versus Seaside Resorts; footwear holidays; cats loving dogs; golf becoming a combat sport; UFC becoming the only means to gain a job in the banking sector; Marmite to be the national dish of Uganda; retro-modern-futura-fashion to be the new name of nudity; and the release of James Bond – Episode 25: The Phantom Menace

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye / Hwyl Fawr / Dhanyabaad / Alavidā

Preview one.

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do / S’mae / Namaste

So, today I learnt that if you the below into Microsoft Word and hit enter, something happens. Try it. Not amazing, but certainly different.

Lorem =(5,5)

In fact, I could not type it easily, because everytime I hit enter, it happened. Why did I need it? I didn’t. It just came when I was watching a YouTube video on how to make word clouds. Common words like it, the, a, and so on are removed. I wanted to see common words from this blog of over 301,000 words to see what words stand out. I imagined City and Manchester to dominate. The result is as per below (2000 most common used words):

word cloud blog 3rd June 2019 b

I did the same on the 120,000 word novel that I have written. Yet to be published. This is the first preview, in a way. Here is that result:

NOVEL WORD CLOUD

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye / Hwyl Fawr / Dhanyabaad / Alavidā

Round Our Way

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do / S’mae / Namaste


TOUR

Well, I’ve booked flights to return to Blighty on the 31st of July, with the return to China slotted in on the 15th of September. That follows four days in Yokohama (Japan) watching English Premier League Champions Manchester City, and a trip that takes in Nanjing, Shanghai and Hong Kong to see the City face West Ham Utd, Europa League-bound Wolves or Newcastle Utd and then Kitchee SC. It is expensive and beyond my bank balance, but you only live once, I think. Money isn’t all there is to life. If your nation is billions in debt and U.S.A. is trillions in debt, and you don’t fully agree with capitalism, then flip it, live for the moment and the future, at the expense of yesterday. We can always make more money, but we can’t make more days of living. Our species has had more warnings than we care fit. Godzilla: King of Monsters, even delivers this cheesy message. Just do thes best you can, and to quote Braveheart, every man dies, not every man really lives. Something like that.


IMG_5346.JPGI may die without offspring, and in debt but I’ll be damned if I will die unhappy. If I pass on a few smiles and some good advice along the way, then I am happy. Morbidly happy. I can’t wait to get back and enjoy summer with family and close friends. I miss so many good friends. I certainly miss my family. Homesickness seems to creep in as the football season ends, and my eyes firmly focus on a summer trip home. It has happened this way since 2015. This year my holiday is extended by a few weeks – and also, I will request Christmas off, to visit home. I need to see my family I owe it to them.


MANC AIRPORT ANNIVERSARY 2013 (25)Summer in the U.K. will probably see some football, London for the Community Shield, a few Premier League games, some Aberystwyth Town jaunts and whatever suits. I hope to see Bristol Balloon Festival when near our Ace’s. Chadderton Duck Race should be in there for Dr Kershaw’s Hospice. There has to be an airshow to visit. Perhaps some Tour of Britain cycling action, Vincent Kompany’s Testimonial game and a memorial tree planting. Everything is possible with your own powerful mind. Oh, and Doves near Acton town. That’s a must. Perhaps the Ramsbottom World Black Pudding Throwing Championships. Sadly, I fly back the week before Egremont Crabbing Fair & World Gurning Championships. Hopefully, I will find a way to see the great Lancaster Bomber fly, whether over Saddleworth, Southport or Blackpool, I don’t know!


I want to spend some of summer researching my family tree too. I know so little about my heritage.

gran and aunty sue

My Mother’s side:

Ivy Harrison was born on Densmore Street in Failsworth.  At the age of five Ivy attended Mathers Street Council School in 1930.  On April the 13th 1939 Ivy became a machinist making night clothes for Smith and Nephew (a Hollinwood based company).  In 1943 during the Second World War Avro Ltd. recruited Ivy to make munitions and aircraft pieces. Parachutes were also made. The war effort needed everything. In the wake of a recovering U.K. climate during 1949, Ivy married John Hitchin.  In May of that year, Carolyn Hitchin was born.  In 1955 John Hitchin died from a severe heart attack.  Ivy became a widow aged thirty.  And in 1956, Ivy’s mother died aged sixty-nine.

In late December 1956, Ivy remarried, to John Roberts.  John came from a long line of North-Wales’ Welsh men. Susan Ivy Roberts was born upon the 5th of October 1957. Soon after, Ivy’s third child Elaine June Roberts was born upon the 20th of June 1961. John Roberts died in my early years. My Gran remarried at the deathbed of her companion Ernest Freeman. She would pass away as a widow in February 2014 and leave behind family who miss her most dearly.

To be continued…

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye / Hwyl Fawr / Dhanyabaad / Alavidā

IMG_5346.JPG

Right here, right now

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do / S’mae / Namaste

 

This week I have been mostly singing about Champions. I could bang on about Trump, hatred, warships in Iraq, Liverpool fans, the rising octs of football or climate change. But today, let’s look at the dystopian present. The bigger issues in life such as waving a Palestine flag in the Eurovision Song Contest finale mean nothing to some, but much to many. Well done Hatari, for adding something missing and Madonna, even if you are touching on archaic status. Nothing says ignorance and cultural genocide like a nation ignoring disputed territories and a region actively fighting for space and land, at another race of people’s expense. Instead of using the competition as a voice for conversation about the future, the The European Broadcasting Union (EBU), most of the obling contestants and huge groups in the audience chose something else. Ignorance. The same feeling that I reserve for this popular form of talent contest. The thought police have won.

Doublethink this newspeak will you? Tommy Robinson, AKA Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, AKA Andrew McMaster, AKA Paul Harris, AKA Wayne King is making the news at an unprecedented level. This unparalled exposure ranks up there with thinking Manchester City could complete a domestic treble, as thought two decades ago. Extraordinarily, the far right is on our shores. The Pegida organisation (Patriotic Europeans Against the Islamisation of the Wes) is right here, right now, dividing, standing and conquering. The next step up or down from Nick Griffin won’t fade away, despite the fact he has a list of convictions and allegations as long as two arms. This twat holds the post of Special Political Advisor for the Leader of the UK Independence Party, Gerard Batten. Batten himself came fifth in Maidenhead’s General Election. He was so bad that his 871 votes barely registered alongside Theresa May’s 37,718 votes. Tommy Robinson sounds like a man of the people. He steals pseudonyms to gain popularity and sound like he is just an everyday geezer from down the pub.

Eric Morecambe must have bene turning in his grave. Fired from an engineering job for assault, Tommy Robinson, served time in the old nick. He joined the British National Party. It was around then that he adopted a Luton Town football hooligan’s name. He doesn’t believe himself to be a racist – and even supports Israel etc, yet time and time again the news shows this to be a contradictive trait. The English Defence League was formed in 2009. They’re a dangerous bunch of ex-and-current-football hooligans. They’re radical against radicals, but also closer to Batman on the vigilante front. Are they racially motivated and full of hate? You decide. The European Defence League followed. It sounded like the UEFA Champions League for fullbacks, but in fact it is anti-Muslim.

Robinson has done some good stuff too. On November the 8th 2011, he was found protesting at FIFA’s headquarters in Zürich about the fact that FIFA wouldn’t allow England to use the Remembrance Poppy symbol wasn’t a bad move. The BBC series When Tommy Met Mo, followed the far right knobhead in his meetings with British Muslim political commentator, Mo Ansar. This apparently led to him exiting the EDL and going on to live happily ever after. Or not quite, he has been found supporting people under threat of conviction time and time again. Wherever there is an allegation that can be considered antisemitic and racist in nature, Robinson is one right arm with a Sieg Heil away. Or so it seems, according to the media and every Tommy Robinson tracking Twitter account. Using phrases like, “I’m not justifying it” or “violent and cursed book” alongside mosques and the Quran has been his calling card.

Historian Barry Mehler learned that the dread of some kind of threat to the ‘white race’ in the years that followed World War II. The scientific community responsible for Nazi collaboration and eugenicists previously at home finding ways to wipe out threats were talking and finding ways to launch a comeback career. Very much like Take That and Boyzone seem to do every two months. Diversity and multiculturalism came back to the U.K. in the good times of financial growth and job prosperity. And then jobs slipped away. A new so-called pure and white Poland is being pushed. Russia and China defend traditional values. Alternative für Deutschland is here. Trump’s campaigners and coworkers are guilty of hate on a daily basis. Angela Saini’s article about racism and modern science is alarming.

Big Brother may like to throw this unperson into Room 101. Robinson appears bigoted and loves to stir hatred. His language has propelled and fed hate. He has directly influenced Darren Osborne using his vehicle to ram an attack on worshippers by the Finsbury Park Mosque. In doing so, he has acted as an enemy of the people – and an enemy of the state: the U.K. and all its beautiful tapestry of multiculturalism. Am I being harsh? Maybe I have been brainwashed, just like Tommy Robinson does on social media. If there is a weakness and a refugee is in need of criminalising, then Tommy will find it. His network of facists sit on social media mixing shit, sharing shit and generally causing shit. These people have the balls to accuse Daesh (ISIS/ISIL etc) of preying on the weak. Facebook banned Tommy Robinson from its servces for something accounting that of ‘dehumanising language’, in particular ‘violence targeted at Muslims’. There aren’t enough sentences that can be etched to show the staggering numeric volume of shite posted.

The EDL slogan is Latin, In hoc signo vinces’ which means ‘in this sign you will conquer’. The beauty of language is used for the banner of hate. Their palingenetic ultranationalism seeks rebirth. A new slate. A clean sheet. They act with populism for their selfish interests and full of hate. They make genuine everyday people afraid of English nationalism. The days of celebrating St. George’s Day have long gone. Fear surrounds it. To fly the white flag with a red cross, may make you associated with that of those full of anti-Islamism, Islamophobia and other racial division. Alan Lake is their latest leader, and even he uses a pseudonym. Just like Bruce Wayne, there is darkness below the surface and we’re not talking Robert Pattinson dressed as Batman. Adolf Hitler and his ideals are closer to this former Pacific Capital Investment Management director. The 4 Freedoms website he has founded was pure hatred. His claws in the network of hate that features Tommy Robinson are worrying. U.S. billionaires, think tanks, foreign investment, misuse of charity donations and supporter actions of the EDL and Tommy Robinson have been bankrolling hate.

Education, debate and sensible measures to ensure extremism isn’t on our shores are important. The sad fact is that we live in increasingly uncertain times. Jobs, security, housing for all, and many social issues like homelessness dominate the British way of life. Those who have and those who don’t are scattered throughout the land. Working class distractions are increasingly becoming a middleclass luxury. The days of watching football, and live music are increasingly becoming credit card purchases over living within your means. Fewer and fewer people understand socialism or the left side of the political spectrum. The Labour Party went central for too long and the Liberal Democrats are reborn, but even they seem central. The U.K. is a blur of uncertainty, false truths, lies, and misunderstanding. Wasn’t the Weimar Republic like this once?

Their two minutes’ hate is not just found online. It has crept into society and swept across the nation. Now, the silent far right will voice more frequently. The hidden minority are undercutting worries and exploiting our weak political groups. Pseudonyms are popping up everywhere. Maybe it is to high from potential frausters and protect their own interests, or perhaps, just perhaps, hate is more acceptable under a username. Perhaps this writing will slip into a memory hole later today, and my username will be erased forever. A block of more than 299,500 words gone. Your telescreens won’t remember me, because 2+2=5. This week Tommy Robinson, following thousands of flyers being delivered throughout northwest England, stands for MEP in the European elections. His seat is hoped to be the north-west of England. I hope that the region votes others, in a clear “fuck off” to him. If not, welcome to InfoWars and 1984. We’re all fucked.

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye / Hwyl Fawr / Dhanyabaad / Alavidā

Thoughts on courage.

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do / S’mae / Namaste,

Bravery and tragedy seem to sit hand in hand, side by side. Wherever the former is, we’re usually shown the latter in the news. Tragedy sells. Courage, valour or bravery is not always frontpage news on its own. Superman’s cape draped over a chair sells better than him saving a kitten from a burning oil-tanker out in the worst waves imaginable. Some tragic news brings apathy – because let’s face it, much of the news we see is grim – and often, as is the way of the multimedia age and global connectivity. Sometimes we need to turn a blind eye. There can’t always be happiness and suffering are a worry many carry. The news does not shy away from such tales. It reports in all manners about lust, jealousy, hatred and hostility in equal-ish measures. What we choose to empathise in is up to us, as an individual.

On Monday, in Sìchuān [四川], a region renowned for spice, pandas and Kung Pao chicken, around thirty firefighters were killed. A huge forest fire engulfed them – and none could escape the path of the fireball. 700 brave firefighters had been trying to control the fire for several days. Sichuan is home to Manchester City’s new partnerclub Sìchuān Jiǔniú [四川九牛] who play in the provincial capital of Chengdu. I’ve grown up on a diet of London’s Burning, the TV show, famous for portraying the hardwork and lifestyles of firefighters. I almost became a firefighter myself, but instead, opted to go to university instead. I have firefighter friends. Around 343 fatalities from the 2,996 deaths on ro around September 11th, 2001 were those of the New York Fire & Rescue Services. Firefighters occupy a community of selflessness and put themselves between dangers and the everyday soul trying to survive. Some pay that ultimate sacrifice. On top of that, their mental health is affected and levels of suicide is higher amongst them than the general populous. Firefighters who faced the Grenfell disaster or other such tragic emergencies will surely lose a piece of themselves.

SICHUAN MESSAGE

Humans have always worshiped heroes. They may be Gods, they may be comic book figures, or they may have been very much real. Religions have plentiful heroes and examples of bravery. Some, like Islam, show control as a huge auxiliary to courage, in tackling the devils of life and spirituality.

Some religions and governments push embarrassment and disgust through their guidelines, wording and morals. That’s how stones become a weapon of execution in Brunei, right? Don’t worry, they need witnesses or a confession. Sorry, Brunei but your rules are cuntish at best. How do the private actions of individuals that cause no damage to those around you, affect your leadership or government or religion? It is utter bullshit. The Sultan of Brunei is cunt. I challenge him to a public conversation, face to face. A debate. Let’s get his problems out in the air – and his government’s worries. Come on Mr Sultan Haji Hassanal Bolkiah Mu’izzaddin Waddaulah ibni Al-Marhum Sultan Haji Omar Ali Saifuddien Sa’adul Khairi Waddien Sultan and Yang di-Pertuan of Brunei Darussalam, let’s talk. If you want to experience sedition, I’ll fight for another (woman’s or) man’s cause, with words. Give me my chance to show courage. I’m not writing from boredom but from contentment to your new laws. I hold these law in contempt of humanity. I’ll feel disappointment if you do not reply. I won’t be surprised as anywhere that amputates hands for thefts, brutally punishes minors for petty crimes and completely fails to prevent human trafficking. Their intrays must be overflowing with requests.

I always wonder if such laws are caused by boredom and loneliness or perversed arousal from power over the people. Do they grip panic at allowing too much freedom? Well at least we have Amnesty International, Human Rights campaigners and others to renew our faith in humanity. Again, they are all courageous. All too often they’re fighting for voices in former British protectorates, colonies and places rich in resource. The 159th member of the U.N. are a case in point. Perhaps the U.K. could withdraw the Nepali Gurkha battalion and other military personnel stationed within Seria. But U.K. interests in Brunei probably only stretch as far as having a stopover airport on the way to Oz and New Zealand.

慈故能勇 cí gù néng yǒng loving causes ability brave

 Socrates said a hero is, “a man willing to remain at his post and to defend himself against the enemy without running away” but back then gender inequality was rife. There has been an acceptance and anticipation throughout history of multiple religious saviours and possibly an end to suffering by a higher being, or two. I prefer to think that we alone can save ourselves. Many individuals work in conservation and humanitarian aid. There’re more heroes than we see in movies. They just don’t attract the same desire or curiosity. On a heroic front, Brunei were the first Asian nation to ban shark finning. So, every cloud can have a silver lining – it is all a matter of perspective. Some British Indians hate our new five pounds notes, because Sir Winston Churchill is on there. His willingness to let courageous Ghandi die on a hungerstrike and his general lordly attitude over the “foul race” of Indians and their own fault for “breeding like rabbits”. He wasn’t at all nice to Indians or Bengalis, or Hitler and co (but Adolf certainly deserved it up ‘im). His legacy can be hugely criticised. For me, the Royal family are the same – and Queen Lizzy the 2nd is on one side of the note. That’s history. It is more grey, than black and white. At least with busts, notes, books, documentaries, and more. Otherwise we’d not learn that King of the Belgians, Leopold II of Belgium was a bit of a bastard. Think millions of deaths.

Sir Winston Churchill said of courage many things, but he as both the hero and antihero, cannot be denied his power to compose and express. Courage over risk needs a personal fear to be conquered or managed. There may be deliberation but eventually an intention to act will be made. The courage could be as a perceived good act – or one that is believed to be noble. As noble as a lion or as strong as myself resisting a box of fresh raspberries. Okay, the rapsberries are gone. Not a fine example of strength, but moreone of my own humiliation at not enduring a test. The rage I have in not allowing a punnet of raspberries making it from the fruit shop to my apartment door. Okay, I show no remorse. Just resentment. Okay, not that. Sorrow that the raspberries have gone.

“Courage is rightly esteemed the first of human qualities because it is the quality that guarantees all others.” – Sir Winston Churchill

Emotions are strong things. I have an affection for those who are brave – and selfless. It gives me angst that maybe I’ll be called upon to do my bit. How will I react? I am in awe of thise capable of freezing their minds and cutting away from anger, anguish, annoyance, anxiety, despair, disgust, fear, frustration, grief, horror and shock in order to save other people – especially when they are unfamiliar with such strangers. That curiosity of my mind wonders how their self-confidence dominates pride and creates a social connection that rejects self-interest. The ecstasy of saving life must further create an anticipation of joyful hope. They never seem to panic or show over confidence, these superhero firefighters. They’re like you and me but made of stronger stuff, at the same time. They’re courage in a bottle. The bottle cannt be procured at a cornershop. It is ingrained in years of enthusiastic service. Our gratitude may be given from time to time, but these service people don’t look for merits and commendations. They get their heads down and do their jobs. Euphoria one day. Sadness the next. Depression waiting around every corner. I don’t envy firefighters. For they have a rainbow of emotions to contend with. It’d give me anxiety! I don’t pity their choice of occupation, but I do pity their salaries. Some risks deserve more surprise and trust. I feel guilty that the U.K.’s elected government is too busy wasting money on things that could fund those who put themselves in truly adverse situations. It is an outrage that the masses have such a little voice to show pleasure and show little passion in looking after our own heroes. Just like the environment, we’ll miss it all when it’s gone.

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye / Hwyl Fawr / Dhanyabaad / Alavidā

Ruptured Earth.

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do / S’mae / Namaste

Climate change is a phrase we hear all too often, but do we really listen?

“Our planet, the Earth, is, as far as we know, unique in the universe. It contains life.” David Attenborough –The Living Planet (1984)

Sir David Attenborough is the gentle voice of BBC Wildlife’s successful department. Soon he will present what he terms as an urgent documentary. In spring, BBC will air Climate Change – The Facts. Now facts are often questionable and open to interpretation or accusation of being fake news. I vehemently hate that term: fake news. Bullshit is bullshit and fake news is a tosser denying criticism. The world’s population more than doubled since 1950. Prove me otherwise.

“If we [humans] disappeared overnight, the world would probably be better off.” David Attenborough – The Daily Telegraph (12/11/2005)

Sir David Attenborough is 92 years of age. He could retire. He could kick back and count the letters that follow his name (OM CH CVO CBE FRS FLS FZS FSA FRSGS). He could reflect on his two brothers John and Richard, or sit down and listen to his relative Tom in The Tigger Movie. The Attenborough clan permeate the world of stage and theatre. Sir David’s father had once been the principal of the University College, Leicester. It could be said that his family haven’t done bad. They don’t need to work at Primark or Spar to earn a living. Yet no, Sir David, cracks on. He opens debate, he fuels fires which need dousing. The young Sir David would carry his passion to this day for wildlife and nature. However, in recent years he has become a leading voice for global concern. An unqualified expert. The people’s champion for change.

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“This is the loneliest and coldest place on Earth, the place that is most hostile to life.” David Attenborough – Life in the Freezer (1993)

As a primary school student in the 1980s and warly 1990s, I would always hear about the Greenhouse Effect and Acid Rain. Spray deodorant and cans suddenly became friendlier. Keep Britain Tidy campaigns swept through classrooms and eventually the streets of Manchester. Trees were planted, like what Peter, Dan and I planted with BTCV in Highfield Country Park, Levenshulme. To this day, I take pride in seeing that little difference, everytime I walk there. There was talk of a future with mysterious windpower and cars would all be electricy-powered. As time went on, we’d attend seal clubbing classes, where we learnt that seals had no interest in dance music and nor did we get a technique on how to bash the cute creature’s skulls in, essentially we heard of the horrors people go to to make a jacket and a steak. Almost Everyday Shit™ seemed to be up against things not necessarily in our own paved backywards but effecting man (or woman… or other) around the corner, or further afield. Even as far as Hyde or Belgrade. Suddenly, I found myself in secondary school discussing Not Really Quite Everyday Shit™. Teenage boys had to stop grabbing their flacid cocks and the girls had to stop doing whatever it is that girls do. We were the future generation and hope. It was our responsibility. But, evidentally, we fucked up. Not Really Quite Everyday Shit™ didn’t go away. Now the next generation could be the last generation with a chance to fix it. Sir David Attenborough said so.

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“Ever since we arrived on this planet as a species, we’ve cut them down, dug them up, burnt them and poisoned them.” Sir David Attenborough – The Private Life of Plants (1995)

On present day Earth, we can probably divide people into three camps. Within those camps, there can be further division. Division is important. Camp one is classed as the deniers. They’re useless as a voice and obstructive. They possibly have vested interests in wealth. Camp two are the changers. They need to be heard. They seek to make a difference. Competively they can make a lot of noise against camp one. Camp three are too busy, simply looking after number one, or their families or feel unable to make a different. Camp two often feel that they are too selfish and ignorant. Camp one enjoys their silence. Camp three probably recycle but couldn’t be depended on to ask for recycling bins to be installed. The camps are unclear and people fluctuate from camp to camp, mostly due to discomfort, lack of clarity and by way of reaction to Almost Everyday Shit™ changing to something outlying and worrying.

“It seems sad that on the one hand such exquisite creatures should live out their lives and exhibit their charms only in these wild inhospitable regions. This consideration must surely tell us that all living things were not made for man, many of them have no relation to him, their happiness and enjoyment’s, their loves and hates, their struggles for existence, their vigorous life and early death, would seem to be immediately related to their own well-being and perpetuation alone.” The Malay Archipelago (1869) – Alfred Russel Wallace

We’re aware of plastic bottles as a problem. Everyone is. The bloody things are everywhere. I am guilty too. Sometimes, they’re unavoidable for hygiene reasons. I try my best to deposit them in recycling bins or places that I know someone will take them for recycling. But what if say Theresa May [Insert Prime Minister here], Donald Trump (unlikely) or Xí Jingping [习近平] banned disposable plastic bottles at source. The factories. That’d be the place. Keep them away from people. Permit reusable, and deposit-based larger bottles that must be returned, cleaned and recycled by any means. Take away anything below a certain capacity. Plastic must exit the ecosystem. It needs us to remove it. There are many ways to do so.

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“we can ensure that there is still a place on Earth for birds in all their beauty and variety – if we want to … and surely, we should” The Life of Birds (1998) – Sir David Attenborough

History has led us from the past to the present. It was a simple linear transition, unless you are Tom Cruise and his associates. Is Scientology a religion or cult? [Let’s discuss that one day, hopefully without fear of cyber-attack reprisal] Well, we’re here in the Anthropocene. The age of the human. Homo sapiens. Latin meaning wise man. We’re the only living human species. Things change and species often have a limited time on Earth. One thing we know, is that supersizing a meal at the American Embassy isn’t good for us. But, has that prevented overconsumption and stopped deforestation, because we no longer need a bigger paper bag? Have we learnt that overexploitation of lands leads to deserts and not desserts. How much weight does every fish in the sea have compared with that of the plastic in the seas?

“Instead of controlling the environment for the benefit of the population, perhaps it’s time we control the population to allow the survival of the environment.” The Life of Mammals (2002) – Sir David Attenborough

Opinion matters. I’m with Sir David Attenborough. Individual action is not enough, “real success can only come if there’s a change in our societies and our economics and in our politics”. The world’s temperatures (ask the Mongolians) may be soaring, and we are the likely cause. Planes, cow farts and all that are the debated and often argued origin. We need to think of ways to cut this crap down. Get on Three Seconds by National Geographic. A video with a message that we should think about. It has 287,319 views compared to The Crazy Nastyass Honey Badger’s 90 million plus views. The same honey badger, or one of the 12 subspecies, may be of least concern now on the conservation status but few are seen in Guangdong, and this used to be their ‘hood. Or will we all be another fossilised-brick in the wall, soon enough?

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“The fact that they are solar-powered means that their bodies require only 10% of the energy that mammals of a similar size require.” Life in Cold Blood (2008) – Sir David Attenborough

Perceptions of place matter. If a road is dirty, people and especially lesser-educated people will chuck their crap on it. There’s no snoberry in saying lesser-educated people intended. Some people have never had access to education in the ways that I have – and I for one was never going to go to Harvard or Oxford University, unless they needed a cleaner. This is the way of the world: the haves and have-nots. But, if Billy Billionnaire at Taxbucks Willing Avoidance Trade Specialists Ltd wishes to fund a litter awareness and education programme with the money they denied the state(s) that their Monopoly Conglomerate department sublet, then feel free to do so. Ultimately, your man (woman, transgender or other) on the street will be unaware of that plastic bottle’s effect on the river downstream or the air that they burn it into. We are capable of educating each other.

“If we and the rest of the backboned animals were to disappear overnight, the rest of the world would get on pretty well. But if they were to disappear, the land’s ecosystems would collapse.” Life in the Undergrowth (2005) – Sir David Attenborough

Politics is something we’re told to embrace. The complexity of an electorate and their representatives messing up and not knowing where to go, is seen globally. See, Brexit and the Trump administration’s political circus. So, how do we get those in power to focus on saving us as a species and those other species around the world that we could do with saving? As a British person, I know that writing a strongly worded letter to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), down at the U.N. isn’t a bad idea. But, if we all did that, we’d need a lot of recycled paper or energy to power those emails. Would they mark the emails as junk? Possibly. Do they deserve the Nobel Peace Prize for 2007? No. Okay, they did, but having to share it with Al Gore, hasn’t changed much, or anything. The inconvenient truth is that we need mass action on a global scale. We need laws and directives to stop bad things and create things of use. Taking inspiration from conferences and internal flights etc doesn’t help. Bringing a duster and a shovel to an earthquake doesn’t work. We need the masses for the masses. We need actions.

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“Every one of these global problems, environmental as well as social becomes more difficult – and ultimately impossible – to solve with ever more people.” How Many People Can Live on Planet Earth? (BBC Horizon, 2009) – Sir David Attenborough

Issues will always be a problem. There aren’t rooms for the 14th Dalai Lama to sit in with the Chinese Administration, or Northern Ireland to talk to the Republic sensibly. Turkey and Syria have beef. Israel needs to open up more. The U.S.A. needs to bring home a few fighter planes. The Church of Croydon may have similar problems with death worshipers from Norway. There’s a can of worms out there when two opposition parties have two ideals or beliefs that can’t flex. For us as a planet, we need to shed our differences and share technologies and ideas. Life is finite or infinite in some religions. I ask, does reincarnation, make you less worried or more? If reincarnation were true, there’d be X amount of total individual lifeforms on Earth, continually coming back as X amount of total individual lifeforms. So, in one generation there may be 6 billion people, but many centuries later there may be 6 billion cockroaches because 6 billion people can no longer inhabit the Earth. Does reincarnation stretch beyond Earth too? Does it include every microbateria or virus?

“I never never want to go home; Because I haven’t got one; Anymore” – There Is a Light That Never Goes Out – The Smiths

Proposed adaptations for humanity cling onto some Buddhist thinkings. We must be fully endowed with higher knowledge and ideal conduct. In other words, stay off Twitter. Get over to Bhutan and let’s learn a thing or two. Would controlling our ever-growing population be a good thing? We humans leapt from needing 200,000 years to hit the 2 billion mark as a species, to 200 years nearly touching 7 billion. Surely, that is far from sustainable. The current growth rate of 1.18% per year is expected to drop. Disease, lack of biodiversity, natural resource exhaustion, ecosystem imbalnces, environmental degradation, ocean acidification, global warming, and ecological crisis are terms that we will hear mre often. Overpopulation will test our mettle. Our resolve will lead to conflicts on a more regular basis as we battle the increasing heat and try our best to survive. If we act now, we can reduce that risk.

 

British scholar Thomas Malthus scribbled down in 1798 that we’d exhaust Earth’s resources for food by the mid-19th century. He was wrong. How wrong? Well he could have been out by a few centuries. Since then, expert after expert have delivered messages and issued warnings. Now with meta-analytics, computer models and sound studies based on huge banks of data, we’re creaking on the abyss. The U.N.’s Food and Agriculture Organisation carry the Latin, fiat panis (“let there be bread”) but there are more Fiat cars being turned off a production line than strategies to ensure bread can be produced sustainably. They say that in the next 30 years we need to produce 70% more food.

“Sometimes when this place gets kind of empty, Sound of their breath fades with the light. I think about the loveless fascination,” Under The Milky Way – The Church

Catastrophies are in motion. Pollen distribution is changing. Glaciers are receding faster than my hairline. The beetles are dying. Bees, the great pollinator of all life, are declining in numbers. The buzz is lessening. Fish are filled with plastic parts and we eat them. The fish are also ingesting our drugs and decanted chemicals into the sea. We’re making them infertile or causing gender imbalances. Every continent is under ATTACK. Every sea and ocean are under ATTACK. Even red crabs get attacked by crazy yellow ants introduced by us. ATTACK. We stamp and kick every stone on Earth and leave our mark, whether intentional or not. We don’t just leave footprints. ATTACK. We carve great big trenches and leave areas vulnerable to landslides, forest fires and things that stop us rolling out red carpets for fire-haired Nicole Kidman. The news will focus on Miley Cyrus losing her home more than that of a village in Syria. ATTACK. We’ve abandoned humanity and embraced celebrity and we’re too blind. Blind, blind, blind, blind, blind… as Talking Heads would sing. Still, a monsoon that washes a village of indiginious people who don’t buy Apple iphones counts less than someone from Yorkshire having to replace a flooded shed’s lawnmower. ATTACK. Right?

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To again quote Sir David Attenborough, “Surely we have a responsibility to leave for future generations a planet that is healthy, inhabitable by all species”. Will there be a generation born now, that when they reach adulthood, will no longer be able to see elephants or tigers in the wild? Why can’t a kid from Guangdong see a Giant Salamander anymore? Where does the boy born in Dongguan go to see a South China Tiger? Why do we have WWF for Nature, EDGE, and why do these kind of things tend to be charity and independently backed? Shouldn’t we learn from Botswana, Norway, Bhutan, Namibia, and Tanzania? Lonely Planet did.

“Trade is a proper and decent relationship, with dignity and respect on both sides.” A Blank on the Map (1971) – Sir David Attenborough

But, why bother? A nuclear blast, an earthquake or a volcano can cause more damage globally than a generation of people. Well, nature is nature. It happens. We’re the benefactors of our destiny, and we’re the keepers of our fate. Why not tidy up where we live? You don’t shit in your own bed, do you? Okay, that has happened to one or two of us and on old age, it may happen – but surely, we never choose to do so. I apologise to any purveyors of scat. Not the jazz singing kind – and not the word meaning go away, or the Indo-Pacific fish, that likely has plastic inside its system, either. Nor is it the Special Combat Assault Team, or the badly named Shrewsbury College of Arts & Technology. Don’t google it. Scatter! Why not?

“To suggest that God specifically created a worm to torture small African children is blasphemy as far as I can see.” Metro interview with Sir David Attenborough (29th Jan 2013)

We have the technology to do something. The wind turbines, the solar panels, the recycling plants, the nuclear fuels to shut down the fossil fuels immediately. We have the education to understand blue carbon, and models to specialise schools into specific fields. Imagine a super city, dedicated totally to environmental protection and species conservation. Every country needs one. Similarly, every country needs to consider that populations matter. If we don’t control ourselves, then nature will. Great extinctions usually work. An ice age here and there or a huge weather change. We can prevent that, if we really want. Or we can believe an all-powerful, all-merciful God created a parasitic worm that will eat through a kid’s eye? Let’s get over our beliefs and start doing something about the things we know about: the world is changing.

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“If we don’t take action, the collapse of our civilisations and the extinction of much of the natural world is on the horizon.” Sir David Attenborough (Climate Change Conference 2018)

Potential effects, very much like the warnings on a cigarette packet, include death. Actually, mass extinction and human total extinction are feasible. Extinction means forever. No more. Gone. Hatari and their pink elephant from Iceland will be happy suddenly. Human sacrifice, mass hysteria, or dogs and cats may love each other, as predicted in Ghostbusters. I wonder if in our last days of humanity that we become perfectly self-awakened, and say the words, in the style of Hinx (Thespian’s go-to-man Dave Bautista) from Spectre, “Shit!” The last human may send a Whatsapp message to an otherwise empty group – and with that the power of humanity may fade forever. Or we could start recycling, reusing, reducing and the other bits we usually ignore. As Tommy in Snatch said, “Proper fucked?”

Of course, I’m no expert. It could all turn out swimmingly.

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再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye / Hwyl Fawr / Dhanyabaad / Alavidā

Breathe with me.

You’re no good for me. I don’t need nobody. Don’t need no one that’s no good for me.
No Good (Start the Dance) – The Prodigy

Thanks to my school classmate James Cliff, in 1994, I was introduced to No Good (Start the Dance) by The Prodigy. In the following years Firestarter, Voodoo Power, Breath, Diesel Power and a host of othe tracks would be played on cassette, CD and nowadays on digital formats. Bass was essential. The Prodigy were far from being a Manchester band, but they filled the G-Mex (once again named Manchester Central) with ease. The thing with Manchester is that we know a good band – electronic, acoustic or so on. Music is in our soul. James Cliff copied me a tape of Music for the Jilted Generation. The next album, The Fat of the Land, was copied a few years after. This was an essential piece of the 1990s in music form. Big beat had arrived in style.

Exhale, exhale, exhale.

The Prodigy could be considered heavy by many, and by some, tribal. The early stuff was everything you believed and more. It added a punk dimension to the growing dance scene. Alternative, yet mainstream, in equal measures. You either loved it or hated it. I knew it was good music because my Mum appreciated it.

Yesterday Keith Flint was found dead. I’m sure the former Team Traction Control motorcycle race team owner, dancer and musician from London touched many lives through his output. It saddens me to see that The Prodigy’s website amongst other sources have stated that Keith Flint took his own life.


Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death globally. I can’t decide if it is brave, lonely, peaceful or a point of absolute detachment that feelings are so strong or weak, nothing matters. It must be the toughest decision in your life. The last act. All I know is that, the result, the ripples on the water, that runs far and wide. The sadness is very upsetting for all. Life is precious and beautiful. To lose someone is bad enough, but to lose someone who felt that was the only way is the worst feeling of all. We are not alone. You are not alone. I’d rather talk with a stranger and help them than hear about another suicide. That’s my selfish way. We need to talk more openly about the causes of suicide.

Desperation, mental health problems, and the will to die by your own hand need to be understood. Substance abuse, alcoholism, personality disorders and depression – and the ineffectivity of crisis lines are all open debate on how to solve suicides. The problem is that each case is so different, so individual and possibly simply complicated. Is assisted suicide humane? Is prevention of suicide inhumane? Completing suicide crosses moral, legal and religious boundaries – but ultimately it leaves absence. The ripples of the pool cast sadness.

Come play my game…

 

Keith Charles Flint (17 September 1969 – 4 March 2019)

Unified separatism A.K.A. Almost Everyday Shit™

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do / S’mae,

The U.K. or to give it its full title, the U****d Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland has batted above its level for many a moon. If the U.K. was a boxer, it would be Mohammed Ali in spirit but physically as tall as a five-year old Sherpa boy. Powerful nations in Russia, U.S. of A., the People’s Republic of China and India may boast population and resource, but the U.K. has one special weapon: Coronation Street.

The U.K.’s empire fell to pieces and global domination by corporations arose around the time Coronation Street actor Bill Roach was born. Something like that, I imagine. Then the U.K. let a few places go, under the old name of Great Britain, or the British Empire. Some places went from strength to strength, some struggled but overall most places opted to drive on the right side of the road, with that being the left side of course. The difference for former Empire countries and released dominions is that their exposure to the pacifying nature of Coronation Street has been undermined by something I like to call, Almost Everyday Shit.™

Almost Everyday Shit™ is something most British people have no exposure to. This is when some radical twonk, or some outlier within the genetic ensemble and base ofd Earth goes against the norm. They may stage a political upheaval, a coup, or an act of knobheadism.

Ever since 1578, the powerful ginger and then Queen Elizabeth I granted a patent to Humphrey Gilbert for discovery and overseas exploration. Britain started to steal lands. By 1913, the British Empire held power over 23% of the Earth’s population. The periods of time involved abandoned expansion plans to North America, Irish Plantations, slavery and numerous shipping companies. Britain invested heavily in sapping the East Indies, which ended up in bitter barneys with the Netherlands. Britain soon sought peace with William of Orange and the Netherlands fell into partnership. By 1720, Britain was doing quite well commercially. France and Spain were pests for many years. The battles with France at the Seven Years’ War and 1763 Treaty of Paris put shackles on the French as a rival. At the 1713-1715 Treaty of Utrecht, Spain took about two years to sign a deal to stop getting in the way. Something like that. Almost Everyday Shit™ swept across the Spanish colonies and French colonies.

By 1783, the Pacific was seen as fair game. So, Britain, having recently backed away from U.S.A. Jr. did just that and slipped a few boats eastwards. Almost Everyday Shit™ got in the way.

Just like those early British conquerers and forcers of learning English, I’m in China now and completely friendly like my forefathers. I bring with me cultural teaching and an attempt at wit, that probably falls closer to the term, Almost Everyday Shit™ – I can’t help it. I look through my goggles (beer not applied) at websites such as The Guardian [born as the Manchester Guardian in 1821], the Independent [founded in 1986 and for 8 years now Russian owned] and the BBC (a VPN is required now for the latter). Mostly all I see is Trump news, but moving away from farts, there is much more gassy news in this thing called Brexit. Firstly, I hate the term Brexit – British Exit from the E.U. because it sounds so childish. And it is. In an international market and a world experiencing division, we need more togetherness. Yet, here we have a divide and conquer move by the near right and central right of left wing. It depends who you believe. Conserve the status quo? Or, pretend it will save the N.H.S. money? Maybe even lie about it reducing immigration and asylum seekers. The whole debate was a farce of misinformation and deception. It was a bitter narrative countered by soft arguments and the British people voted to exit with a huge majority of 52% deciding the fate of all. Article 50 of the E.U. Treaty was invoked and as it stands Britain will go it alone from midnight (Central European Time) on 29 March 2019.

Frexit (where 45% voted to remain and a new vote in France is likely), a Dutch exit (51% votes to remain last time and another vote may follow) and Greenland’s loss in 1982 (where only 53% voted to leave) are all signs that globalisation is not a favoured subject, yet international relations are needed to avoid another Yugoslavia conflict or perhaps the Ukraine misplacing more territory. Almost Everyday Shit™ has been around for a while.

There can be arguments and conversations until the cows come home regarding the age of voters, a love for sovereignty, immigration concerns, those who feel left behind, a lack of integration or order, or perhaps an order that disregards traditional values and crushes innovation. General identity problems seem commonplace. I don’t see myself as English, British or European – I’m a Mancunian. An Academic, Eric Kaufman, observed there to be a strong correlation between a voter’s support for the death penalty and their selection to exit the E.U. Sorry to those who voted leave, but this parallel zealotry doesn’t speak for me. Moderation and debate have ended now, sadly. The ball is set rolling and the path of the ball could be bouncy, like a pinball, or perhaps it’ll take a strike at the end of a skittles alley. More likely it’ll leave the footballer with broken metatarsals and a desire to join a fanatical branch of the Women’s Institute. Almost Everyday Shit™ reigns supreme.

Older generations hark back to, “in my day” and “it was much better back then” – I’m sure it was much more romanticised when Spitfires and Vulcan Bombers were pouring off the production lines. Jobs, optimism and buoyancy had their arses slapped in the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s. As Great Britain downgraded to Moderate Britain, and manufacturing made way for servitude we all swapped Are You Being Served? for Downton Abbey, and in doing so, we all became servants to Mega Conglomerate – and their primary customer. Almost Everyday Shit™ became Almost Everyday Shit™. Did you question why? No, because you had an Apple iPad 9X-SUV edition with all the trimmings of a fucking all you can eat buffet. Well you made your bed and you can live in it, piss in it and crack on. Our grandparents survived the Blitz and probably spent most of it cursing bad weather. This is Britain and Britain will remain British in the sense, we all need to come together, have a jolly good knees-up and declare March the 29th our Independence Day. Like it or lump it, we are going alone, so why not have a new public holiday? An excuse to have an ale with a dollop of mushy peas on some fish and chips. Besides we can always be friendly to Europe. Spain needs our winter tourism. Germany needs our car demands. Italy needs our love for pizza and Greece isn’t a bad place to enjoy a mezze. Almost Everyday Shit™ had wars to fight.

All throughout the E.U.’s history, Albania has remained pretty much the same. Not unlike many other bitpart European nations, Albania has been largely overlooked. It is a twice rejected full member and labelled as a candidate member only. It doesn’t enjoy all the benefits. Why not? They rank higher than the U.K. and U.S.A. (by more than 60 places) in the Global Peace Index. What more does it need to do? The big club don’t want small members joining with ease. Fair enough but isn’t the union about unity? I’ve always been sceptical of the word united. Is being part of a bigger picture good or bad? Could local resourcing, local jobs and less environmental damage be a good thing for the U.K. going it alone? Will we turn to the great vast nations of India and China for a helping hand? Almost Everyday Shit™ can be strangely normal if we allow it.

I don’t care if the Union of Great Britain lives or dies. Nor do I care if the European Union collapses or strengthens. What I do care for, is togetherness and giving the people of the world a fair shot at life. To do that, to give a chance to all, requires a spot of social care and conscience. Do we have that now? Almost Everyday Shit™ is here and always has been.

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye / Hwyl Fawr

“Welsh Wales”, as Mum says

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do / S’mae,

Mention Wales [威尔士] to anyone from the U.K. and they’ll instantly have an image in their mind. That image may vary from a mythical place they’ve never been, shitty holidays in Colwyn Bay or the exotic-sounding-yet-ultimately-disappointing Barry Island, or Tom Jones. Stereophonics, Ryan Giggs and leeks may even come to mind.

To me, Wales was home for several years and forms part of my ancestry. I have a deep respect for Welsh pride and the diverse heritage. I also like castles, which is one huge reason to love Hen Wlad fy Nhadau [Land of my Fathers – the Welsh national anthem [国歌]. Wales’s land surface area [国土面积] covers 3,074,067m2. If the tide is out, then you may see a little more – whether sunken (think Borth forest) or lost lands (causeways). Wales has the highest concentration of castles per land and considering many are beyond ruins or have drifted away in time, this quaint principality of the U.K. has views like no other, often with a castle standing mighty. If there isn’t a castle nearby, then I guarantee a church, chapel or parish won’t be far away. Even the stones have stories!

民俗文化 [scenery]世界上每平方英里城堡数量最多的地方 The largest number of castles per square mile in the world.

The official languages [官方语言] of choice are Welsh [威尔士语] and English [英语]. During my time in the shadow of The National Library of Wales, I was encouraged to learn Welsh (Cymraeg). The library, surely one of the greatest, sheltered artworks, books and manuscripts during World War II. Located in Aberystwyth underneath the Penglais campus of Aberystwyth University, the views from the front door are dramatically panoramic. Here you can sit on a wall, over sweeping views, and read Aberystwyth Mon Amour by Malcolm Pryce. An ice cream, made of whelks, on a sunny December day completes the perfect picture.

March the 1st is a colourful day with leeks, flags and daffodils. As spring tip-toes in, the Welsh hold St David’s Day. A kind of St Patrick’s Day without Guinness. Their patron saint probably won’t understand novelty inflatable dandelions quite the same way. Like many great nations, food is important. Welsh Food [威尔士美食] is no exception. Ask for a Welsh rarebit and you’ll get cheese on toast. The historic pieces are laverbread (made from seaweed), cawl (a kind of lamb stew), cawl cennin (leek soup, they love the leeks!), (obviously from Wales) and cockles. Finish a meal with Welsh cakes, bara brith (a fruit bread). With most of the population near the sea, Welsh meals are often influenced by sea food. The Glamorgan sausage and Llymru (flummery, in England) are two treats to try. Like most of neighbouring England tatws (potatoes) make an appearance often. Tatws Popty and Tatws Pum Munud are the best examples. Maybe, ask Beca [贝卡] at the local café to cook some for you.

One fact that always seems to crop up is that Wales has more sheep than people. Its capital, Caerdydd [Cardiff 卡迪夫] has a population [人口] of just 350,000. Other major towns and cities aren’t anywhere near as big. Swansea [斯旺西], Newport [纽波特], and Wrexham [雷瑟汉姆] usually get a nod. Some villages like Hay-on-Wye host important folk culture [威尔士风景] festivals such as literature and music events. Even Chris Gunter is popular.

Wales is quite some place with lung-busting names like Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch and places simply called Pant or Mwnt. Chinese Tourists have created new names for difficult sounding Welsh places. Wales and China can have a bit of fun language exchange it seems. Angharad [安哈蕾德], Rhiannon [莱安诺] and Dafydd [达非德] have made it from the valleys of Glamorgan into the cities of Beijing and Shanghai. Welsh names are travelling. Also travelling from Wales are such great things as Doctor Who and Welsh-production movies. Following years of E.U. Objective One funding and near-independence of the principality’s government, Wales is flourishing. Between free prescriptions, university grants and Welsh whisky exports, there is opportunity galore.  Not bad for a country that lost its primary mining industries in a heartbeat.

 “来自中国的学生,亚伯大学欢迎你们!Welcome to students from China!”

Rhys [莱斯], Gethin [盖亭] and Lowri [萝莉] went into a bar. Don’t worry, there was no trouble! Ieuan [爱恩] was serving that night, because Nia [妮娅] had called in sick. She may have been off drinking with her mate Ffion [菲昂]. We’ll probably never know unless we watch Pobol-y-Cwm (a BBC and S4C TV production since 1974). My friend Tomos [托莫斯] told me that the show is all the rage in Wales. It has been showing as a drama on S4C since 3 days after I was born (so, it started on the first day of November 1982). The channel mostly has success showing rugby, international football and the Eisteddfod. SuperTed, Fireman Sam, and more recently FanBoy & Chum Chum found their creations in Wales via this channel. During my years in Aberystwyth I seldom watched S4C but I did meet numerous local TV stars such as Glan Davies. I can still recall writing his Welsh Male Choir schedule for their U.S. tour. Whilst doing that I was watching Hinterland, a very Scandinavian style detective piece set around Aberystwyth. Bethan [贝覃] was possibly the victim’s name, but I can’t remember…

The 28 letters [28个字母] of the Welsh alphabet [威尔士字母表] have always fascinated me. The lack of J, K, Q, X, V and Z can’t be any good in scrabble.

A, B ,C ,Ch, D, Dd, E, F, Ff, G, Ng, H, I, L, Ll, M, N, O, P, Ph, R, Rh, S, T, Th, U, W, Y

Wales is great for shopping [购物], outdoor activities [居住 户外活动], entertainment [娱乐], education [教育] and general tourism. There are Chinese language websites such as Wales.cn [威尔士]. To be a well-rounded tourist of student in Wales, is to open one’s eyes to endless possibilities and countless dreams. Wales is wonderful. You can find someone called Elenor [艾莲诺] and ask them.

选择亚伯的理由Why Aberystwyth University

My Grandfather came from Welsh lineage and sadly I know so little about the John Roberts side of the family. Stories of lobsters boiling in high-pitched hell gives me the need to learn more about my Welsh forefathers. If one thing that I learnt during my time in Aberystwyth University, it was the need to question and research. So, at least I can dig up the past.

“亚伯被投票选举成为英国最佳大学城,斯旺西大学赢得英国最佳学生体验奖。Aberystwyth has been voted best university town in Britain, Bangor consistently places high for Tutor quality and Swansea University has won an award for being the best student experience in the UK”

Sports [体育] in Wales include the usual array of popular sports. The World Bog Snorkelling Championships [沼泽地徒手潜水锦标赛] are eye-catching if not a little muddy. World class sports feature throughout the calendar: Wales Rally GB [英国威尔士汽车拉力赛], one day cricket internationals [国际板球比赛], mountain biking [威尔士山地自行车], and general cycling [威尔士自行车运动]. Walking [威尔士竞走], rambling and hiking are common too. The Millennium Stadium [卡迪夫千年体育场] is the premier sporting shrine housing music, football and the national sport of rugby. In south Wales you’re more likely to see Cerys [塞瑞斯] playing rugby than football. Her friend Sioned [秀内] in north Wales will equally likely be kicking a football and not the egg-shaped ball. In mid Wales, Catrin [凯特琳] is confused and can opt for all variety of sports. Equally her friend Elin [艾琳] could be uninterested in sport and find plenty to keep her busy. Just ask Alys [艾莉丝] at the local fish and chip shop. Wales has much to offer, just don’t expect a train direct from north to south on the west coast…

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye / Hwyl Fawr


Hwyl fawr ffrindiau,
Hwyl fawr ffrindiau,
Hwyl fawr ffrindiau,
Mae’n amser dweud hwyl fawr.
Twdlw a bant â ni,
bant â ni, bant â ni,
Twdlw a bant â ni,
mae’n amser dweud hwyl fawr.
Goodbye friends,
Goodbye friends,
Goodbye friends,
It’s time to say goodbye.
Toodle-oo and away with us,
away with us, away with us,
Toodle-oo and away with us,
it’s time to say goodbye.

Dongguan Vs. Manchester

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

 

I undertstand this is hardly a Batman Vs. Superman piece nor a Superman Vs. Batman script. Either way, to me, John, from that there city of Manchester, it is something that always makes me think. Manchester is home. It is my spiritual calling. Yet like places I have resided for a year or more, Dongguan now calls me and draws me back. Like that ex-girlfriend we all try to forget but can’t put of our mind eternally. You know the one. The one that got away. Not that I have that. I just hear others have that. I don’t. Honest. So, after Manchester, I lived in Aberystwyth (Ceredigion, Wales, U.K.), Plymouth (Devonshire, England, U.K.), headed back to Manchester before scattering briefly to Norwich (Norfolk, England, U.K.) before ending up here in Dongguan.

My time in Dongguan started in February 2014 at a township called Houjie. I moved to Changping in August 2017. Geographically, that seemed like quite a big move, which is odd as I left the U.K. for China, and that is a massive distance away. Stats can tell you anything and sometimes they reinforce the obvious. Looking around me, in Dongguan, I’d say this city is wider than any U.K. city; and bigger in many, many ways.

GEOGRAPHY

Manchester covers 243.4 sq mi (630.3 km2) whilst Dongguan covers 952 sq mi (2,465 km2). London sits at 671 sq mi (1,737.9 km2). Manchester has 2,553,379 people. Dongguan has a population of over 8,220,207 (just a few hundred thousand short of London). Manchester is the U.K.’s 2nd city. Dongguan is ranked as the number 8 city. London is the capital of the U.K. London has many underground rivers and surrounds the River Thames. There are ports, although many of historic or simple and small. By comparison, Dongguan has numerous ports as part of the Pearl River Delta megacity. Manchester has three rivers, the Irk, Irwell and Medlock – and a 36 mile (58 km) ship canal from Liverpool’s River Mersey’s estuary (this river starts in the town of Stockport, just south of Manchester).

TRANSPORT & ECONOMY

London has 270 subway stations and 366 railway stations. Manchester has 93 light rail tram stations and 16 railway stations. Manchester is the city that housed the first railway station and the world’s longest railway station platform (Exchange, Manchester/Salford boundary) at 2,238 feet (682 m) long. You could walk along the platform into the next station, Manchester Victoria. London claimed the first underground railway system way back in 1863. Dongguan has Dongguan station, Zhangmutou, Humen station, Changping has several stations but overall from Daojiao to the edges of Dongguan’s eastern outreaches there are collectively fewer than 30 stations.

London’s two airports (Heathrow and City) with four in close proximity (Stansted, Gatwick, Southend and Luton) open the city to the world. Manchester International Airport serves my home city. Barton’s City Airport gives Manchester two airports. Dongguan’s nearest airports are Shenzhen, Macau, Hong Kong, and Guangzhou.

HISTORY

Manchester’s history is deep. From Celtic tribes (the Brigantes), to Romans, the industrial revolution, German bombings in World War Two to present day terrorism, the city has evolved and throbbed with life and love. The Roman fort of Mamucium or Mancunium was created around 79AD (CE). The atom was split in this city. The first stored-program computer was built here. Attitudes have been born in Manchester, such as the formation of the Labour Party and the Suffragette Movement.

Whether it is sports, social impacts, scientific advancements, music, media, engineering, culture or architecture, Manchester has echoed around the world. Pop down to the oldest free library for such a feeling. Chetham’s Library is also where Friedrich Engels met Karl Marx. Marxism and industry have been felt in China for sure, so by default Dongguan was influenced by Manchester.

Dongguan is a baby yet has a history of human life tracing back about 5 thousand years, much like China! The city itself is but a few years shy of passing thirty [city status came in 1985], although Humen’s international impact stretches before 1839 and the First Opium War. Many local people understand this with respects to Anglo-Chinese relations. The city also proudly boasts guerrilla resistance against Second World War invaders. The move from agricultural to manufacturing arrived in the mid-1980s and has ploughed on relentlessly. The city has become globally important in a short space of time. I hear even NASA make some equipment here.

TWIN CITIES, DEMOGRAPHICS & ECONOMY

Manchester’s lack of coastline did nothing to prevent it being ranked the UK’s third largest port by 1963. However, nowadays the port has long been closed. That being said, shipping is opening on a smaller scale to specialist quays. Dongguan houses many overseas Chinese, coming from places such as Taiwan, Hong Kong, Macau and Singapore. Manchester and London are ethnically diverse cities, each with more than 58% Caucasian people. Manchester has a noteworthy Chinese population. Dongguan has a few thousand foreign residents linked to shoes, leather, electronics, furniture and education. London has been a twin city of Beijing since 2006. Manchester has held strong twin city ties with Wuhan since 1986. I’m not aware if Dongguan has a twin city or town but I assume it’d be Wolverhampton or somewhere obscure like Greenock.

LANDMARKS, ENTERTAINMENT & CULTURE

Manchester has many concert halls. These include the classical Bridgewater Concert Hall, the modern Manchester Arena, and nearby the Lowry Centre in Salford Quays. There are gritty and old buildings such as the O2 Apollo Manchester, Dancehouse, Roadhouse, and numerous theatres (e.g Palace Theatre, Opera House, and Library Theatre). Modern buildings sit side by side with old and creates a unique setting. Sports stadiums often host summer concerts. Outdoor concerts can also be found in large parks such as Heaton Park. London houses venues of great magnitude also, from the rotund Royal Albert Hall, to the Hammersmith Apollo to the huge O2 Arena, set in a dome. Parks always have summer concerts. Here Dongguan magazine is a good place to find events, as are websites such as Damai and Dongguan Today. Venues such as the Dongguan Nissan Basketball Centre and the Yulan Theatre provide a backdrop for major events. Square dancing appears to be the local thing, that and KTV at all hours….

EDUCATION

The University of Manchester, Manchester Metropolitan University and Royal Northern College of Music make up three universities in Manchester. By comparison Dongguan is swelling with hundreds of kindergartens, and schools. Numerous colleges and the Dongguan University of Technology [东莞理工学院] create a fantastic pathway for learning opportunity. Manchester is growing and seen as a competitor to the capital city. London’s education base is globally mammoth. It is a truly international centre of education with more overseas students than anywhere else on Earth. Educational institutions and professional faculties cover every subject and basis of life. Like Manchester and Dongguan, London has a huge number of schools, colleges and further education centres in every district.

SPORT

Mention Manchester around the world and few people don’t recognise the name for football. Manchester City play at the Etihad Stadium, a short walk from the city centre. Manchester’s second team, Manchester Utd. are located outside the Manchester-boundary in the Greater Manchester borough of Trafford. Manchester Storm and Manchester Phoenix are the two ice hockey clubs. Manchester Giants, the British Basketball Association contender. There are lower league Gaelic football, rugby league and rugby league clubs. The city has hosted the Commonwealth Games in 2002; The FA Cup finals (1893, 1911, 1915, 1970), the Football League Cup finals, the 2008 UEFA Cup Final, and games from the 1996 UEFA European Football Championship, 2012 Olympics football group stages, and 1966 World Cup. The National Cycling Centre (a velodrome, BMX arena, and mountainbike trail), National Squash Centre and the Manchester Aquatics Centre. Lancashire County Cricket Club adds to a huge history of sport around the city. World class events are commonplace in Manchester.

Dongguan is the national basketball city with many basketball arenas and the Guangdong Southern Tigers. The 2019 FIBA Basketball World Cup will follow in the footsteps of the 2015 Sudirman Cup badminton tournament and 2018 Asian Marathon Championships.

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Adventures at the Astralship?

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

Initially we were excited about our stay at the Astralship. It isn’t every day you stay in someone’s dream. That dream being one in transformation made it all the more special. On arrival we parked in one of the many spaces across the quiet country lane. The views southwards and towards the shadows of Glyder Fawr, Elidir Fawr (924m/3,031 ft) and Snowdonia’s wider ranges are dramatic. The weather can certainly enhance or remove the views.

The former Welsh chapel stands like a solid old block of Welsh rock. To the rear is a slightly newer extension, several neighbouring houses and a t-junction that is extremely lacking in traffic. Across the road, by the car park, are acres upon acres of rough farmland, abandoned farm outbuildings and pleasant noises such as birds of prey, sheep and the odd neigh from a horse here and there. Inside the chapel all amenities are provided. A toilet is located at the rear of the building’s extension. By the stilted-bedrooms (two-double and one single) is a spacious shower-room with laundry facilities. You can hang all your damp things outside or equally inside, if the mighty winds are blowing too strongly.

The village of Deiniolen is downhill, and to the right. A pub, The Wellington, and Costcutter flank a charity based E.B.’s café and coffee shop. There are bus services from Caernarfon through the village to Dinorwig (#83). The number 85 goes from Bangor to Llanberis. Capel Maes-y-dref and Pentre Helen are key stops. There are plenty of options to bring food or drink back to the airy kitchen. The table and worktops are perfect for salads and more complex dishes.

The location was ideal for scaling Snowdon via the Miners’ Pass, exploring the plethora of slate mines, museums and castles that litter the lands of North Wales. Further afield, and not by much, Cemaes Bay (I recommend The Harbour for food), ice creams at the Red Boat (Beaumaris), and wanders around Harlech Castle are all easy to access.

Eglwys Grist Llandinorwig stands just slightly lower down and the impressive spire gives a photograph or two. Afon Marchlyn Bach, Afon Goch and a tapestry of streams flow in close proximity. Waking up each day with a warm coffee, and opening the huge front doors to witness a picturesquely charming panorama of Welsh countryside wasn’t bad. The clear views to the Irish Sea on the coast just west of Anglesey are certainly there to be seen. The snug inside the superstructure and the office are armed with windows that carry histrionic views. The vivid interior décor gives a powerful excitement that also brings an element of calmness. Being stirred, yet tranquil is something I did not expect. Move aside budget hotels, hostels and so-called glamourous camping. This was a place that carried magic and it slips inside a shell of heritage, in a way that respects the cultural base it inherits.

The hosts Liam and Aglae went out of there way, were respectful and very friendly. Communication was simple, effective and plenty of advice for local conveniences was given. Their co-host Roger gave us the key and collected it afterwards. He left us a loaf of bread and some milk, alongside fruits and pointed us to the kettle for brews. You can’t beat that. Proper friendly! Thank you kindly for a wonderful place to stay.

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Grenfell atrocity.

 

Today, I should be focused on the World Cup entering a new audience in Russia. Or, perhaps City’s opening fixture at Arsenal in the 2018/19 season. Then there is the possible peace in our times deal of North Korea and the world. Or the rise of London Breed from San Francisco slums to first black female mayor. She really is phenomenal. Forget the raccoon that scaled a 23-storey building in U.S.A. this week. Instead the media suddenly reminded me of something which faded from coverage and seems almost to be hidden from the public eye. It is a crying shame. Just like ignoring genuine refugees and the Yemen war.

Grenfell.

  • 72 deaths. All could have been prevented.
  • It was not the fault of the emergency services.
  • Head of state, Primer Minister Theresa May couldn’t visit the site. The Queen visited. Prince William visited.
  • Kensington & Chelsea Council failed. They represent one of the wealthiest “Royal” Boroughs. Failed.
  • Gavin Barwell, Housing Minister at that time failed. He ignored an urgent fire safety review. Afterwards he lost his MP seat. He has since been promoted to PM’s Chief of Staff. £120,000 a year isn’t a bad reward for a retard.
  • Has a legacy or justice even got close? Fire prevention, control measures and a realistic reviews has not come (for hundreds of other UK tower blocks).
  • How is the Government taskforce taking over parts of the RBKC council functioning?
  • The independent review of building regulations and fire safety commissioned is deep under way.
  • Public inquiry hearings opened 14 September 2017 and have been adjourned.
  • Suicide has been reported.
  • Stillbirth has been reported.
  • PTSD reported also.
  • Homelessness reported.
  • Fire chief Reinhard Ries in Frankfurt, Germany, spoke expertly about the U.K. poor laws. In Malta, Germany, The Netherlands and Australia, they tore potentially lethal cladding down. Some even evacuated people whilst it was made safe.
  • Neglect, social division, underinvestment, transparency, media elitism…
  • 1973 Summerland disaster; 1991 Knowsley Heights fire; 1999 Garnock Court fire; 2005 Harrow Court fire; 2009 Lakanal House fire; 2016 Shepherd’s Court fire… This has to end – and has to count for something!
  • Lewisham had a fire in a 20-storey block housing 180 people last night at 4.14am. London fire brigade declared the blaze under control at 6.02am.

My condolences after this atrocity.

Definitely Maybe Almighty

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

Chinese New Year had reached Manchester and the great city delivered a colourful display of culture. It has done so for many a year and shall forever more do so. This year a giant dragon filled St Ann’s Square and activities spread over the city. The Almighty Sometimes provided an afternoon’s entertainment. The Royal Exchange Theatre have always been a bold and open-minded kind of theatre. They are open to all and test waters that others wouldn’t even think about it.


The Almighty Sometimes, as penned by Kendall Feaver, had been converted from though to words to a stageplay excellently. Katy Rudd, as director, and her team dropped a monster of a show into the arms of the watching. Tackling both language and the use of medication to chemically castrate those who battle their imaginations and thoughts, this production had sharp-edged teeth. Norah Lopez Holden is a beautiful actress, and her character Anna has a mind more wide and dreamy than most. The actress sucks you into her head and the character is someone you attach to, instantly. A Mancunian spin and by local actress Julie Hesmondhalgh (who you soon forget as playing Hayley from Coronation Street) and Mike Noble’s nasal tones as Oliver support a cast with actress Sharon Duncan-Brewster portraying Vivienne – the child psychiatrist.

Lucy Carter’s lighting, the simple set design by Rosanna Vise and striking sounds by Giles Thomas enhance Vicki Manderson’s movement directions. The dialogue, much as the original script, is gripping. It plucks strings on the heart if the banjo and jabs away drumbeats using smashing drumstick movements. Every ounce of sweat was bled dry from the cloth of the ensemble and towards the interval I felt tears run. They ran again, at least twice. The labelled main character Anna draws you in and tortures you in a way as bipolar as beauty and the beast could only be. It hurts. It makes you love. It kicks out. It embraces you. Such torture and cuh pleasure. I f**king hate this show. I love it equally. Ever imagined being someone desperate for independence? And I mean painfully desperate. The spot by wit’s end identified as critical and inconsolable. That bursting recklessly easger point of extreme anxiety? Anna will take you there. Not only that but the complexities of mother, friends and lovers – even the so-called experts of mental health will all be sliced apart and left to questions. There is a spectrum that is so diverse – so broad – it will leave you without words, and just raw emotions. It will not leave you cold. Julie Hesmondhalgh has leapt from Accrington to the electronic screens, but on stage she is hypnotizingly charismatic and soon has you forgetting the New Order t-shirt. Her young daughter on stage, Norah Lopez Holden, is eloquent, powerful and engaging. She radiates passion in every line and action. Her Hispanic looks, with a Mancunian twang fade away as each line jabs out like a boxer’s right hook. She is exactly the reason I never attempted drama at secondary school, because I could never do what she does. Living overseas, in a reasonably western-free area, means I may not see another theatre production, of that calibre, in a while but I am more than inspired to hunt them down on that showing. Thank you for such a distressing yet astonishing experience. It was part-ballet, part walking on broken glass. It was close to home. Very.


The train from Manchester Airport to Barrow-on-Furness was cancelled. Instead it would head off from Manchester Piccadilly. This being an annoyance, an alternative route with delays was found, via Carlisle, instead of via Barrow-on-Furness. After a long while of scenery out of the window, the fourth train of the day rolled into Parton, a village north of Whitehaven. Here I’d catch up with Dan, Vanessa, Alex and Damian.

Catching up Dan, Vanessa, Damian and Alex proved to be a great experience. Between walking the four-year old twins to school, talking, playing and polishing off some rum, exploration of the local area was also called for. The Lake District Coast Aquarium in Maryport offers crazy golf, engaging talks, a variety of British marine tanks, a working conservation lobster hatchery and staff that know their marine biology. The layout is good for a few hours sandwiched around a walk alongside the historic Marport marina, harbour and promenade. This was certainly a place for families to visit! The centre has a café and there are numerous pub grub options in a short walking distance. A walk around Ennerdale Water, far off from Bassenthwaite Lake (the only actual lake in the Lake District) and wanderings around Whitehaven town centre also allowed for relaxation – although climbing mountains in high heels isn’t normally fun.


Abbot’s Hall Hotel is a Christian Guild property. The décor is dated yet classic and relaxing. The furniture and fittings follow a similar mould. The grounds are pleasant and it hosts a wonderful indoor heated pool. The café and restaurant are ample with nearby restaurants in Grange-over-Sands. Kents Bank train station is outside the gate, less than two minutes stride away. Beyond the treelines and up a windy road Kents Tower can be reached, offering wonderful views of Morecambe Bay and the Lake District’s southern mountain range. One night here was not enough. However, it proved a pleasant contrast from a trip to London the next day.


That London was the next stop on the tour of England. A quicker than expected passage across the famous London Underground gave an arrival at Broughton. Crossing just three streets and walking a few hundred yards allowed for safe arrival at Zoly Apartment (23 Tabard Street), as found on Booking.com. London awaited. The simple apartment needed an electronic code for the front door and a different one for the room. The facilities were modern and included an electronic tablet notepad filled with lots of useful bits and bobs. A kitchen and a good bathroom made for probably my favourite place that I have stayed in London, ever, apart from Paul Thomas’ place after an ill-fated journey from Norwich to Manchester, via That London.

Dinner at Nando’s on the banks of the River Thames, gave wonderful archway views from Southwark looking northwards. Underneath Blackfriars Road bridge, tucking into spicy chicken wings, wedges and a host of sides made for a comforting dinner, two nights out of three spent in That London. The Clink Street location is close to the historic Golden Hinde, London Dungeons and many other attractions. The location really is something.

Royal Observatory Greenwich followed by dinner at Nando’s and a speedy passage to Piccadilly Circus to enjoy The Comedy About A Bank Robbery. Firstly, the Criterion Theatre is a gem, sank beneath the streets of the City of Westminster. On entering from Piccadilly Circus, you grab your tickets at a quaint ticket booth before tip-toeing downstairs beyond the top tiers of the theatre seating, and then into the lower circle. Beneath are the stalls and the stage. The horseshoe-shaped theatre seats a little shy of 500 spectators. It opened in March 1874 as a concert hall and soon was converted to a theatre. Long gone are the dangerous gaslights and in their place is a modern interior with occasional hints at the venue’s first usages. Names of composers line the walls on the staircasing. Henry J. Byron, W.S. Gilbert, and other such playwrights who commanded the use of an initial letter have perfomed at this charming venue. In World War II, it was even a BBC safe and recording studio! Secondly, the production of The Comedy About A Bank Robbery is an absolute delight. Packed full of wit, charm, comedy – and a rich dialogue with fine vocals and production of the highest calibre. The Mischief Theatre have won awards – and toured the world for good reason. They are.

The final day or so in Manchester involved shopping, a birthday lunch for Dad and packing a stupendous amount of luggage (mostly gifts).


WRITE HERE, WRITE NOW.

More than 250,000 blogged words later… [208 Wix Posts + 77 WordPress posts = 285 posts]


 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

 

Under the fragrant bait you will find a hooked fish. Gǔlái fāng ěr xià, shéi néng bù tūn gōu?

Dance beneath the stars

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

A month or so ago, it was a case of one more sleep. One last head on the pillow and then it was up, up and away. Not like Superman, sadly. More a case of Turkish Airlines doing their remit. The delightful cultural exchange began in Changping, taking a taxi service to Hong Kong International Airport, then checking in before the mandatory waiting time of too long. At impatience o’clock, my flight began to taxy onto a slab of concrete far longer than my tolerance of a Star Trek DVD collection. Whatever the piloting term of putting your foot down is, thankfully the pilot knew of this. There was no room for winging it. Wings were needed for certain. I didn’t want Captain Miracle’s qualifications to have been the winner of Turkey’s Got Talent/Airplane Idol. I’d rather have taken a bus back to the U.K. All my bags were packed, and I was ready to go. I was leaving on a jetplane afterall. Carrying things in your pocket or giant cardboard boxes isn’t such a grand idea. Anyway, the flights back via Istanbul were most pleasant.

 

Anyway, here I am back in Dongguan, a whole 4 years after arriving here for the first time. And jet lag is making the whole return feel just as dizzy as day one of landing in Guangzhou. After departing a snow delay-hit Manchester International Airport, with several hours sat on a plane that wasn’t moving, the pilots lifted the Airbus A321 (32B) Transcon off the U.K.’s frozen terra firma. Around 4 hours later it touched down in Istanbul, before a sprint was needed to make the Hong Kong flight. I’m fairly certain that I left rubbery streaks from my shoes in Ataturk Airport. An uncomfortable 9 hours or so followed, not because of the airline or the seats, or the flight. Just me and my inability to sleep inflight. Alone in Berlin, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, Renegades and On Wings of Eagles [终极胜利] (about runner turned Christian Minister Eric Liddell – the “Flying Scotsman”).

 

Eric Liddell [埃里克·利德尔] was born in Tiānjīn天津市 but raced for Great Britain and Scotland – as well as playing rugby union on the international team. He died at Wéixiàn Internment Camp [潍县集中营]. The movie is a tad flat, however, the story is fascinating and the history portayed is riveting. It is certainly one to look out for, and now I must seek John W. Keddie’s book, Running the Race – Eric Liddell, Olympic Champion and Missionary. Sadly, the movie was my final piece of time spent on holiday as the wheels lowered from the Boeing 777-300ER jet. I’d enjoyed the 28th of January to the 28th of February on British soil.


It all started with the British Track Cycling Championships final round on my arrival day. I caught up with my sister Christina and her nephew, then watched City beat Cardiff City in the FA Cup from the comfort of a sofa. Sleep followed not long after.

 

To start February off, I met up with my best friend Dan, on a train bound for Glasgow. After smooth talking the staff at the £30 a night EasyHotel, we had ourselves two single beds and not the accidentally booked double bed. A few ales, some scran and a wander around Glasgow followed before we arrived at the Old Fruitmarket. Here the band, Levellers did an acoustic gig. The Levellers setlist featured old, new and new versions of old songs:

The Levellers are a band I like very much. They are not Coldplay. They are properly political. They are as Mark Thomas (Comedian) is to Lee Evans. The marmite of their industry. The next morning Dan had to pop back for work early. I took in a self-guided walking tour of Glasgow’s Cathedral, Necropolis and the city centre before heading back to Manchester.


Meeting Astrid, Mum, and Paul, we all tottled off to see an exhibition called Robots at the Museum of Science & Industry, Manchester. It was a fantastic display but quite limited in size. Seeing Maria from the 1927 movie Metropolis amongst other movie stars and scientific advancements. The Great Western Warehouse first floor space features animatronic babies and useful limbs for those who have lost them or never had them. There is a real insight into the possible and plausible future of society.


Having missed the 0933 train from Manchester to down south by 2 minutes, I had to re-purchase new tickets and board the 1033 down that way. The train operators having zero sympathy for a connecting tram service delay. I guess in future, I must allow extra time for such trivial problems.

After pizza, on meeting Asa and Steph, we wandered around Gloucester Cathedral taking in the filming locations of three Harry Potter films and a memorial to World War One and Severn river poet Ivor Gurney. Edward II and other royal kings are buried there, but Albert Mansbridge is more important I feel. He pioneered adult eduction in Britain. Amongst the carvings and glassworks is an image of a game likened to be football, dated 1350.

Woodchester Park surrounds an unfinished mansion house, dating from 1845. After pulling up in an icy car park, a walk down a trail to the incomplete manor followed. Passing great trees and sweeping fields the view opened-up to a magnificent gargoyle-topped two Victorian Gothic house. A gentle stroll and a cute puppy whilst admiring the bat boxes and conservation efforts surrounding the house, made for a good wander. Next up and kind of just down the road was Newark Park, managed by the National Trust. It holds Newark House. The 750-acre estate has stunning views of the nearby Mendips and Cotswolds. Here you can hold a piece of mammoth tusk, view the WWI exhibition and history of the house. A good coffee outside and beautiful gardens are more than capable of captivating your attention.


Clifton Suspension Bridge has always been somewhere I have dreamed of seeing up close and personal. It didn’t disappoint. Clifton Observatory, on Clifton Down once was a windmill for corn, then snuff. Now it hosts a great camera onscure, one of a handful open to the public around the U.K. I’ve already seen the Aberystwyth Camera Obscura. The staff there that day advised the light level was low and the camera obscura would be obscure, at best. Payment was advised just for the cave, so we saved a few pennies and slipped on down through very tight passages to a concealed cave looking out onto the Avon Gorge, with the Clifton Suspension Bridge. Later crossing the bridge was pleasing and touring the small, yet well-thought out museum added to the joys of seeing somewhere new and all the history that surrounds it. The link to Egypt and the delayed and redesigned projects, before it opened in 1864 and a lengthy history featuring the last flight of BAE Systems’ Concorde. Nando’s the first of four U.K. visits followed. The spice is right?

SUSPENSA VIX VIA FIT

(The road becomes barely suspended)

On the 14th of February, from Cam and Dursley train station, the train hurtled north and east a little, towards Nottingham. Outside driving sleety showers filled the grey skies. Happy Valentine’s Day indeed. On arrival Aunty Carolyn and Phil were waiting. Next was a relaxed evening with enough Cottage Pie to sink a ship and a catch up. Also, seeing my cousin Gary wasn’t a bad surprise. The following day involved a short bus trip to Wollaton Hall (it doubled as Wayne Manor in the The Dark Knight Rises). Gotham village is around five miles south of the park and hall. Soon after touring the wintery deer park and café, a jaunt to Nottingham Castle (some of which has stood since 1067AD, under William the Conqueror) and Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem claiming to have opened in 1189AD. City of Caves added to the itenary but was quite disappointing. The sandstone conurbation of cellars features an Anderson shelter, a few tales and the odd pub cellar. The medieval tannery amongst the pillar cave and Drury Hill slums and a few brief points and Luddite connections, with the questionable origin of the phrase, ‘the penny dropped’. The outbound journey from Nottingham to Manchester on the 16th, involved no changes, only a flowing land of hills, greenery and eventually the arrival of the city of Manchester on the edge of the Cheshire Plain.

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

J5: University Challenged

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

The Marine Biology field course arrived, and with my tooth being so painful I really struggled with the work.  I submitted an incomplete report, managed to attend all the trips, but really struggled to motivate myself for the work.  It was not all doom and gloom, as I met Nicola Brown, well kind of.  I was feeling something completely different.  Her vibrant smile met my eye. I barely spoke to her but could not stop thinking about her throughout the field-course.  I felt I had to get talking to her somehow, someway, someewhere but chance never came my way, my injured tooth ruling out possibilities, and my lack of confidence to talk with her.  I did find her name via a friend, Rob Palmer, who was also in her Marine Biology field course group.  Nikki, Lisa Bates, and Rob soon hung around together very often.

 

My own football would go well for me, post tooth-extraction.  Having only managed three university Dig’s league games, a 4-2 win where I hit the woodwork twice! A 2-1 win, here I bagged my first university strike in ages!  And, a 2-1 win where I had to come off as my head was killing me!  On the 18th of November me and Rob, went to see Scouse comedian, Jeff Green (From A-Z) live at the Art’s Centre.  As comedians go he was the bee’s knees!  Rob later gave me the live at the West End DVD for Christmas, equally wonderful!.  On Saturday the 20th of November, I was working behind the bar, my first full night of being in charge.  The place only bloody had a fire (in the lounge bar, not the function room we were working in).  Anyway, Jonathan (Buzza), me and the two bouncers evacuated the Club house even though we extinguished the first fire.  Sadly, the fire must have reignited whilst we had been clearing the building.  Before long the lounge bar was devastated!  A sad day for the football club, and its interior decorated in historical memorabilia. I remember the sad eyes of Rhun Owens, then-long serving and devoted club secretary when he arrived to the smouldering remains.

 

On the 27th of November my-then brief ex-girlfriend Lisa Bates held a video night at her house in Borth.  She had provided enough of a buffet spread to serve a Glastonbury crowd twice-over, alongside enough spirits and wine to provide Borth with a new pub.  There was at one tsage twelve people watching movies in her lounge.  By sleeping time, Claire and Paul had gone to use Lisa’s bed, Lisa had gone to her spare room, Nikki, Rob, Rich and I were camped in the lounge.  I fell asleep the soonest; shattered by incessant tooth pain.

 

The funfair used to arrive in Aberystwyth on the last two Mondays of November, and the first Monday of December.  Never-the-less, Nikki, Rob, Lisa, Louise, Laura and Wyn joined me for the final two Mondays.  The Crazy Mouse rollercoaster (it claimed to be the largest mobile rollercoaster in Europe) and the extremely high G-Force were brilliant but I enjoyed going on other smaller rides, usually with Nikki, who was the most daring of the group! Our group being who they are we went on some fairground stalls and won some raffles.  I won three Caterpillars (of which I asked Nikki to mind one) and Rob, Lisa, Louise, and Nikki all won cuddly toys ranging from unicorns to monkeys. I never had luck with these stalls, usually.

 

The 7th of December arrived.  The day the tooth was to be removed.  I was so nervous I couldn’t eat breakfast.  At 12pm, the dental surgeon/devil was deep into the process of making me feel as uncomfortable as possible.  I have to say, that day was one of the scariest days of my life.  Did it hurt?  IT BLOODY WELL DID!  Half hour of X-rays, 15 minutes of assessment, 10 minutes of numbing my jaw off, and the final quick extraction, followed by a click as a crack in the jaw slammed shut, alongside me fainting on the way downstairs, did not make for an entertaining day.  The headache I had upon to then, for at least 4 months vanished immediately, and I will admit I was a tad dazed, confused, and physically tired.  Mentally I was shattered, but that didn’t take much.  That day I was driven back to Aber, via Bangor City versus Aberystwyth Town’s games (shhhh!), after all I just wanted my own bed, and to get back to normal.  On arrival back into Aber, I went round to Nikki’s and chilled with her and Rob.  I didn’t want to be alone.  I wanted to see Nikki, and get a good hug!  The next day I missed the 1-2pm lecture, favouring sleep.  I was going to for a gentle stroll in the evening, but decided on going to training with Penparcau FC.  You know how it is.  That was the best three-hour evening session I’ve ever done.  In reality, I was back, back and ready to go.  After that session, Nikki came around and gave me the best hug I had ever had, lasting a good few hours.  For some unknown reason we watched Santa Clause 2, The Aristocats, and GCSE Bytesize until 4am.  I let Nikki use Nige’s room (whilst he was away) for some sleep, as I collapsed in bed.  On Thursday night, Nikki came around again, which was wonderful, as she is great company and really friendly lass.  Yet again we watched DVDs into the early hours, but this time the hug was more warmly, and the urge to kiss her became overpowering.  However, all the signs were there for a kiss, but I didn’t want to risk our friendship.  I mean I’d fancied her since I set eyes on her in September’s Marine Biology field course.  Hands were close, arms wrapped around each other, heads leaning by each other, cheeks rubbing, and eventually the courage came to share a kiss.

On Saturday, I played for Penparcau out in Llanrhystud, scoring a crucial extra-time goal, we won 5-2.  That evening Nikki invited me to her friend Krissey’s roast dinner.  We went all the way to Trawsgoed.  The journey was a pleasant drive through the backs and beyond of Welsh countryside.  An excellent meal cooked by Krissey and her boyfriend later, a long chat with Nikki’s mates Harvey and Deanna before setting off back to Aber under the cloudless black sky. On the Sunday I missed playing football for the UWA Greens in the Dig’s League.  I took Nikki for Sunday lunch at Harley’s.  Things felt amazing.  I mean I’ve had strong feelings before for particular ladies, but at that time it was off the Richter scale.  On Tuesday night, Nikki made me stir-fry at mine.  It certainly beat the pasta I made for her on Wednesday night!  Ah, Wednesday night, a night of torture in training.  A 20-minute beach shuttle-run session, and long jog just to punish players for not turning up to training, proved to tire me out.  I could feel the aches and strains long into the evening!  I always give my excuses in well before not turning up!  But still teams get punished not individuals, but it does make you feel a damn bit fitter!

On Friday we went out for Nikki’s birthday, dressed as angels and devils.  Naturally I’m an angel, so I fancied a change and was as a devil (even though I hate red!).  We started at Nikki’s flat drinking Taboo etc.  In the Academy we met Gav Allen and a few other footy lads.  Not many drinks later we arrived at a heaving Varsity, where I lost my white-chocolate-vodka-virginity.  Interesting drink, looks like Rhino semen, tastes like rubber-chocolate.  In the Cambrian we had a few cocktails, as Laura and Debbie chatted up the bar stewards.  One taxi journey uphill later, and into the Union we went.  Good old Move night, and a great night.  Eventually 12am came And Nikki turned 22.  An amazing night and the Union managed an extra half hour of Christmas songs post-bar-closing.  On Nikki’s birthday we went for a cooked-breakfast, and then we strolled up the seafront and generally enjoyed the day.  I cooked a pizza (cheating with pre-made bases this time!) and we watched a film, and then Match of the Day. A leopard can’t change spots for stripes.  On Sunday, we separated for awhile.  Nikki had to tidy her house, and I had to tidy mine.  On Monday morning Nikki went home (Cornwall!) and so did I – for Christmas!   Over the Christmas holidays, I was mostly working on my University project work, and ringing the land of pasties to see how Nikki was. The easy thing about being with Nikki was we both allowed time to get to know each other and never rushed into anything.  The hugs and kisses we shared made me tingle and feel wanted; something I cannot claim to have felt before sharing these special moments with Nikki.

I haven’t really described Nikki, but even if I did, so I might as well try to remember her bac k then.  Nikki was kind, caring, interesting, articulate, cheeky as a monkey, lovely, warm, gentle, and everything a dream about a great partner would contain.  Nikki spent a year away from University working in New Zealand and seemed an expert on there!  Nikki and I got on so well because our interests were alike, she loves comedy as much as I do (but she quoted Little Britain more than I cared for!).  She was sporty (plays netball, watches rugby etc), and I’m football crazy, football mad!  There were lots of things for us to do, see and learn, and at the time I believed Nikki would be the one! At one time I was a city boy, lost in its vastness and devoid of any feelings for someone, but in the town of Aberystwyth I fell for Nikki.  That secluded spot revealed that I was no longer concealed behind a window, peering out at the views below and across. For then, I was free from that prison, free to dream once more, free to feel hope and push aside fear.  I didn’t feel like the luckiest guy in Aberystwyth, more like the luckiest person on Earth, or maybe the Universe, because somebody believed in me and cared for me, in ways that I hadn’t experienced.

Regular phone talk of when we would see each other again, and desires for the day to arrive carried us through the Christmas period.  We had arranged to spend the New Year in Aber.  The last hours of 2004, and the first few of 2005 were to be spent in the Glengower.  New Year’s celebrations at The Glengower’s Western Night were quieter than we all anticipated, however with me and Nikki, Rob and Lisa, Laura and Wyn, and Susan it was a fun night.  I was content with spending those moments in Aber. Back home, my one-time secondary school friend Emma looked at a picture of Nikki.  Em accused Nikki of being just a pretty face, which wasn’t fair as Nikki had a great arse and lovely legs too!  Nikki departed Aber on the Bank Holiday Monday of the 3rd; the day Penrhyncoch Reserves beat Penparcau 2-1 (They did field four Cymru Alliance players and a Welsh Premier player! It was a hellish hard game.).  Nikki had to finish her family holiday away. At least at home in Cornwall, she could concentrate on revision without having Mr Procrastinator 2001-4 distracting her. My personal revision was chugging along slowly.  One exam was so mentally hard, because I had tunnel-vision and desired to read up on other subjects too. I’d even spent hours writing a season of ideas for Aberystwyth Town’s football programme. I was not cut out for studying… or focused…

TO BE CONTINUED

J4: North Trafford to Aberystwyth

College began.  North Trafford College was not like school.  I had friends, of genuine qualities.  These friends would not think of me as someone lower than them.  I was an equal.  I was to enjoy great friendships with Alexis, Becci, Gemma, Danny, Serena, Jill and Darran over the coming years.  Outside of college I had my friendships with Dan and Rob.  Life seemed to be shaping up well.

Mum brought me City’s new laser blue strip for my 17th birthday, and I enjoyed a night out at Laser Quest with Dan and Rob.  I was really enjoying life.

On the 17th of November 1999 my best friend Pup died.  He had been around me for 17 years of my life.  Whenever I needed to hug, he was there.  He would always listen, and he would never judge me.  He was always there for me.  The news was heart-breaking.  I was in shock.  The Kangaroo-like, bounding, mongrel had finally passed away.  His back legs had failed him one day, and the Eccles RSPCA vets (where Rolf Harris was starring in Animal Hospital) had decided the humane thing would be to put him to sleep.  No longer would his floppy-great ears, his clumsy wagging tail, his facial glow, and his super temperament grace my presence.

I ran to my room, a tear shed for every fond memory of Pup.  So many memories of him licking me, chasing after me, fetching branches and sticks that I had thrown for him, playing outside together, and Pup sat on my lap in Dad’s car on long journeys.   Pup will never be forgotten.  He touched so many around Newton Heath and my family.  I even saved him from a fast-flowing stream in Clayton Vale one Saturday afternoon.  Pup was fearless, and so gentle.  You cannot compare him to any dog alive, or that has lived, but if you did then he would rank up there with the Red Dog of the Australian outback.

At college following a Christmas drunken kiss with Becci, things went rather unusual.  Becci was my college tutor, Elaine Lamb’s daughter.  This could have become rather complicated, but after the drunken kiss we both knew to go any further would be bad, especially seeing as Becci had a boyfriend.

The over-hyped Millennium eve came, and went.  In January 2000, I started a two day work placement at Blackpool Zoo.  This would happen every Thursday and Friday eventually curtailed by March’s foot and mouth crisis.  Soon I left my part time job at Co-op to work for Glynwebb DIY store (convenient alongside footballing commitments).

A new child was born into the Acton family in 2000.  Christina Acton was named after my late Nana.  Christina was born on Valentine’s Day, February the 14th 2000.  I now had two sisters.  Christina was born to my Dad’s partner Bernadette McWilliams from Greenock Morton.

Whilst at Blackpool Zoo however I met Caroline Wadsworth, during March 2000.  I travelled to Scarborough for a night out in her hometown.  Caroline was a Restaurant manager at a local hotel.  We met at the station, and went for a drink at a Wetherspoon’s bar.  We walked back to her flat.  We discussed our planned night out.  I would sleep on her sofa when we returned.  Caroline was five foot two tall, long black hair, round, slim build, and aged 28.  I was only 18.  That night we visited a few bars, and a club.  By midnight Caroline was extremely drunk.  We boarded a taxi and went back to hers.  On arrival I put her to bed, removing her leather jacket and covering her up with her duvet.  I could see no spare blankets.  I went to her lounge, and curled up on the sofa, draping my jacket over me.  I fell asleep. I was quite cold.

I made the text below smaller and lighter because I have been a tad graphic. But, flip it. I am not hiding anything. It has to be written.

That morning I was awoken by Caroline.  She lifted my jacket off me, took my hand and said I should have curled up with her.  She led me to her room and lay down in bed, pulling me up alongside her.  She thanked me for not taking advantage of her.  She undressed me down to my boxer shorts, and then undressed and placed a long t-shirt on.  A lengthy kiss followed.  I could feel my boxer shorts being removed.  She grasped my penis, and pulled it back and forward.  I decided to explore her with my hands, softly and carefully.  Within minutes she spoke, “Make love to me.” 
Being a virgin I panicked a little.  Once the trusted condom was on, my penis slid easily into her wetness.  I was inside her.  I could feel so much, tight around me.  She moaned and grasped my hair as I found myself going deeper and harder into her.  Her breasts were bright red with sweat.  She pushed me out of her.  Had I done something wrong?  She put me on my back, and then climbed onto me.  I slid right into her with ease.  She bounced so hard, moaning more and more each time, her breasts bouncing up and down.  She screamed and started to shudder, as I released myself.  I had lost my virginity and cum at the same time she had reached orgasm [I didn’t think that was even possible].  That day I had my breakfast.  Not long after she had elevenses.  In fact she made sure I had lunch, snacks, tea and supper for the two nights I stayed.  My penis was sore with overuse.  It had never been used before this trip to Scarborough!  The sex was amazing, and varied.  She performed oral sex, shown me many ways to make her orgasm, but I was beginning to feel used. 
The next weekend I visited again, all we did was to stay in and had sex.  We never chatted on the phone before my visit, I felt used.  It may seem like a typical blokes dream to be used, but I wanted more emotion.  I’m not just an object and detest being used as one.  She had achieved what she wanted, and boosted the local pharmacy sales of condoms but I wanted more. 

My final work placement for college was at Clayton’s Millstream Animal Sanctuary in 2001.  Here I assisted with cleaning kennels, and catteries.  I would also assist with feeding General the horse, and several goats.  I was also lucky to assist tame an extremely aggressive black rabbit.  The male rabbit had a small white patch under its neck.  It apparently was vicious to people, and had a history of biting people.  I lifted it straight up, sat it on my knee, as I sat on the floor inside the main building.  Bugsy as I affectionately called him responded well.  It never kicked out at me, or bit me once in the few months I was there.  Bugsy eventually responded well to other humans and found a home.  2000 being the year Dad had a second child with his partner Bernadette.  Shaun Paul Acton was born on the 28th of March.  I now had three brothers.

Back at Millstream, a cat named Aurora, a beautiful tortoiseshell cat, had to be kept close to the veterinary room.  Aurora suffered from a liver disease and needed regular medicine doses.  Her history was from a background of being mistreated.  She was not an ideal cat for homing, because she was so aggressive to human contact.  Within days of working up her trust, she clambered from her pen, and walked over my shoulders.  She rubbed my head with her body.  She would not allow me to touch her by hand.  This usually responded with a prompt scratch to my arm or head.  Aurora took weeks to allow me to pick her up, and stroke.  She was a beautiful cat, and I would have loved to given her a home.  Mum would not allow another cat because we already had Tigger and Sparky (Tigger’s mother).  I also had Sarah my tarantula (named after a girl I had a crush on, even if she was out of my league); Gizmo and Stripe my Russian Hamsters (who would often try to kill one another, thus resulting in me pulling them apart).  Gizmo and Stripe were adopted from an animal sanctuary.

After completing work placements at Heaton Park with college, Holland’s Exotic Pets in the Coliseum, Manchester Pets and Aquatics, and Blackpool Zoo I felt ready to take on a career.  I decided to apply for the Fire and Rescue Service.  The last few weeks of college loomed and Gemma hosted a sleepover at her house in Sale.  Becci, Danny, Alexis, Darran and I stayed.  We watched Lake Placid (Crap film) and numerous other films and gabbed whilst eating and drinking in Gem’s lounge.  Later on Gemma went upstairs to bed, Alexis fell asleep, Danny and Darran fell asleep minutes later.  I curled up in my blanket.  Becci lay behind me.  Becci kissed me.  I kissed her back.  My hands strayed, beneath her blanket, and below her jeans.  Becci was very quiet for the first five minutes.  All of a sudden she screamed and the others awoke.  She told them she had had a nightmare.  The flustered bright red face clearly lying but that beat admitting to what was really going on.  She lay back down, turned away and fell asleep.  Becci was always the selfish member of the group, insecure, and confident she could win any man’s heart over.  She would never win my heart. I am glad to have heard since then that she has grown up well.

In May I had my mobile stolen; in July I’d seen the band Wheatus again with Danny; and at this stage I had been forced to make career choices.  After passing several fire-fighters exams and tests I had a contract arrive in the post from Greater Manchester Fire Services.   On the same day I received an offer for a place in Aberystwyth University.  I had to decide between university and a career.  The decision was not easy but a few years at University would not prevent me reapplying for the Fire and Rescue Service.

During August I also returned to Barmouth for a holiday with Mum, Paul, Paul junior, and Astrid.  We stayed in Tudor House holiday flat overlooking the harbour.

On the 22nd of September 2001, 11 days after the atrocious attacks by terrorists on the U.S.A., I had departed for Aberystwyth.  Manchester City F.C. had beaten Sheffield Wednesday 6-2 at Hillsborough under the helm of Kevin Keegan. Dad’s packed Citroen headed east, packed full to the rim. Having been lost in Shrewsbury (possibly the only town populated by more roundabouts than people), we set across Eastern Wales and its many shades of grey clouds.  Many urination stops later in several bleak farm tractor entrances, and we arrived in Aberystwyth.  I and Dad unpacked all my gear into Cwrt Mawr Block B, room 15 – my home to be for an entire academic year.

Post-unpacking my Dad took me to Cwrt Mawr bar located next door to Block B.  Dad brought me my first pint in Aberystwyth.  Guinness, naturally, and served by a rather busty bar lady.  Talent spotting looked to be a good idea in this town.  Time was soon called, and we returned to my room.  Dad kipped on my bed, and I curled up under a blanket on the rock cold tiled floor.  Ah, luxury!

For Sunday morning we searched for a café or breakfast bar in the town at the foot of Penglais hill, no such luck.  We made do with Spar’s finest sausage roll and breakfast barm.  No sarcasm intended.  Dad drove me back to my highly institutional-influenced room, before he headed off for Manchester.

As I slowly unpacked, my new flatmates passed by my room.  Feelings came over me, pure shyness and unsure whether my flatmates would take to me.  I was feeling alone.  The day seemed to last forever, as I customised my imperial-institutional cell.  I fell asleep, tired and alone, wanting to escape, far from home.  Tears ran from my eyes.

The first Monday of the University term brought brighter light.  I met Mike, a fellow resident of Institution Block B, or Cwrt Mawr (if you like a more romantic tone).  We went to the students union and entered a Headways Group treasure hunt.  We started late on, overtook many teams, and still managed to finish first.  The secret clues were difficult, but we made it through to the Outback bar on the Llanbadarn campus.  I could see Mike doubted my navigational skills, but he could tell I doubted his knowledge of biology as we discussed our similar study schemes.  At the Outback, a free barbeque was provided, and we also won a £5 student union shop voucher.  This sweetened the burning sensation on my aching feet.

Many hours later I had returned to my room.  My head plummeted into my pillow.  I slept like I had not slept for a long, long, long time.  My day’s explorations with Mike, the square headed, spectacle-wearing Midlander had been fun.  To imagine what Mike looks like, simply watch the film Ghostbusters and look at Egon Spengler.  Mike was however around five-foot ten.

A night passed before Mike had arranged for a night out with several girls from Cwrt Mawr Block A (the other block next door).  Our other flatmates Dan, and Yaz joined us for a few drinks at The Glengower on Aber’s North seafront.  The girls from next door were Jen (a Southerner), Jenny (an American International Politics student), Lynette (a Brummie) and her room mate Kim (also a Brummie).  I wasn’t really interested in any of the girls (even if the theme night was Pimps and Whores night).  Naturally I wore my favourite purple shiny-top and silver dragon trousers.

The next day I met Kez (Environmental Scientist) and Mel (Drama student!), two more flatmates.  There was also Victor (computer scientist) and Lorenzo (an Italian International Politics PHD student).  That morning Mike and myself went to Block A to meet Kim and Jenny.  Lynette had been feeling unwell, and wanted to return to the Midlands and her parents’ house.  By the end of the day Kim’s double room was more spacious, as Lynette headed home from the University for the first and final time that year.  Really, I think Dan scared her off the night before at The Glengower.

Pretty soon lectures had began, and before long I and Kim were seeing each other.  Before long October popped up. POP!  On return to Manchester, I and Rob met up to watch Scary Movie 2 at the cinema.  At this stage I realised that most of my friends had moved on, William was in New Zealand, Dan was in the army with the Scots Dragoon Guards, Becci at Leeds University, and Alexis at Chester College.  It was a pleasant return to Manchester, and easy to get news.  I bloody well didn’t get much news in Ceredigion!  I rarely watched television.  I had to go on the net to discover most things or return home to watch the football (by football I mean the great Manchester City F.C.) My Manchester City FC were doing excellent and well on course to a return to the top flight where I was sure they would stay up this time.  At the time City were the best goal scorers in the U.K. football leagues too!  There was ONLY one pub in Aber which screened ITV Sports!  The Mill public house was tiny and packed solid if any game was on. 

By the end of the month, as is a tradition on my birthday I had added another year to my age.  I thought celebrating my birthday away from home would be awful as I turned 19.  Mel and Kez treated me to Profitero’s and presents.  That was very kind of them.  I was not used to surprises, so it was different and thoroughly enjoyable.  Kim returned from the Midlands with a cuddly Tigger and some chocolates.  Yummy.

During the month of October I also became involved with Aberystwyth Town F.C., a team from the then League of Wales (now Welsh Premier).

Everything seems to take 15 minutes:  getting ready to go out, cycling to work, an evening jog, having a quickie etc.  Yet getting to lectures from Block B took at the most 5 minutes.  This was convenient and had no excuse to be late.  The first year of University life wasn’t so academically productive.  I fucked up big time.  I did however enjoy University life, football, and the region so much that I would retake my year.  If I was to relive life in Cwrt Mawr Block B, there would be some brilliant or strange memories.

For a start my room was right by the kitchen, so every Tom, Dick and Harry who fancied a late night snack would likely disturb me.  We did not have a Tom, Dick or Harry living in our flat as I am aware.  Worse still, the toilet was located adjacent to my room.  An ancient proverb, probably would go as “he who sleeps lightly, be disturbed by the loo flushing.”

Our estranged flatmate Victor was proving to be rather unusual.  Several knocks on my door at 7a.m. revealed why.  Victor was revealed to be a campus stalker, who was eventually expelled from University.  This wasn’t the only trouble in Cwrt Mawr, bats in my wardrobe, and the Police calling at all hours, and this e-mail from a warden says it all: 


The University has a very strict Rule that forbids the possession of any form of weapon on its premises and grounds. Of course, this includes any form of gun or imitation weapon. Yet, I have been handed and have confiscated 3 “pistols” this term already! At least one is a BB-gun that potentially is very dangerous.  These disregards of a University Rule came to a head in the early hours of Friday, 1st February, when a student in a balaclava brandished a “gun” at another student “as a drunken lark”!
The man was arrested and may be prosecuted! Even if not, he will be subject to University discipline; as will any others caught in possession of a weapon! BE WARNED: Anyone in possession of weapon must dispose of it immediately or face the certainty of at least University discipline if caught!
Dr.R.B.Kemp, Warden.


Around Christmas time our flat shared a Christmas dinner.  Kez, Mel and Mike cooked, whilst muggings here had to wash up with Kim and Yaz.  That night I and Kim set a cuddly-musical toy, namely Frosty the Snowman, off outside Kez’s room, much to our amusement and Kez’s dismay.  Practical jokes dried up soon after Christmas.  There was only so much blown-dry cling film under toilet seats, washing up liquid down toilets, and booby traps that could be taken in one semester at University.

At the time, my attitude to life had changed, and I settled into the University life with ease.  I tell you what when I left University it was a shock to the system.  I had to get up at 6am, rather than go to sleep then.  Having sex in a single bed was absurd.  There was more food than beer in my fridge.  My fantasies of having sex with three women with lesbian tendencies was soon replaced by fantasies of having sex with anyone at all.  I no longer sought to volunteer for clinical trials at the local hospital.  I then knew all of the people sleeping in my house.  The bank manager didn’t be threaten as in previous years.  My friends soon would marry and divorce instead of getting together and breaking-up.  I went from 130 days of holidays to around 20.  Jeans and a jumpers no longer qualified as ‘dressed up’.  I didn’t spend half my day strategically planning pub crawls.  I even joined the campaign to “hate scrounging students”.  I no longer had a strange attraction to road signs when I was under the influence of alcohol. I no longer took naps from noon to 6 p.m.  A £3 bottle of wine was no longer ‘pretty good stuff’.  I remembered the name of the person I’ll wake up next to.  I actually ate breakfast foods at breakfast time.  Either Way University was easier to understand than most things – okay the work was extremely hard and often led to bouts of depression, and insomnia.  It is not as cheap as I thought it would be, survival of the fittest, or Darwinian Theory is thrown full blown into contention. Not that any of this paragraph is accurate. University was different to life afterwards.

My second semester lectures started in early February and already the lectures were engaged on revision and exams.  I tried my hardest but felt a little unconfident the moment any chemistry or mathematics was thrown at me.  It was not easy being a John, but someone had to do it.  I had already signed up with 5 friends (Mike, Kez, Mel, Yaz, and my new friend Tom) for a building in the next year in town (on Baker Street), it worked out about 15% more expensive (plus electricity bills) than my first University accommodation, but second year students did not get any priority in accommodation next year.  The Baker Street maisonette was located in farting-distance of the station, town, and seafront.  It was, however, a mile from my lecture rooms on the Penglais campus.  This University has the fittest University students in the U.K.  No surprises!  It also boasted one of the U.K.’s highest suicidal rates, not really that nice a prospect.  For the second semester I had more practical work scheduled, more hours of learning (about 24 in 5 days ) and several trips to Borth Animalarium (8 miles North).

One Wednesday in February I had a football match at 2.30pm (at Blaendolau) which I seemed to dread for the fact that the team I played for (Officers’ Training Corp FC) appeared to be the most unorganised club ever.  They were 12-0 down when I came on for the second half against Gents’ Society UWA FC, we lost 12-1!  It was awful.  However, when it came to playing for University teams over the years I’d find more disorganized units as time flew by.  However the next match we won 4-0 in the league against the Beerkeepers’ FC.  I got 90 minutes to run around and chase the ball.  We played a friendly against the American Welsh FC and we were winning 5-0 when I was badly tackled.  The two players sandwiched me as I ran though on goal.  The ball left my feet and hit the net, I was crushed.  I had a bruised rib, dislocated knee, and several bruises.  They both received straight reds, we won 10-0.  I never got to play in the league or cup matches until just before Christmas where I made a start.  My knee was still troubling me a little, but seeing as only 11 people turned up, I had to fill in at Left-back position…. Well for 15 minutes until my legs were taken.  The player was only yellow carded.  I hopped around for the remainder of the game, made the odd challenge, no subs were available so I did my best – we lost 6-1 against a side we beat 4-0 (Beerkeepers’ FC).  Luckily it was only a cup game.  I managed another few games that season for the Officers’ Training Corp F.C. as we progressed to the quarter final of the Dig’s League.

Me, Mike and many other students regularly went down to Park Avenue and watch our adopted local football side Aberystwyth Town F.C. in the League of Wales; it was fun and Rhodri Giggs (brother of Ryan Giggs) played for them, and he was surprisingly good.  It was a youthful side, some old City players have been here with other League of Wales squads and Malcolm Allen played there too!  This seemed pretty amazing for a club I had never heard of, let alone seen until I came to Aberystwyth.  Aberystwyth finished 9th in season 2001/02 having beaten Connah’s Quay on the final day of the season.  Connah’s Quay had a postponed game the week later to move above Aberystwyth Town and qualify for the Football Association of Wales Premier Cup. Aberystwyth Town didn’t, but they put on a good end of season.

The Aberystwyth Arts Centre had an excellent exhibition programme and was one of the few venues in Wales acknowledged by the Arts Council as a Centre of Excellence.  It also offered you an excellent programme of exhibitions and many courses in art, drama, dance and music.  But for those who enjoy the outdoors, a bracing breeze and horizontal rain, with a football between your feet naturally.

The University playing fields represent the jewel in the crown of U.W.A.’s sporting facilities and are located on two sites.  The nationally renowned Vicarage Playing Fields, some 16 acres, are home to the U.W.A’s. first football, rugby, tennis and cricket teams.  The immaculately maintained facilities are the flagship of excellence and have been the envy of visiting teams for years, plus they were bloody good to score upon. Such was the quality, that the University was able to attract prestigious external user groups such as the Ian Rush Soccer Tournament, and even professional football teams.  The other, and larger, site is at Blaendolau where equally impressive pitches occupy some 34 acres.  Here, in addition to the many UWA team fixtures, was the venue for the Digs’ League football.  A further asset of both sites is their close proximity to the main campus, the town and student accommodation, thus making for easy accessibility.  Also, many goals were to be scored on this field.

Kim finally visited Manchester in May 2002, and we went to watch ET re-released at the cinema, and Kim met some of my family.  I had shown her the local Highfield Country Park, where somehow I managed to get splinters in my bottom-cheeks.

There was one particular walk which began like any other ordinary walk during May 2003.  Kez, Kim, Alana, Mike, and I were all walking along the south beach of Aberystwyth.  At the time I was wearing a T-shirt and shorts.  The sun was beating down keeping me very warm.  I had my sunglasses around my neck and a baseball cap on.  Tethered around my back was a small bag with a juice bottle, my mobile phone and other small keep-sakes in it.  Mike and I decided to speed up a little and explore this newly acquainted area.  We then went around the most southern point of the cove.  There before us lay rocks and crags at the foot of tall cliffs.  The cliffs looked strong.  Mike and I looked around the rocks finding the lower left mandible of a sheep and a few strange shells.  I then started to ascend my way up a sloping cliff (elevated around a 150-degree drop).  The bottom ten metres proved to be easy to climb.  The mid-section was not as easy but at the same time not too difficult.  I reached a point about five metres from the summit of the cliff face.  The ledge I was stood on became un-easy as if ready to collapse.  I turned around ready to descend slowly to the foot of the cliff.  The ledge collapsed.  Rocks tumbled beneath me.  The rocks bounced off crags in the cliffs, spiralling into the air dramatically before impacting the pebbles and crags below.  There and then I felt I could get myself back to safety.  I gasped hold of the protruding rocks to my right (southerly direction).  They crumbled.  The sea below hitting the pebble beach viciously became drowned out.  Panic had hit me.  To my left (just north) I could see Kim, Kez, Mike and Alana chatting and relaxing on flat area of rocks at the base of the cliffs.  The loneliness set in.  I thought fast what I should do next.  I waved with both hands as if needing help.  No response from the happy people below.  I signalled with nine fingers flashing them repeatedly.  Still there was no response.  I then took the extreme of launching my bag high into the sky and letting it drop half-way up the cliff.

Now they noticed me!  Then I realised that I had thrown my phone downwards inside the bag.  Luckily, Mike clambered up the cliff within four metres of me.  I could smell his aftershave.  I told him about the situation I was in.  A messy situation I was in.  He tried to tell me his situation but I exaggerated the situation I was in.  He phoned the emergency services.  As he was phoning my right foot slipped from beneath me.  The ledge had crumbled further.  I had only one place to put my left foot and use my right hand now to prop me up.  Below me loomed a fateful place to land.   I could do nothing but hold on.  Keep holding on.  Nothing else could be done, I had to hold on.  Mike chatted to me (upwind) although little of what he said registered.  My right arm was numb.  It had to support over ninety kilograms.  My left leg seemed to be slipping continually.

I constantly had to find a new footing.  Slate and stones were crumbling around me.  Rocks were tumbling down below.  I tried not to watch them.  Mike told me how the emergency services were on the way.  Kez, Kim, and Alana were sat there on the smooth rocks safely.  Even as I held onto my life I had to direct somebody to stand on the road around the side of the cliffs to wave down the emergency services.  Looking at my watch it was 1700.  I had been there around 15 minutes already.   Mike laughed, “at least it’s sunny!”  Then I looked out to see.  The sunlight became covered by clouds.  Briefly a beam of light shone through.  I pictured it as a stairway to heaven.  It felt so surreal.  I imagined a voice beckon aloud, “this way John”.  Then I imagined the Earth below tear apart to the sound of Take That singing “Relight My Fire”.  Should I choose Heaven or hell?  I’ll choose… life!  It was becoming cold; I shivered, petrified of the fall below, nervous twitches rocked my left leg repeatedly.  The leg I needed to hold myself up was numb and shivering rapidly.  It slipped off several times.  Only my quick instinct recaptured my stance of security on the cliff.

The emergency services came at 1740.  A police car led three fire engines, an ambulance (to reassure me – they told me it was a precaution), and a mountain rescue jeep.  The sound of sirens will always remind me how warm I felt as they came down the seaside road.  Within minutes, two firemen were below to my right unable to reach me.  One was above (also, unable to reach me).  The Mountain rescue team had set their winching equipment up and an abseiling man descended downwards to me.  He stood in front of me.  They than fastened a belt around me.  He hooked the belt onto the abseil line.  We both slowly walked upwards with my legs spread apart painfully to balance the weight.  I looked down at my extremely pale legs, cold.  It was very cold.  A few scratches displayed blue tints around them.  My skin was icy.  At last I reached the summit.  It was better late than never.

An RAF Air Sea Rescue Sea King thundered around above me and the rescue workers.  The noise drowned out the sea below.  Air thumped downwards causing me to collapse.  A paramedic greeted me.  He wrapped shiny tinfoil over me. The down-thrust from the helicopter above unwrapped the shiny tinfoil.  The helicopter moved into position.  A winch man manoeuvred downwards.  He hooked the paramedic onto the winch and sent him up alone first.  The winch man comforted me as we waited.  Then the winch came down empty.  He hooked himself on.  He strapped me in with two harnesses.  I loosely lay (almost floppy) as we winched up slowly.  A down thrust of air hit us, the cable span around causing me to hit my head on the helicopter.  My mouth caught on the winch man’s jacket.  Blood ran out of my mouth as I pulled forwards to avoid further injury.  They placed my on a seat in the helicopter and we thundered off to Blaendolau fields where we touched down.  They carried me to the ambulance and placed me on a stretcher.  The ambulance raced off to the hospital.  I was in a hypothermic state and tachycardia.  I had a sore head but nothing too serious.  By 1920 hours I was in hospital and being warmed up.  I was lucky.  I owe my life to my friends, the fire brigade, the RAF helicopter rescue service (coastguard), the paramedics, and the mountain rescue teams.

The 6th of June was the date that everyone looked forward to at the Student Union.  Wheatus’ tour passed the seaside town, my Wheatus album overplayed, and the atmosphere heated up.  Me, Kim, Kez and Mel were first in the queue, and the over-enthusiastic I was right at the front.  The band did not disappoint.  The disappointment came when Kez, Kim and Mel left straight after the concert.  I wasn’t confident enough to stick around asking for autographs on my own!  At times like these I wanted to escape University and join the Amy.  That was not a spelling mistake; just I’d rather have met an Amy than been with Kim.

In summer, I wanted to return home.  Home is where the heart is, and at that time my heart must have been in Sesame Street.  And then, when I did return home, I ended up returning back to Aberystwyth for the summer period. In June 2002 Mike, Yaz, Kez, Mel, Tom and I moved into a new maisonette on Baker Street.  This would be our accommodation for 2002/2003 during term.  Mike immediately started work in Clarach alongside me.  His irritating jokes, easily wound up and over competitiveness got too me.  I left work within days.

I started a job at Spar on Terrace Road, and Mike would eventually leave the Showboat in Clarach opting for work at Caffi Morgan in town.  My friend Em visited from Oldham in summer, she left having been freaked out by Mike.  She told me how he tried it on with her after she had left Aber.  This surprised me, knowing Mike and Alana had been going out for a few months.  September soon arrived, and Mike set about making me feel small.  Our new flat mate Tom steered clear of Mike.  I tried my best to avoid competition with Mike, but he insisted on reminding me how I had failed my first year and he was now a successful second year.  He was in charge of the Biological Society and was even a player for the new UWA Greens F.C.(which I had invited him to play for us).

Tom and I became good friends, and we often walked to Clarach on our free afternoons.  Tom was originally from southern England but had been living in Newport (West Wales) with his mum.  Tom studied Computer Science, enjoyed movies, liked to talk, and was ambitious.  He was also a good person to have around in order to build my confidence up.  Tom was planning on moving to Canada once he left university in 2004.

As a flat we had our Christmas lunch together.  Kim and Alana were both invited.  I was called immature by Mel for wearing my Christmas Hat on my ear.  I was pretty much told to grow up.  For some unknown reason the entire flat was turning against me.  I would walk into the lounge and a conversation descended into silence.  An argument with Mel, about a CD that had gone missing (and I said Mike had it) resulted in Mel telling me to drop my grudges against Mike, and grow up.  I said some pretty harsh words at her.  We both slammed doors, I smashed a glass.  Later Mike returned the CD to Mel.  The grudge was now in full flow.  The grudge was against Kez, Mel and Mike.

In January 2003 when there was only me and Mike at the house we cycled to Devil’s Bridge.  This took our mind off revision and allowed us to keep our friendship intact as there were many heated moments prior to this.

In May 2003 I went to the May Ball.  It was supposed to be just me and Kim, but Kez, and Mel joined us for most of the night.  Mike shown off on the bungee jump, and anywhere he could when he was with Alana or any of the girls.  The only thing I enjoyed was seeing the Blues Brothers Tribute Band, and Kim did not seem too keen.  I was made to follow her around all evening.  Kim and I were hitting rocky waters.  I was tired of being ignored when she came round, and tired of having to go to Kim’s for quality time together.  At Kim’s house on Prospect Street she would go off to talk to Jenny and leave me alone in the room.  I felt ignored.

I turned to football and watching DVDs with Tom.  At which stage Kim accused me of not wanting to spend time with her.  I wanted to escape the relationship.  I would not however as her best mates Mike, Kez, and Mel lived in my flat.  I did not want a potential split to cause repercussions in the flat – it was difficult enough already!

Kim told me how Mike, Kez, Alana, and Yaz were going to share 2 Pentre Jane Morgan together for their final year.  I was invited but did not want to join the others.  They had not liked me turning down their offer, over the fact I wanted to meet new friends being a year behind them.

For summer I went home to work, and relax.  I hoped the break apart would do me and Kim good.  It seemed to work.  We met up to go to Birmingham’s Sea Life Centre and Chester Zoo whilst taking it easy.  Kim even came to Llandudno with me for a pre-season friendly.  We stayed in a hotel, had a meal and went up the Great Orme.

Kim invited me to her cousin Emma’s wedding in Preston.  A wedding should bring people closer but it only made me feel more distant.  We arranged to go to Cardiff to see Manchester City play TNS in a UEFA Cup game next.  We stayed by the university and watched the football.  Kim finally met my brother Ace and my Dad.  She was very shy acting.  I could not work out why.  Kim had nothing to be shy about usually.

The end of September arrived and I moved from Manchester to Aber once again.  This time I was going to return to university halls.  I was to move into Ty Caron, room 3, flat 1.  I met Jon Hughes and Simon who lived in the room opposite my own.  Gemma and Rachael lived behind the door to my right.  Vicky and Sarah lived in the room to my left, by the bathroom and opposite the kitchen.

Jon Hughes was originally born in Northern Ireland in 1984.  Jon Hughes, nicknamed Buzza had lived in Liverpool from an early age.  Naturally he had no connection with Manchester.  Like many others in the World who are not connected with Manchester, he supports Manchester United.  Buzza was a student of English.  Jon shared his room with Simon, and International Politics post-graduate student.  Simon was from Poland, and interesting to talk to about world affairs.

As part of my 21st birthday present Kim brought me tickets for Dave Gorman’s Googlewhack Adventure show (at the Aber Arts Centre on December the 7th).  Kim did not come out for my 21st as she was ill.  I started my celebrations at noon in Yr Hen Gorsaf (the Wetherspoon’s in Aber).  Steve Lynno, Tom Foster, the twins and Stew Spink departed with me for Caersws.  In Caersws we started at The Red Lion public house.  We were met by Matt Hemsley, Sonny and Cher (real names unknown), Matt Cooling, Mark Cornock, Nige Carr Evans, Mike Watts, and many others.  I did not need to buy a drink that night!  Everybody seemed to buy me a drink.  We then staggered to watch Aberystwyth lose 3-1 to Caersws in a FAW Premier Cup game.  After the game we went to the Caersws F.C. Social Club, and departed by train to Aber. We spent a few hours in The Bay, where Claire Robbins joined up with us.  Afterwards we went back to Claire’s house to indulge into American Pie 2 and a few drinks.

I spent my third New Year with Kim after Christmas 2003.  This one was not as fun.  We did not really do much.  This boat was certainly going to hit the rocks soon.

By February and as a means of escapism I and my friend Matt Cooling decided to go for a day out up the Cambrian coast.  We visited Llanaber, Barmouth, and Harlech.

A small group of Behaviour Biology students was invited to Chester Zoo for a conference on Environmental Enrichment in mid-January 2004.  This was an ideal day out, and also a good way of reducing the travel time spent alone from Manchester.

Dad, Ace, and I watched and FA Cup game, in which City drew one apiece with Tottenham Hotspurs in late January.  City had already beaten Leicester City in the FA Cup.  The replay was screened live on Sky Sports in the Snooker Club.  Nige (City season ticket holder and university porter), Wattsy (season ticket holder at City, and a university porter), Tom (from my flat in second year), and Adriano (co-owner of Evola hairdressers in Aber, and a keen City fan) watched the replay in which City was three nil down at half time.  Joey Barton had been sent off.  City came out in the second half scoring through Distin, Bosvelt and Wright-Phillips.  City’s keeper Arni Arason (the Icelandic number one) made some superb saves to keep City in with a slim chance of reaching extra time and penalties.  Jon Macken produced a fourth goal in the dying minutes sending City through to a FA Cup at Old Trafford.  The game versus Spurs was amazing, and they did eventually bring a DVD out!

On the day of February the 18th 2004, Wales beat Scotland 4-0.  I went to Cardiff with Sidelights (who does know where the accelerator is).  We watched Wales and then returned to Aber.  Kim had a go at me for preferring football to a Valentine’s meal.  I tried explaining why I do not celebrate Valentine’s Day.  Valentine’s Day gives a neglectful or aggressive husband or boyfriend the opportunity to be romantic by sending a commercialised card or gift to a supposed love one.  That idea to me does not suggest romance or love.  I secretly did not want Kim to think I loved her, in case she loved me.  We were going to split up, but not whilst she was deep into her year three project work.  She did not have time to talk to me, so I was stubborn and would wait until after her work was handed in.

On the 26th I waited for Kim to come and join me at the Football Club.  There was snow knee deep, but Kim decided she would rather sledge with Mike and Alana than see me.  This created major tension. Kim handed her Dissertation work in on the 12th of March.  We split up on the 13th of March.  On the 14th of March Bangor City beat Aberystwyth 2-1 at Park Avenue Stadium.  I had found Kim’s presents for her birthday (31st of March) in my cupboard.

I decided to pass these onto Kim the day after I went to Manchester to City win 4-1 in the home derby game.  Manchester United was turned over thanks to goals from Fowler, Macken, Sinclair and Wright-Phillips.  I was sat two rows from the goal-end where Macken and Fowler had scored.  I was feet away from Macken when he celebrated his goal.  The 15th came and I met Kim on the seafront.  We walked towards the castle, I handed her the presents and some personal possessions.  Kim handed me a bag with a T-shirt and jacket I had left at hers.  We hugged and said goodbye.

Mike Bagnall came around the next night.  He was dressed up for a night out.  He asked if he could go in, I offered him a drink.  I looked outside the window to see Harry (Jenny’s boyfriend stood across the road).  I knew Mike was looking for trouble.  He wanted to know why I had split with Kim.  I said how it was not meant to be.  He started to get personal, saying how “I had to retake first year and had nothing but resentment for him.”  He even accused me of not having a best friend called Dan back home.  Because Dan worked for the Army and the Iraqi crisis was going on, Dan could not visit.  Mike told me I made him up, and he is just in my mind.  He asked to see a photograph of Dan.  I did not have one to hand.  I asked him if he was looking for a fight.  He said, “Yes, let’s go outside.”  I replied with, “If you want a fight, we will have one right here, and I guarantee you will not walk away.”  That reply must have scared him because he was quiet for a few moments.  He then said, “Right mate, I’m going to have to go, as I am going out tonight with friends.”  I liked the way he exaggerated the word friends, it reminded me how I had lots of friends from football, university lectures (e.g. Rob, and Susan), and home!  He offered to shake hands, but I would not.  He was no friend.  I showed him the door.  I had shown great resilience in my room, as he was probably the first person I have ever wanted to hit full force in the face, and then continue beating him to a pulp until he no longer made a sound.  The difference between me and him then was I’m capable yet restrained.  He was incapable yet a loose cannon, looking for a battle he could never have won.

Term passed quickly, lectures with my imaginary friends Laura Baker and Rob Palmer passed quickly.  On May the 22nd Aberystwyth Town Football Club held its annual club dinner awards night.  I received the David Pugh Sportsman of the Year and the Clubman of the year award alongside a Spar Mid Wales Winners cup.  I received these awards for helping the club progress in the previous season.  I had assisted with advertising, managing the Astroturf, helping with the matchday programme, and being available on matchdays etc.  The committee of Glan Davies, Rhun Owens, Jim Edwards, Ian Pugh “Sidelights”, Anne Jones, John Dunn, Alan Cookson, and company had voted for me to be Clubman of the year.

On the 2nd day of June 2004, a good friend, Chris Howells assisted me in moving into 48 Gerddi Rheidol.  Another good friend, Nige Carr Evans was renting a spare room out to me.  My final year in University was to be spent living across the river Rheidol in Trefechan.  48 Gerddi Rheidol housed a recently decorated kitchen, a luxurious lounge with two leather settees, a cool bathroom, and my room located facing North into the town.  The view was of many gardens from a nearby terraced housing street, with a brief glimpse of the Kiln Bridge (opening in 2004, and spanning the river Rheidol).  I returned to Manchester on the 3rd in order to spend a few days relaxing at home before my new job for the University Managed & Leased Properties services as a Porter.

On the 5th of June 2004, I was supposed to watching England F.C. face the Icelandic football association team at the City of Manchester Stadium.  England would win 6-1.  But due to a few drinks the night before with Pete, and his mates this never happened.  We started off rolling dice in the Goose on Piccadilly to decide which public houses we would visit next.  As we could not collectively decide which public house to go to as a group, we decided on six towns in close proximity.  Stockport, Bolton, Bury, Oldham, Blackburn and Blackpool were chosen.  After we had decided many hours later, I ended up rushing home to grab my rucksack.  I packed my clothes and things ready for my return to Aber on the 6th, as I had to start work on the 7th.

By 9pm, we were on a Virgin train heading due south for a village known as London.  We had planned to stay at Pete’s friends’ house that lived in Charlton.  By 11pm we were in a bar, and slightly tipsy (the crate of beer on the train journey not helping).  Midnight passed, and somehow I became separated from Pete and his mates.  My phone battery had died, and my rucksack had disappeared.  Somehow, I ended up lost, lonely, and with only the contents of my wallet to help me get out of this mess.  I was approached by a student called Susan, who studied Engineering at Uxbridge’s Brunel University.  She brought me a few drinks, and eventually asked me if I wanted to go back to hers for a drink (in the Nescafe sense or not, I pondered?).  We headed back to her lodgings at her university.  We seemed to talk the whole night away, and then gently fall asleep, Susan in her bed, and me on her sofa in her room.  It seemed she did not just want to jump on top of me, and given the state I was in, I did not blame her.

Also, I made the text below smaller and lighter because I have been a tad graphic, again. Like I said, flip it. I am not hiding anything. It has to be written.

The next morning I woke up, crept to her bathroom, and a quick wash, using her towel, and then squeezed some toothpaste into my mouth and swilled it round as intensely as possible.  This seemed to do the trick, it certainly felt fresh.  What about deodorant?  I looked over at her Sure fragrance free roll-on.  It did the job.  I moved stealthily back in to get dressed, and managed so successfully.  At that point her bedroom door opened and in walked Susan, already dressed.  It appeared she had already been up, dressed and been to have breakfast without me knowing.  At this stage I was fully dressed.  She came over and I said thanks, and we hugged.  Hugs led to kisses, kisses led to her feeling my back, my shirt came off, and we ended up naked.  She said she wanted me in her.  She grabbed me close; I pulled away, and said, “I’ll just get a condom from my wallet.”  I said this praying I had one there.  She said, “Don’t worry we don’t need it.”  I reached into my wallet anyway, and tore the condom wrapper open.  I placed it on, better safe than sorry.  The first time we were intimate was kind of rushed, and the second time we both reached orgasm at the same time, but the third time that night lasted hours (kind of burning) but we reached orgasm and managed to finish off the three condoms in my wallet.  That is why they come in packs of three I think.  I stayed that night, and Susan gave me a lift to Heathrow station the next morning, we waved goodbye, agreed it was just fun.  Eight hours later, and three changes I arrived in sunny Aberystwyth. 

On the 7th of June 2004 I started work for the University Managed and Leased Properties as a Porter.  A Porter is just a glorified cleaner.  The boss, a Bernie Virgin was a smarmy camp guy, obsessed with targets.  The targets were always met, but he would insist on going over the targets again even if they were perfectly clean rooms in the first place.  His number two henchman was Jane Morgan, mother of staff member Will.  Jane was equally as irritating as Bernie, but with the added attribute of treating each member of staff like a child.  This did not go down very well (not like a room full of ladies in a Mardi Gras special hotel).  Many rebellions were planned, very little action occurred.  Mike and Lynwen were related to senior management and could slack off as much as possible.  Ron, a very nice American (is that a contradiction?) left in mid-July as he set off on a round the World tour starting from Bristol at his girlfriend’s house, and taking in America and China.  He was the first to leave.  Will left without telling his Mum that he was moving to Ireland to live and work alongside his fiancé.  Will had footballing experience in Carmarthen, Haverfordwest and was a very skilful footballer, but his knee injury in 2003 cut his football ambitions short.  For some unknown reason his mum Jane, and the supervisors, be they Marina or Mrs Jones, seemed to think me and Will worked hard together.  I had been working alongside Kai (Chinese super-worker from Shanghai) for the first week, and we had done more than our quota.  The supervisors mixed me with Will next, and he taught me the key to skiving off from work.  We were supposed to clean the hallways of Aberglasney house, Plynlimon, etc. but we managed to sit on the stairs chatting all day.  One day we even managed to sneak onto the beach and watch the day go by.  Mike left next, after Will.  Jurah (a Kiwi, based in Gloucester) departed next as he wanted more time with his Taiwanese girlfriend for travelling.

Little Andy had worked there in the previous two summers, and had already learnt how to avoid work to a perfection from Will.  He was always twinned with big Andy “Dogs” who soon learnt where to skive, smoke as many roll-ups as possible, and relax away from the superior staff sights.  This was some comparison to doctorate student Julie and Lynwen who seemed to enjoy working hard all day without breaking, yet achieving the same results as the lazy many.  There was also Vicky and Lindsay, who worked slow but steadily as they were always victims of supervision.

Ouday was also working in Aber for yet another summer.  He explained he wanted to achieve his masters in Business Studies so that he would not have to return to India to a pre-arranged marriage.  Ouday may have been the quietest guy in the group but he was a very interesting person to talk to (naturally whilst skiving from work).

I, Kai, little Andy, and Jurah met up with Jon Hughes to watch the Castell Rock outdoor bands perform on the 19th of August 2004.  It was the laziest Saturday on the Aber Castle grounds I’ve ever spent with some of the friendliest co-workers I have known.  We even met up to see the odd film at the cinema, Kai especially enjoying Kill Bill volume two.  He, like me being a big kid at the time, except he was twenty-six years of age!

On the day Aberystwyth Town faced Dinaburg in the UEFA Intertoto Cup, I was selling matchday programmes (as edited by myself, but poorly assembled by the club photocopier), and trying to avoid Mum, Paul, Astrid and Paul who had travelled to Newtown to watch the game.  A parent’s partner in front of team-mates, friends, and colleagues whilst clearly under the affect of a few local bitters was funny, yet a bit irritating when all you want to do is watch the game!  Still it was fun.  Aber drew a goalless game with Dinaburg on the 19th of June 2004, but lost 4-0 away in Latvia.  Sadly, I was working that day and could also not afford the trip.

In 2004/05, I was determined to return to playing regular football one way or another.  On the 17th Of August training at Penparcau F.C.’s Min-y-Ddol began. The first session went well, however in my second session a football hit me on the lower side of my left jaw.  The impact had caused a molar tooth to crack, and had also forced the tooth deep into my jaw.  At first it was not too bad.  Eventually pieces would fall out, and the pain would be agonising beyond belief.  A constant headache was with me for a long time.  I could not find a dentist locally or in Manchester.

On the 7th of August, Matt Cooling drove me and Mike Watts up to see Manchester City F.C. in a home friendly versus Lazio.  City won 3-1.  The journey was hot, the day was hot, and the wasp that landed on my ear causing me to run 100m faster than athlete made me feel hot. A summer worked towards a close, my final year of university was due to begin…

TO BE CONTINUED.

J3: The Secondary School Years

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

I woke up one morning in September drenched in my own urine.  The bullying had gotten so bad that I was physically shaking.  It was seven-thirty in the morning and I did not want to return to school.  I was scared.  The very few people I had talked with since entering the school were not strong enough to stand up to the bullies, with me or for me.  Since entering Mr Redmond’s class (7DR) I did not know where to turn to.  I was not enjoying my arrival to Reddish Vale High School at all. If I seemed to be smiling, during my first year at school, it was superficial. It was a lie. Inside my head was dizzy, lost and full of fear.

The high school had a farm located close-by to our tutorial room.  I would often go here at lunchtime throughout my first three years in Reddish Vale.  To protect myself from getting hurt I would not allow people to become too close a friend.  I sat on the 177 bus to school with James Cliff and Ben McGreavy but would not really associate myself with them in school.  James was a hit with the girls, I was not.  Ben was in a different class, and had his own interests with other groups, I did not want to intrude.  The armed forces of the U.K. mustn’t have had have more ranks than Reddish Vale High School, there was Peggy Rowe (head teacher), Mr Fowler (Deputy head teacher), Mrs Huntingdon (our head of year from year 7 to 11), and numerous teachers.  Yet I could not speak to anyone about the bullying. And when I tried to do so, I was watched.  I felt trapped, unsure of what to do.  I did what Mum advised me to, that being to get my head down and work.  So in classes I worked.  I competed for our tutor group in the Science Challenge, the Inter-Tutor group, and played as much football as feasible.  65 merit points, and 99.5 percent attendance later, and July arrived.  I, Ben, and James as a treat for great attendance were taken with many other 99% upwards students to Alton Towers for free.  That early summer’s day was mostly spent avoiding queues and riding the new ride, the Nemesis. We had to force James Cliff onto the ride but he went back for more. He was a good friend.

Every high school student around me had heroes, be they from bands, sports teams, the movies, family and friends, etc.  I chose to have several heroes, Morecambe & Wise, and my Nana amongst them.   One such hero was a German footballer called Uwe Rosler.  Uwe was brought into Manchester City F.C.’s line-up by Brian Horton from Bundesliga club FC Nurnburg.  Uwe was a holder of five East German international caps.  Rosler’s enthusiasm, and 64 goals, made him hugely popular with City followers like me – in his first three full seasons he was the top scorer with 22, 13 and 17 goals respectively.  His performance even outshone his more illustrious countryman Jurgen Klinsmann and won him City’s Player of the Year trophy in 1995.  In April 1998 he returned home when he joined Bundesliga leaders Kaiserslautern.  He was not a glamour-loving footballer, nor a man who asked too much, but he always gave his all, and his spirit encouraged others to give theirs too.  That is why he was my hero, and remained a hero even in 2005 when he was a football club manager in Norway.  He even battled off cancer.  Uwe Rosler is a true living City legend. He now manages Fleetwood Town, and his sons play at City. Colin and Tony are named after City legends Colin Bell and Tony Book.

By June of 1996, I was rewarded a prize for my effort and work in English by Reddish Vale High School.  This was similar to the Nobel Peace Prize, but much smaller and of less of an international recognition.  I would have also won the Inter-tutor group athletics long-jump had someone not jumped that extra centimetre beating me!  During the course of year eight I lowered my guard to Michael Clews, William Duncan, James Cliff, and David Jackson.  Occasionally, I even allowed the highly immature Adam “Madman” Morris into our group.  Me, William and Adam became known to our P.E. teachers Mr Moore and Mr Short.  I would only ever do P.E. if it was swimming, or football.  They would have to find me spare kit and force me into other sports, as I would purposely forget my kit on other occasions.  However, they would always seem to find me kit.  It also meant evading bullies. Adam and William were compulsive users of excuse-notes from their homes.  My effort grades were above average in everything, with the exceptions being the nothing subjects (drama, art, and music).  These grades carried on into year 9, by which bullying and bed-wetting was rife.  I did however manage to gain an award for I.T. in year 9.  Something they would later regret in year 10, as I crashed every school PC calling for many technicians to repair PCs.  Well it beats Adam putting Smarties in the floppy disk drives to see what would happen!

Out of school during years 7-9, I was close friends with Dan and Peter Ridyard who lived on Crayfield Road (having moved half a mile from Broom Lane).  This was convenient as they both lived around the corner from me.  Peter was the eldest, a few months younger than I.  Dan was a year younger, cheekier and bolder.  Over time we would get into trouble playing knock a door run, trespassing on golf courses, stealing golf balls, making dens, making bonfires, playing in builders’ sand, etc.  Dan and I became close friends as Peter drifted off.  Dan and Peter both attended Burnage High School for boys only.  Dan introduced me to Rob Hanna his school mate.  Rob kept a huge distance between himself and personal hygiene in 1997.  He is most definitely not gay.  Rob remained this way until in 2002 when he moved to Cleethorpes! I’m sure since then he has discovered soap and a tooth brush.

By September of year 9, Mr Rob Oxley had taken over from Mr Redmond.  Mr Oxley was tall, loud, and strict.  However, he was easy to fool or pushover.  He did not have full control of our class.  Graham Rothwell, Barry Rhodes, John Duncan, and Chris Grimes were expelled from our class.  He was now taking more control of class.  The exceptions being the lunch hour we opened up the tower lockers, removed the inner-shelves and locked James Cliff in there for a laugh.  Sadly, David Jackson found James too easy a victim for a laugh, and James would not defend himself.  After a month of this going on, I stepped in and ended up with a steal toe-cap in my face bruising my face and alleviating James’ bullying problem.  Who better to go for than defender of the victim?!  I could easily fight people off if needed to, but found the verbal name calling and constant taunting too much.  The teachers themselves seemed too afraid to help stop the bullies and this allowed the bullies the upper hand.  When alone the bullies would befriend me, but in their packs they would pick on me.

The Sunday afternoon that followed Asa’s 19th birthday celebration night would scar me for life, and cause me to miss two weeks of school.  I was on Scotland Hall Road Park playing field near my Nana’s home.  The park was behind Seven Acres Lane, in Newton Heath.  Me, a lad called Noel I’d met and his two friends were talking whilst I cycled around the swings they sat upon.  A large group of thirty or so males (ages ranging from 11 to 19) entered the park from an illegal pathway beyond the Clayton Vale railway track.  The group looked intimidating so Noel, his friends and I moved to the park edge.  My mountain bike would not go any faster, and I could see that the large group was running at us.  I jumped off the bike leaving it on the ground.  I ran as fast as I could onto the road, just behind Noel.

Noel and I returned to the park field twenty minutes later.  My mountain bike was where I had left it.  Without a worry I ran to the bike, grabbed it, lifted it up, and turned ready to leave the park.  From behind several trees behind me emerged several of the large group.  They had been waiting to ambush somebody.  Rocks hurtled past me, stones and sticks hitting the ground around me.  As I turned around to see how far behind me they were, a large piece of tarmac thrown from about 10m slammed into my face.  I fell over.  I was dazed and unsure.  I could hear them getting closer.  Confusion set in.  Panic did not set in.  I was dazed.  I looked up.  I was ready to die there and then.  I was awaiting torture.  My attackers closed in.  They looked at me.  They could see how they damaged me.  They could see how I was.  They ran.  I was ready to collapse.  I wanted to pass out.

An arm reached down to me, Noel had returned.  He lifted me up so I could stand.  All my weight was on him.  I was floppy, exhausted and dazed.  He helped me back to Nana’s house.  Nana rang Dad, who was now at his house at the top of Ludgate Road.  Nana called for an ambulance.  I collapsed.

I awoke in the bathroom upstairs, Nana holding a cloth over my face.  I was shaking, tortured, shocked, and deep into fear.  I could see my burgundy and white Manchester City shirt was below the blood that covered it.  Nana was rubbing my back trying to calm me.  I could taste the blood running down my lips.  I looked up and saw myself in the mirror.  The left-hand side of my cheek was swollen up as large as a tennis ball.  A gash stretched from under my eye to the side of my face.  Small cuts punched red patches around my eyebrow.  Blood poured from the top of my nose.  Below which I had no distinguishable nose features down to my nostrils.  The nostrils were flaps of skin waving about.  I could see fragments of my nose bone.  Blood was everywhere.  I could not see through my left eye.  I was horrified.  I panicked more.

Dad came rushing in.  He told me not to worry.  Dad rubbed my back, covered my nose in the cloth, and lifted me up.  He helped me down the stairs.  A taxi drove us to Asa’s nearby house.  Ace drove us to Crumpsall Hospital.  From here on a combination of nausea, dizziness, and confusion make the story patchy.

I remember waking up in Nana’s house and spending several days recovering in the same room.  Despite two witnesses and details I could remember the Police failed to catch anyone.  Many stitches, and some nose surgery later and I recovered.  I returned to school slightly traumatised but none the less more determined to avoid problems.

During year 11, my careers advisor Jenny Edge had persuaded me that there were more routes after school than A-levels or working full time at McDonalds.  She had told me of the BTEC National Diploma in Animal Care, and even found me several colleges to which I could study at.  This talk had also advised me where to do my work experience.  I was to carry my placement out at Manchester Pets and Aquatics in Ardwick.  This placement came and went, and Ron Bale (the manager) offered me a part-time job.  This job lasted until the following summer, where I worked full time until August 1999.

On the day Manchester City beat Macclesfield Town two goals to nil, I contemplated buying a pet mouse.  I wanted to name any new pets after the goal-scorers that day (Gareth Taylor and Shaun Goater).  The next day I went to work, and returned with three mice.  Silverside, Redcoat, and Dash were the three male mice.  Speedy Gonzales was a female mouse amongst them.  Speedy Gonzales killed all the males except for Dash.  They lived in my room happily for a long time, and reproduced several times (allowing me to sell them to Manchester Pets and Aquatics).  Mice will always make brilliant pets, as they are active, rarely aggressive and inquisitive little friends.

On a Sunday in January 1999, Manchester Pets and Aquatics experienced an armed robbery.  The criminals forced staff member Lee into the store with a knife to his back.  They had bats, knifes, and a sword in their possession.  They forced us to the ground.  Debbie was forced to the ground behind me, and one thuggish member spotted the phone nearby to me.  He lifted the phone, slamming it onto my right knee.  As he walked past he kicked Debbie in the back.  They forced Ron the manager up the stairs.  He was forced to hand over the days takings.  The criminals left with their new found wealth.  Within minutes half of Manchester’s Police force was on the doorstep.  It was too little, too late. I broke down in tears much later.

On the 9th of March, 1999, City beat Burnley by six goals to nil at Turf Moor Stadium.  Shaun Goater bagged a hat-trick, with Andy Morrison heading home, Horlock curling one in, and Allsop bagging a strike.  This gave City hope of returning to the Nationwide Division One.

Nana had been unwell for many months.  She had always suffered from Diabetes since I was born.  A silent car pulled into the farthest car park at Crumpsall Hospital.  Dad, Ace, Uncle Pud, and I climbed out of the car doors.  We walked into the hospital, neither of us speaking.  Our feet slapping the cold concrete ground echoing down long corridors.  We walked directly to a ward.  A body lay still, motionless on a bed three beds to our right.  “Come on Nana, get up. Let’s leave here now,” I thought.  Her silence, unconsciousness, peaceful body beneath the blankets did not remind me of how Nana would act.  This was the first time Nana had not offered me a Vanilla Slice or packet of Chewitts on my arrival to the same room as her.  A tear trickled down my cheek.  I could see Dad, Uncle Pud and Ace struggling to hold back their tears.  Ace was crying, he had moved into Nana’s spare room in recent years whilst he was studying at Salford University.  Nana’s battle with Cancer was coming to an end.  Her body was being pumped with Morphine to alleviate her final pain.

The phone rang on the 29th of April, 1999.  Mum answered the call.  She could not hear anyone.  Bernadette took the phone.  She told Mum that Nana had died.  I knew she was dieing, but I did not know to react when she had died.  Nobody so close had died, whilst I was over the age of five.  My wise, humorous, loving, caring, and hugely influential Nana had died.  I could talk openly with Nana about my ambitions, and we would talk about animals all day, whether in Morecambe, Morrison’s supermarket or Newton Heath market or even her family home.

I did not cry immediately.  I walked up the stairs at our home on Broom Avenue.  I opened my door, closed my door.  I sat by my bed, and pulled the quilt onto myself.  A torrent of tears released over me.  I cried myself to sleep.

The funeral of my Nana was to be held midweek during the spring school term.  I wanted to go to the funeral.  My Dad had passed the message about where the funeral would be held, and the time it was to be held.  I would have to make my own way.  I wanted to go, but did not have a black tie or white shirt.  I decided I did not want to let Nana down by going to the funeral in my scruffy clothes, so I would go to school instead.  I started walking to school, across the Highfield Country Park.  I could not walk anymore, I wanted to break down and cry.  I found a spot in some bushes to sit down.  I sat there all day crying.  Had my Dad or some other family member collected me, I would have gone to the funeral.  I wanted to say my goodbyes at the funeral, and Nana’s final resting place.  It would take me almost six whole years to visit Nana’s final resting place.  My memory of where it was wiped away and I was too afraid to ask Dad for the location.  I would visit Nana’s house and expect to see her, and for her to offer a friendly hello.  The once warm house grew cold, and Granddad grew lonely by the day.  I’d sit on the three-cushion settee by Granddad and expect Nana to come around the glass lounge door and offer biscuits and cherryade.  I hope there is a heaven, for Nana will be caring for everybody there.

In May 1999, City looked to be remaining in the Nationwide Division Two.  89 minutes had passed at Wembley Stadium, and Gillingham was leading by two goals to none.  Kevin Horlock hit a lucky strike in, the deficit had been halved but time was running out.  City were dominating, but time was against them.  Somehow in the moments of injury time, Paul “Crocus” Dickov had broken away from the defenders.  Goater’s shot ricocheted off the defence, before Paul Dickov fired the ball into the net.  City was level when the full time whistle went.  Thirty agonising minutes of extra time was played.  The penalty shoot out went ahead.  Dickov’s penalty hit the right post, and ran behind Bartram hitting the left post.  It never crossed the line.  Nicky Weaver saved a shot from the Gillingham striker moments later.  City had won 3-1 on penalties.  City was back in Division One for the 1999/2000 season. What a day!

In June 1999, following my year 11 exams, I met Joanna Fallows at work.  She was on work experience from a school in Hyde.  She lived in Gee Cross.  We would enjoy many nights at 10-pin bowling, the cinema, Pizza Hut, and Lazer Quest (where Dan and I often went each weekend).  Joanna was a tall lady, brunette, 36DD, and a very sporty lady.  We enjoyed swimming at the Hyde Leisure pools a few times together.  This was a very good relationship, especially as I did not feel anyone would ever like me.  We drifted apart by August, as I had quit Manchester Pets and Aquatics to spend more time with Joanna.  This backfired as Joanna seemed intent on just shopping.  I hated shopping.  We split up, and I started work at Co-op Pioneer in Gorton.  My first kiss and my first taste of foreplay came with Joanna. I was too young though. Young and naive.

In August 1999, Mum and Paul took Astrid, Paul and I to Barmouth (Abermaw).  The Welsh town is located on the west coast of Wales south of the legendary village of Harlech.  We stayed at a holiday village called Sunnysands.  The sandy beaches were clean and white.  The sea was warm and clear.  I would often walk south down the coast six miles into Barmouth.  In the mornings the beach was often undisturbed, and many a Cormorant or Blue-Velvet Swimmer Crab would be observed.  I would leave Barmouth with sunburn and a perfectly relaxed state of mind.

Registration for college was looming, and on the day I received 8 grades Cs, a grade B in Geography, and a grade D in Electronics at GCSE level. Not the best, but by far not the worst. I hadn’t revised at all, ever, not once.  I attended North Trafford College, handed my grades to Elaine Lamb (the potential tutor) and agreed I wanted to be part of this college (even if it was in the shadows of Old Trafford football ground).

John II

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

Mum and Paul soon needed a larger house; there were five of us and only two rooms.  We arrived at Broom Avenue, off Broom Lane in 1991.  This road was located in the district of Levenshulme.  Levenshulme was famed for its antiques village, and very little else.  I started at a new primary school, this time Chapel Street Primary.  The new challenge of making friends was not easy.  Year 3 was not easy.  The bullies soon discovered new prey.  Who better to pick on than a dictionary-crazed, mathematically-ahead-of-them, wildlife-loving kid who was way ahead of them, or seemed to be because he didn’t eat erasers or fart the national anthem using his armpit as an instrument. I never thought I was better than anyone. They projected this onto me. Made me feel inferior by appearing superior. I hurt lots. Every day. Every year for nearly four years straight.  I became more and more distant from the other kids, as I often found people would reject me as a friend. I didn’t trust anyone, initially.  Troublesome Peter Ridyard, and snobby Alex Muir became my friends.  It was rare I would play out with them until year 5, as they lived far away at the other end of Broom Lane [although just 2km away, it seemed, back then, to be closer to London].

Within days of moving into Levenshulme, Pup had run from the house, and Astrid had run after him between parked cars.  Astrid was hit and landed many feet from the point of impact as the car screeched to a halt.  I remember the day as it was so confusing for me.  I had been taken to see trains go by with Ernie (my Granny Ivy’s partner) at Levenshulme station.  We were eating Gregg’s Bakery pasties on the platform and he was telling me and Grannyny Ivy all about how trains worked and the good old days of steam.  We returned to my house to discover from the neighbour’s Mary and Bill that they had all rushed to hospital with Astrid.  Later that day Paul returned with Paul junior.  He told us how it had happened, and how Astrid was.  She had suffered severe head injuries and a broken leg.  It would take weeks at Booth Hall Children’s Hospital (where I had my hernia operation aged 7), and months of intense physiotherapy and treatment at Rodney House Specialist Support & Outreach School before Astrid with recover.

The day after the accident Dad collected Pup from our home.  The only way I would now see my closest friend was when Dad would pick me up.

During May 1991, within days of starting school I finally swam my length at Levenshulme swimming baths.  It was apparent I was not going to be a channel swimmer, but I did progress from a width to a length.  Class 4PC as dictated by the tyrant Miss Clegg started with a bang.  Within two weeks I had many things confiscated by the hairy-nosed teacher.  Two Lego men, countless Micro Machine cars, and twenty pence (as provided by the tooth-fairy) went into her large laundry-bag-come-personal-suitcase.  My attendance at school however was excellent.  I did enjoy learning even if I hated the bullies.  Miss Clegg referred to me as a loner on many occasions but made no effort to help me make new friends.  I was behaving sensibly (to mix and mingle amongst the other monsters may have got me into trouble and maybe even eaten by Miss Clegg).

Miss Clegg was an enforcer of learning.  Whilst under her control, our class worked as hard as possible.  We worked on as many ways as to wind her up on the class trip to Levenshulme library [a place of dreams], we sneak off and hunt down the Anne Hooper’s books for a giggle.  We also rotated the “who can throw a rubber [eraser] at Cleggy and get away with it” game amongst ourselves.  At parents’ evening as with many years of schooling, I’d be told alongside my parents that my work was great, and my work rate was above average but my handwriting was poor.  Maybe then I had foreseen the Computer-typed work age.  Besides in Miss Cleggs class would I shiver often at the thought of being told to slow down and let others catch up.  That, and I had to keep an eye on my back, at the bullies. How could my handwriting be neat under those conditions?

In September 1993, a wise and witty teacher by the name Andrew Jones began to teach us.  He allowed us more room with our imaginations and helped us with our vocabularies.  This teacher was dedicated to his job.  He helped my confidence, encouraged me to be recognised by the class in teams, and congratulated me on a determined improvement of my handwriting.  During this academic year several pupils visited Ghyll Head Outdoor Education Centre, close to Lake Windermere.  The car park view looked over the great lake.  Our supervisory teachers included Mr Jones, Mrs Treanor (the deputy head-teacher), and Miss Spencer.

On the Monday we explored the site grounds of Ghyll Head, climbed the rope course, and I also met numerous mallard ducks.  They were already hand tame and loved the bread I had brought them.  On the Tuesday, we enjoyed rock scrambling on Humphrey Head overlooking Morecambe Bay.  We also kayaked across Lake Windermere seeing several swan eggs along an island to the West of the lake.  The other days varied from horse-riding like John Wayne, to gorge walking, tunnelling two miles up an underground flood drain, caving in Ingleside (Yorkshire) and singing on many mini-buses.  On the final night we had a barbeque and Mr Jones claimed he was drinker a Larger drink, but we all knew it was Lager!  During my stay at Ghyll Head, I had to sleep for five nights in room Gimmer.  There was also five others there, and we chatted late into the night with mad post-mushy-peas farting epidemics. The older kids were friendlier than the younger students there. I didn’t feel threatened.

The end of year five arrived, and before departing for home for the summer period, Mr Jones very kindly gave me a set of encyclopaedias he had learnt from as a child.  It was a very generous and touching gift, and I thanked him.  Mr Jones was my greatest Primary school teacher.  In fact he remains my greatest teacher of all time, and I hope he is doing very well for himself.

Miriam Roe was our next teacher.  6MR was a very lively year, with me, Osman and Alex always doing Smashy and Nicey impressions (characters from the TV show, Harry Enfield and Chums).  We even allowed Evangalia Votski into our group, she was a very kind friendly Greek girl. She was also the first girl I ever found attractive and wanted to kiss. It wasn’t to be. Miss Roe taught me that even when I wish to be independent that asking for help at times when I required it would not be frowned upon.  I survived a year of bullying, and Chapel Street Primary school with its giant six-foot-plus headteacher that was Mr Gary Kershaw.  I no longer had Mr Kershaw to guide me through school, and help me avoid trouble.  After Summer, I would enter high school in Reddish Vale with classmate James Cliff.

To summarise my early years, I had a coin ride obsession when I was a wee toddler; I most likely kept Professor Peabody’s in Blackpool’s Winter Gardens open for trade; enjoyed many a holiday in Cleveleys and Morecambe with Nana and Dad, and many other family members; I remember getting drenched one birthday in Blackpool with Neil Fanning and my Mum;  I even remember pushing my sister Astrid, aged two, up the Great Orme in Llandudno; and if anyone invites you to Scarborough for a holiday, say no.  Scarborough can boast grey skies that would rival the likes of a winter in Wales. But now, after three primary schools and years of relative comfort, the ride of life would begin…

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter John.

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

On the 28th of October 1982 I was born.  I cannot remember it, nor wish to remember it.  My birth certificate was to arrive several days after my birth.  Either the registrar was busy, or my parents were contemplating such names as “Eric”, “Steven”, “Bert”, or “Joe”.  The prospect of being called Peter Eric Acton over my real name is not something I’d have desired – after all my initials would spell out a green garden seed.  Thankfully this was avoided when Mum decided on naming me after a line of Grandparents – John Robert was named.  I have a Mr Tom Danson (Registrar of Births & Deaths) for approving my given name, and also confirming I was born.  I’m sure Mr Danson was a terribly nice bloke, his signature on my birth certificate was stylish!

I was born a male, and thankfully still remain one [I checked earlier, and have been doing so since I was a teenager].  Crumpsall Hospital, now North Manchester General Hospital, gave rise to me.  I imagine I was a terrible burden on my parents, probably burping, farting, and vomiting to a strict schedule.  Something I may have carried on with throughout life, but cannot confirm.

After my birth and entrance to life, my parents returned to Margate Avenue in Newton of the Heath [a greyer place there was not].  There was no peaceful return, screams and wails ruled now.  Newton Heath, the origin of a certain controversial Trafford based football team, and was also made up of many railway workers.  The area was not an ideal Conservative Party recruitment point.  The house was also home to Beaut, a German Shepard dog, who sadly passed away with old age in early 1983.  Mum had Basil, a black and white cat whose hobbies included Samurai sword fighting and bingo.  We all uprooted to Warbeck Road in Moston.  We were joined by a new family addition, he was young, black with golden patches, and available for free donkey rides.  Pup Acton, our wee dog had arrived, and he grew at an alarming rate over the years, keeping his big floppy ears.  He would lick many people, and always be by made side for many years.  Basil and Pup loved each other, in a cat chases the dog, dog chases cat kind of way.  On the 13th of August 1985, my Grannydfather John Roberts died aged sixty.  The family was devastated.

As I grew older, my parents grew apart.  Divorce soon followed.  My Dad moved back to  Ludgate Road, in Newton Heath, with Nana and Granddad.  A crappy settlement was agreed upon whereby Dad could only pick me up on Saturdays.  A primary school child would always feel worry, when Dad would not ring, nor arrive on Saturdays.  A waiting child would regularly sit watching through the front lounge window, without even a hint by phone that my Dad would not be turning up.  After twenty minutes of waiting past the time of his expected arrival Mum would tell me he was probably working.  Still I’d wait until long after the sun would set.  I’d expect every diesel engine car that turned onto our road to be his car.  I’d often cry myself to sleep, crying for wanting to see my Dad, hoping for him to arrive.  There was one night I remember when I was young when Dad visited late one night, full of excuses.  I did not care for his excuses.  I just wanted to see him.  He brought with him a Goblin head, which when you pulled its eye out, it made a gurgling sound.  It was a really heavy toy, with bright and thick orange hair set on a green head littered with scars. I wish I had that toy but am most satisfied that I have the memory. I hope the good moments never leave my skull.

I would not care whether we went to watch football [be it Man City or Oldham Atheltic, Maine Road F.C. or whoever], go to the allotment (Pup could tag along too), or visit Nana and Granddad.  Time with Dad was always enjoyable.  We would spend many days on the allotment.  The allotment on Brookdale Park may not have seemed a magical place, but my imagination and the company of Pup made it wonderful.  Dad would provide fizzy pop, cooled in a barrel of rainwater, as a treat.  I and Pup would trek into Brookdale Park and its wilderness, whilst Dad would build a greenhouse or dig up his plot.  We’d plod over imaginary mountains, I’d climb trees whilst Pup bounded around below, we’d play hide and seek, and walk up the park stream.  And when I became tired we would ascend the highest point of the stream embankment looking down onto the allotment.  We would sit on the peak and look down at Dad working hard.

After a day out or at the allotment, Dad would take me to Nana and Granddad’s house for our evening meal.  Nana would cook something homemade and always wonderful to the taste buds.  Nana would spoil me with sweets, usually Chewitts, Vanilla slices or Boost chocolate bars.  Granddad would treat me to some yellow tomatoes which were his specially grown variety.  I miss the stew, dumplings and delights. The return home would not fill me with joy, because I never knew how long it would be before I could see my Dad again.  How long would it be before I would see Nana and Granddad again?  Nana was an amazing lady, always treating the younger family members, and spoiling the dogs she kept over the years:  Snowy (a West Highland terrier, for which breed Nana loved), Nomaz (a Yorkshire terrier short hair, of which breed Nana also adored), Suzie (also a West Highland Terrier and perhaps the oldest of Nana’s dogs during my lifetime), Pup (when he visited), and even the neighbours dog Nobby (who was clearly the offspring of Pup, as were the majority of Newton Heath’s mongrel dogs – sorry, RSPCA!).

A bowl of Nana’s homemade stew alongside some potato croquettes or chips and you would soon feel full.  There would always be room for desert, and desert always came with custard, warm or cold.  There was no need for posh restaurants as far as I was concerned; a meal at Nana’s was luxury.

One year, Dad drove me and Mum to Knowsley Safari Park.  On arrival we sat in the car, watching the Peacocks outside.  Dad suggested we had some food in the car, and handed out Spam sandwiches.  We watched the Peacocks for hours.  The zoological park had closed eventually.  I think Dad was a little short of cash and could not afford to go in.  I loved the day trip never-the-less.

My New Moston Primary School days hold little memory for me.  I just remember playing catch the girl, kiss the girl and catching my classmate Claire at the time; a friend called Anthony; and me having a pooh in a classroom because the teacher would not allow me to go to the toilet.  I whipped my trousers down, squatted in a playroom kitchen pen and laid one down.  Sadly, a fellow pupil and classroom whinge-bag Kelly spotted me and promptly enlightened the teacher to my doings.  I never got away with it.

A couple of weeks prior to my seventh birthday I learned to swim.  The school enforced visits to Broadway swimming baths enabled schoolchildren back then to combat the risk of drowning.  They simply subject you to water deeper than your body height, throw you in, and watch you learn that no kicking of the legs or motion in the arms will ultimately result in swallowing excessive amounts of water towards the lungs and belly.  My first width certificate was in the bag on the 13th of October 1989.  It was also noted that you could leave a yellow slipstream behind you if the teacher would not allow you to the toilet.  Had she not learned from my earlier primary school actions!?

Not that my teacher was the only victim of my terror, the dentist who had not warned of his intentions to probe my mouth, soon found his hand littered with a John-size bite mark.  Having someone else’s hand in your mouth will always seem wrong to me.  Even Mum became a victim of me pouring cornflakes down the toilet, blocking it with old toilet roll tubes, and also seeing exactly how much washing up liquid would empty from the bottle in one squeeze (naturally onto a clean surface, for example the carpet).

My craze for Thomas the Tank Engine was quickly topped by Ghostbusters, and before long Dangermouse, Count Duckula, and eventually the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  Lego remained faithfully by my side throughout the years. Secret showings of The Gremlins on video at my Nana’s house when Nana was away, under Dad’s supervision had me praying for a Mogwai for my birthday.  Instead Dad allowed me to choose a present at Morrison’s superstore in Fallowfield.  Naturally, I went for a small Lego pirate set along with a large truck space carrier.  The next day Mum invited my friend Neil and another friend who like Turtles too around for a birthday meal.  I was allowed the choice of food, so we had Bangers and Mash with beans.  This was my favourite at the time.  Mum had brought me a Lego castle set, as she was always trying to bring out my imaginative side.  Neil came from several doors down.  His mum Miriam knew my mum.  To get to Neil you could walk along the front road, or run to the back of the garden and cut through the back of several gardens past the man who always recited “Peter Piper picked a pepper…” to us and made us giggle.  One day on the route down to Neil’s house I discovered a dead gull.  It looked lifeless as expected, and when prodded with a stick, it was rock hard and crawling with small beetles.  There was a lesson to be leant, but it passed me by whatever it was.

In 1988, Astrid was born.  I now had a little sister to fight with, and to love and cherish.  It was around this time that Basil the cat had left home, and moved a few doors away to be fed.

Mum, met Paul Mathers in early 1990, and we moved to 2 Range Street, Openshaw.  Dad moved from Nana and Granddad’s house into 76 Warbeck Road, and I often visited to share bowls of Frosties for an evening meal!  Plus, the new neighbours to my Dad were of Chinese origin and loved to share Lego with me.  My new primary school was to be Clayton Brook Primary.  They made me retake my width certificate on the 8th of October 1990, the idiots were holding my progress back with P.E.  However, I could zoom far further ahead with mathematics and science in classes.

We added Ben the cat to the family; and Mum and Paul also added a new child to the family.  Paul Anthony Mathers junior was born on the 15th day of November 1990.  After escaping to my room to play with Lego and eventually exhausting my supply of bricks, I decided to play out in the new area.  Originally I was only allowed to the park around the corner, and to the top of my street.  I did make one friend, but he was banned from playing with me by his parents one day, as a result of me hitting his head off the opposite side to a see-saw I was on.  Accidents do happen.  I did not like Openshaw, I knew very few people there, and the area was riddled with good for nothing kids and derelict factory buildings.

TO BE CONTINUED?

圣诞节快乐 ( Shèngdàn jié kuàilè / Merry Christmas ) Christmas in China#4

2014: 圣诞节快乐 ( Shèngdàn jié kuàilè / Merry Christmas )
2015: Shèng dàn kuài lè [MERRY CHRISTMAS] 圣诞快乐
2016: 我永远不会放弃 (wǒ yǒngyuǎn bú huì fàngqì [I will never give up!]
2017…

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. The yuletide arrived upon us, beating down on us like the summer sun on exposed earth. The relentless flow of festive cheer and cash registers slamming shut full of your hard-earned dough began and flashed by. Santa bar crawls, logo-covered bunting, and piss-poor parodies of Frostie The Snowman were go, go go. Repeated movies, dusty and scratchy Christmas songs and badly replicated versions of last year’s over-priced toy sat side-by-side with tinsel so dusty that it could line a funeral procession and not look out of place.

In some cities, villages and places around the world, there was loneliness and feelings of being so lost, poor, destitute or sad. It shouldn’t have to be this way. Jerusalem was unified and completely calm. So, we as people must also put aside differences and make those who feel alone, feel part of something bigger. Christmas 2017 was my fourth Christmas in China. I vowed last Christmas (2016) to go home, to Blighty. For reasons, visa-related and the like, that wasn’t likely to happen. It won’t be like this in 2018. I don’t feel that bad about being away from family at this most festive time. I hope that they can understand me. I hope they don’t think that I don’t want to leave gifts under Christmas trees or fill their Christmas stockings with a little thank you for their wonderful warm natures (Well, mostly! You know who you are!). I wouldn’t mind a Christmas tipple with my family-folk, but it wasn’t to be this year. Instead we can share one on the next occasion.

This Christmas, I made a charitable donation to a good cause and that was my main gift I gave, save for stockpiling thoughtful things to deliver to family and friends.

Anyway, I waffled on, I don’t have purpose to this blog post, aside from wishing everyone a late happy Christmas and a wonderful new year. Tomorrow is another day. I hope it brings joy and smiles for you and your family.

Christmas Eve was spent in Shenzhen watching the Hollywood Movie Orchestra perform themes such as Star Wars, Raiders of the Lost Ark, a James Bond medly, Somewhere In Time, Superman, Harry Potter, The Lord Of The Rings, and so many more great movements. I shed tears in the themes of Schindler’s List and Forrest Gump. They have always pulled on my heartstrings, just like E.T. and Bambi. It is mostly sentimental but always reminds me of how lucky I am. I feel really fecking lucky. At times, I have felt low, then I dig up a wonderful memory and all is good again. Lately, in periods of deep relaxation (sat reading The Fortress by Andy McNab, or during an Ox-horn massage etc) I have dug up some memories that may have slipped away for far too long. I think my 2018 resoultion is to write more. So, in January, I will write about my history, a kind of release of warts and all, with some love and hugs along the way. This isn’t showing off. I really like writing and there is no vanity intended. Each month I’ll slap some words on a palette and call it writing. A thematic bubbling pot of pish.

January: The Life of John

February: Manchester [Our City]

March: My favourite writers [musicians, journalists, authors and more]

April: Ambition.

May: MCFC, Okay.

June: The U.K.

July: Cycling.

August: The family tree.

September: Music.

October: Travels.

November: Movies.

December: Happy holidays.

To be continued…

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Here’s to you Nige Carr Evans…

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / S’mae / Hello / How do,

WeChat Image_20171107210611

[Image: Let’s not forget past blues, Facebook]

Nige, oh Nige, I am sorry to hear you are no longer with us. I remember some time ago when you said you hadn’t long left, and we were sat chatting in your apartment that I rented from you. One thing about you, you were always genuine and loved a natter. Those brews and beers that went with the chat were great. Down to earth at the best of times and uplifting in the worst of times. After my Grandfather passed away, and then my other Grandfather passed away… you were there to talk with in dark hours. Between a tooth problem that I needed fixing, you helped me, despite having worries of your own. You seemingly always wanted to make others happier than yourself.

I loved the car journeys with Mike Wattsy, the other Nigel and many others up to the then City of Manchester Stadium, having met you through uni mates, who spotted a blue working at Aberystwyth. Those nights watching away games in the Pier, Kane’s or wherever we could find City on screen, and the odd game watched at Park Avenue, I could listen to your rants about football over-and-over again. The thing with us footy fans is, that we all know better. We’re a breed of coach that didn’t do our badges, and decided to experience the emotional ride. That ride was one where you let me use your seasoncard in the early days of the City of Manchester Stadium – and helped drive us to Thomas Cook Trophy games, League Cup games on a midweek night and a fair few away jaunts too. Eventually, you convinced me to move from the East Stand into the South Stand and I never regretted that move.

I always got the impression you were massively dedicated to many things. Family, friends and football. You roped me into a sponsored headshave at Headlines with Maria. After you moved in with Maria, you seemed so happy and your world had a glow to it. You supported each other so well. I’ve not seen many couples that close, ever! Your banter with opposition football fans was there, and the twinkle in your eye shined through. I was lucky enough to meet many great people through knowing you and had the pleasure of meeting your daughter ever so briefly, and other relatives. I offer my solace to all of Nige’s family, my love and my gratitude to Nige himself, for taking time to be a friend. Sadly, years away from Aberystwyth means friends grow apart, but catching up with Nige at the Etihad for brief moments was like seeing him only yesterday. I can still feel the growl of the red (why red?) Seat as he gunned the engine and headed us to Manchester via The Whistling Kettle for a fry up.

You even pushed me to join Penparcau F.C. when quite frankly I was ready to give up kicking a football. Training there was a memorable experience with Mike Gilbert, and Colin Bitchell. At that time, I knew I wasn’t good enough, but you said, “go and have fun in training.” So, I did. I had a few chances and bagged a few goals at the highest level I had ever played. Everyone needs a Nige in their life. That little gentle friendly shove and suddenly you feel at home, suddenly you feel you can do something extra and be that little bit better. Here’s to you Nige Carr Evans, your mates love you more than you will know…

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Spatial awareness, cuddling goblins and common sense.

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

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So, the first Friday of my return I met my students for the 2017/18 academic year. They are all grade one students. There seemed to be an age range from 6 to 7 years old. There are considerable differences in height and physique. Spoken English ability appears to very high, with only a limited vocabulary restricting conversations flowing with perfection. They are learning fast and have a great foundation.

I first met several students in the days leading up to Friday, whilst I was preparing the classroom. My students seem to have a range of normal names, not often witnessed in Chinese primary schools. Rain, Christie, Natalie, Lawson, and Evan are a few examples of ordinary names, for extraordinary students. Soffy, whose older sister Waffy, is an oddity of a name, however, her English ability is magnificent. I suspect the names relate to something that I am yet to understand.

Today was my 28th day of school. Many fine moments have been had, and many questions have formed along the short jouney to date. How far up a nose can a finger reach? If a student is hyperactive and responds to other positive stimulus, should they receive different treatment? How funny is a music teacher using a mobile phone to play music over a tiny megaphone device? In China those little portable voice amplifiers are the size of an old Sony Walkman. They will happily distort any old sound. They’re even partial to a bit of feedback that even the Gallagher Brothers would be proud of. How many potatoes are too many? Why do my textbooks and pens keep taking nightly tours away from the classroom? Which children’s books are the best?

One potato, two potatoes, three potatoes… it seems my stomach is the world’s biggest patting board, and if hitting my stomach was an Olympic sport, then China would secure gold. Desciptions of places beyond my stomach, such as my head have ranged from a big white cabbage to that of a potato. My legs have been described as a sack of mashed potatoes. It is great to know your students have learnt the word potato, and have a knowledge of how to cook said root vegetable. If I put on a jacket, they’ll no doubt call me a jacket potato.

So, on this day in 2005, I wrote an article for ATFC.org.uk. Today, I am reminded of it. It feels good knowing that ATFC.org.uk is running and supporting the football club Aberystwyth Town after 13 years. I think ATFCnews.co.uk ran for about 5 years and before that there were a few other dated websites. The team that run ATFC.org.uk are doing a fantastic job. Unlike the national team of Wales and their bid for the World Cup, the ATFC.org.uk team are well and truly in the ball.

“Caersws 5-1 ATFC – FAW Premier Cup Round 1, 11/10/05
Newyddion/News / Contact Report Author
Demolition Derby or Caersws Curse
Referee: Mr Whitby. Attendance: 182. Entertainment value: 1/5 stars.
An early goal always helps the side who scores. Aber had no such luck as Neville Thompson helped the Bluebirds to start brightly. The ball had not crossed into the Caersws half before Caersws had the lead. Poor concentration and a strong finish around Richard Morgan allowed Thompson to score. Within ten minutes Stuart Roberts sprinted clear to almost test ex-Taff’s Well shot-stopper David Jones. Jones had some luck as Roberts’ shot clipped the post and rebounded clear.
Aber lose track of striker Neville Thompson
Caersws liked scoring so much they did it again…
Did the scoreline flatter Caersws? Quite the opposite. Caersws made use of the ball, played some neat passes and made what they deserved. Goal number two came from Neil Mitchell. Mitchell added to his one WPL goal for this season. Maybe Aber could have had some attacks and split Caersws open? Caersws were solid at the back… and determined. Their determination gave Aber no time on the ball, and their sheer graft was an example of how hard-working football should be. Even at two nil up, they rolled their sleeves up and got dirty. They played fair football and did what they like to do best, in that of frustrating their neighbours.
Now nobody knows the importance of the derby game more than Sean Jehu, the veteran Caersws player marked the game with a goal after 40 minutes sending Aber in at half-time three goals down. Half-time: Caersws 3-0 ATFC. No nobody can argue that the Aber concentration has room for improvement because yet again Aber were caught wide open. Neville Thompson bagged his second of the game after 46 minutes. The striker paced through and upset the visiting team’s hope of a come-back.
…and again.
Coates looks to pressure the Bluebird defence.
Aber had one shot on target (what I think correctly as being their first on target) soon after the 4-0 mark. Substitute Glyndwr Hughes firing past debutee David Jones from a cross. Minutes later Mr Whitby and his assistant failed to spot Jason Rees’ shot cleared from inside the goal by Andy Thomas. Thomas was clearly shielded behind his keeper and another defender. The referee waved play on much to the disbelief of Aber. With under ten minutes to go Caersws’ Venables headed home to put the icing on the Bluebird fairy cake.
Tonight Aber were watched by Tomi Morgan (Friday looms for another Mid-Wales derby game) and Ken McKenna tonight (who is looking forward to a win at Treflan?). Interesting to see a warm cuppa is still served in cups at Caersws – delicious. Bari Morgan will likely be absent from the coming games due to severe bruising to his thigh. Glyndwr Hughes is shaking off his achilles injury.”

In some ways, I miss writing football reports and watching copious amounts of football. In other ways, I don’t. I like writing about variety and having made the decision to exit HubHao – I can safely say I need a new and local challenge, after a break since issue 27. There is a series of novels in the pipeline with provisional interest in the text from a few choice publishers. And something akin to being a textbook… The Very Hungry Caterpillar it is not.

I love how people often cross the road here, without stopping, looking and listening. Heck, drivers seem instinctive at entering flowing traffic without looking. Their yellow flashing lights are at no risk of a bulb blowing from overuse, or actual use for that matter. Today, m\ny students entering class with pull-along wheely backpacks. They turned up the aisles, and each one hit the first desk, dragging it out of position. I watched most students hit two to four desks in the process. The ones who managed to hit one desk, had a desk on the front row. Those who hit no desks, carried smaller backpacks. These backpacks are often too heavy to be hung on the students’ wooden chairs. Yet, they do. Throughout the day when seated, they are balanced out. When they stand, a seat upends. Despite demonstrations on how to steer around desks, place heavier bags away from unstable seats… it isn’t going so well.

 

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Previously Now.

你好/ Ní hǎo / Nín hǎo / Hello / How do,

SUMMER DAYS

In the week, I visited Dan and his tribe, I made my third consecutive visit to The Pantry, Parton as it is Dan’s most local of shops. I tell my mate I am going to see him and his family. It is all lies. I am there secretly for the delicious flapjacks and scones at The Pantry. That, or the slabs of chocolate delight. I will return one day soon. I guess I should call in at my mates again too…

For one night only, whilst watching comedian Ross Noble, with my brother Paul I headed to a village near to the cathedral city of York. Glamping is not something that has ever appealed, however, the wooden huts were surprisingly aesthetic, cosy and warm. The window allows great ventilation and the front door was perfect for the peaceful countryside nearby. The location was 10-15 minutes walk from Pocklington Station/Railway Station (now a converted leisure venue)/Aldi/Sainsburys – and a short skip from the glider airfield. The village is delightful and can be reached with ease from the X46/X36/747 buses from York and elsewhere. A barbecue area, great kitchen facilities and a simple yet effective shower block added to a strangely glamourous camping experience – without the hassle of camping. If I hadn’t have stayed with my spotty younger brother, I may have swayed to calling the location romantic. The owners at Wolds Glamping are not just friendly but clearly thoughtful in their bedding services, location of the six pods and ample groundspace nearby. Maybe, one day, I could take more than a night there…

Converesely, Dan and I did some actual camping, following on from our Morecambe Bay camp with the late Pete, and our North Wales camp with Adam, Pete, Steven and others. Whilst 2016, missed the now traditional pitch-in-the-wild due to Pete’s sad passing away, we will continue the fixture, which was accidentally skipped in 2014 as I was in China. So, with a supply of rum and whiskey we parked somewhere near Buttermere and hiked far and wide (in this case I am wide). In fact, we tried two sites but decided the watercourses and lay of the land to be unsuitable. Our chosen pitch was by a lake, overlooking beautiful forestry with the towering peak of ? behind us. The shadowy crag, coupled with blustering gales and driving drizzle added to the eerie ambience. After burning a tonne of forest debris on our camp fire, we buried the fire and drifted off to sleep, around about the time that the sun arose. I guess starting drinking and snacking, with stories of old, talking ideas and general natter around mid-afternoon wasn’t that bad. It is always great to catch up with your best friend. It is, as if, no time has been spent apart.

I intended to visit Gaint’s Causeway and ideally take my sister Astrid there for a short break. It wasn’t to be. However, summer did see me visit York, Pocklington village, Quarry Bank Mill, Cam and Dursley, Chepstow, Tintern, the International Birds of Prey Centre in Newant, Morecambe, Parton, Whitehaven, Kendal, South Lakes Safari Park, Ribblehead, Hyde, Lancaster, Bentham, Rotherham, Newport (South Wales), Brighton, Hove, Rotherdean, Shoreham-on-Sea, Arnside, Cardiff, Caerphilly, Caer, and various other parts of Cheshire, Lancashire and Manchester. My only complaint is that I didn’t get to see all my friends and family once again. Life has this nasty habit of being distracting and taking best laid plans apart. It happens.

OUR KID’S GAFF

Being home allowed me the chance to catch up with friends and family. A visit to Ace and Steph’s is always something to cherish. Not just to fuss their bounding bouncy cat Jake. A week spent down south with rhubarb crumble at least twice, trips to Chepstow Castle, Tintern Abbey, Dyrham Park and a few museums was most relaxing. Catching up with Ace’s father-in-law Pete was pleasing. Senior citizens and the older generation, not that Pete seems so old, is something I miss greatly. I feel I learn more from my elders in a moment than I do self-teaching in a month. Plus, for a Blackpool fan, Pete has a great sense of humour. Even, if he, Ace and Steph’s tribe enjoy the game of cricket.

I like catching up with our kid greatly, as he understands the family as much as I do. We might not always agree or disagree, but we certainly seem to make each other think, in between the games where Ace is cheating me out of pennies.

SHAUN OF THE DEAD

One thing for sure, is Christina, the second youngest of my siblings is working hard, doing something for herself to grow up and be a success. Having completed studies in Child Care, she is now embarking on studies towards a career in the uniformed services. I admire her ambition. However, my youngest sibling Shaun is wandering a gloomy path. He is very much growing into the Annakin Skywalker of Clan Acton. With his boyish good looks and his twinkling eyes, he should be utilising them to his credit. Instead, he has left home at Dad’s to live with his alcoholic mother. Whether she is still drinking, is a different matter, but stability she offers not. Also, is the alcoholic uncle still living there? Why was the first time I spotted Shaun and his mate in town so odd? Why did he look up to no good? Why can’t he think for himself? Why does he not go to college? What is his ambition? What will help him? Why didn’t he want to go the Manchester City versus Everton game? I offered to take him, wasted a bloody ticket for it too, and even just us two, and not Dad (as he could sit alone at the other end). But, he let his angry and aggressive mother talk, and couldn’t even look me in the eye. I hope he wakes up. Soon, he’ll be jobless, and with no solid roof over his head. Manchester has enough homeless. So, all summer, I’ve tried to see a brother who hasn’t tried once. It hurts. Shaun has a good heart. I can’t say the same for his common sense. But, I wish him well. Hope won’t help. He must do it for himself.

FOR EVERYTHING ELSE THERE IS MASTERCARD VISA?

Sandwiched from the dawn of the holiday to almost the end of the holiday, was a small task. It should have been a simple one. It wasn’t. “Submit your documents to the Chinese Embassy,” the school said. After weeks of pushing for my Non-Criminal Record certificate, I eventually received a Disclosure Scotland-issued certificate to say I had no criminal record. Step one complete.

So, with this and my University degree certificate, I attended Manchester China Town’s Visa and Document Handling Centre, twice. First mistake. It turns out they don’t deal with document validation. So, with the Manchester’s Chinese Consular’s address to hand, I trundled out past Manchester University into the area of Victoria Park. On arriving, I was told I must submit the documents to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office first, so that they can mark them as authentic. Online I went, filled in their forms as they said it should be. But first, I had to get my Disclosure Scotland form stamped as being witnessed by a solicitor, but without their company name on it. £10 (for two documents) lighter and later, I had this. I then submitted each piece to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (£30/each, so £60 for both, if I have my maths right). A week later they were returned. One was accepted and sporting a lovely legalisation slip. The Disclosure Scotland, however, did not. Previously, the solicitor had advised that hand-writing on it and stamping it with invalidate it. However, now the Foreign and Commonwealth Office had said it must be stamped and signed. So, a reluctant solicitor signed and stamped it, earning £5 for doing less than a minute’s work. With that the Foreign and Commonwealth Office earned themselves £30. To their credit, they had refunded the rejected document, less the price of postage before. After a further week, I waited and muc annoyance it arrived with me once more. I toodled off to the Chinese Consular, set in a great British detached house, amongst a tidy unassuming garden off Denison Road, Victoria Park. The red flag drooped in the Mancunian rain. The stars yellow and soggy. Far from home, yet still proudly overhead. On entering the cubicle-sized office, I joined a queue (not too dissimilar to ones witnessed across Dongguan) and waited my turn. Two photocopies of my passport (totalling a Great British Pound) and then I fast-tracked my submission at £30 a pop (my bank account now showing as £60 Felix Leiter) and away they went. They were returned within three days. I am now the owner of a legalised University certificate and Non-Criminal Disclosure form. Between which I managed trips to Morecambe, the Lake District, Gloucestershire and South Wales.

CURLY-WURLIES

Actually, I won’t write many things here. Sometimes, you can’t. Not because the words won’t spill out. They’ll plummet out like my bowels after a bad curry. It isn’t through shame or pain, just sometimes, somethings are for you to manage on your own and figure out. They may or may not concern others. The task of the brain is to sense, process and respond, with or without action or inaction. Experience like other perceptions are stored. My jetlagged mind is still dizzy and lagging time, like a webpage buffering slowly, and right now I have my emotions in check. Some things are filed under ‘Work in Progress’, others as ‘Out of My Control’ and some tucked away in a draw that refuses to close, called ‘What do I do?’ This is life. If it was easy, it’d be boring. If it was too simple, it wouldn’t be a challenge. Challenges make us stronger. For every great moment eating Curly-Wurlies with my Aunty Christine and talking to Uncle Ed about politics, there may be a thousand demands and stresses. If the simple life doesn’t want to call by, you don’t have to expect it. Just crack on, and do your best.

THERE’S ONLY ONE WAY OF LIFE – AND THAT’S YOUR OWN…

Getting Mum and Paul to accompany me to watch The Levellers was a good experience. It seemed they both enjoyed watching Billy Bragg, Dreadzone and The Waterboys support the main act. I acknowledge that they weren’t quite crowd-surfing or enjoying plush cushions at the Royal Exchange Theatre, but I hope it provided a little escape and leisure from every day life. Before being cross-examined about my favourite soup by a late-night reveller, my ears were treated to some of my favourite tunes from the album Levelling the Land. What a great it was, full of spirit and all things wonderful about my hometown Manchester – and the joys that music can bring. It was the only gig I had the pleasure of attending in eight weeks back. A few visits to the Manchester International Festival tent provided some glimpses into live music, but nothing too serious and time-filling. I joined the Manchester International Festival guided tour about the city’s revolutionary history and, also a town hall tour, a few days later, whilst visiting the unveiling of Phil Collin’s Engels statue in Tony Wilson Place. This last event, itself, having a Super Furry Animal ballad and some joyous artistry throughout the sequence, entitled Procession. Taking in Elizabeth Gaskell’s Plymouth Grove-based residence and exploring Quarry Bank Mill added to my connection with the history of my hometown. It is important not just to be passionate about where you come from, but where it can take it. Knowledge is great to share.

Oddly in pre-season, I only watched Hyde Utd F.C. host Connah’s Quay Nomads F.C. (where big Andy Morrison is manager). City’s game at Brighton was fun, followed by a stubborn Everton side battling out a draw at the Etihad Stadium. Between these ties I watched City U-21s at Rotherham Utd. F.C.’s swanky ASSEAL New York Stadium. Usually, I’d go out of my way to watch more games. Sadly, I did not. I also intended to watch some rugby league and ice-hockey. Again, this did not happen. There is always next time!

TYPHOON HATO

So, having woken Mum and Paul at Stupid O’clock, we hugged farewell and I checked in at the Etihad desk. Their kind and friendly staff instantly adding brightness to an hour where the sun was just about springing over the horizon. I boarded my flight with ease and flew to my interchange at Abu Dhabi International Airport. On arrival, it was noted that I had a minor seven-hour delay. A meal was offered for my troubles. I sought solice in a good book and put my feet up. Sleep was not an option.

On arriving in Hong Kong International Airport, I collected my 30kg of baggage and walked to the train station. From here, I changed twice before arriving at Hostel Casa, a stone’s throw from a subway exit in Tsim Tsa Tsui. I ate a light dinner, catching up with Ched (who was in H.K. for a Photoshop course) before eating gooseberry yogurts, from Marks & Spencers. Then I went to sleep in the cupboard-sized but cosy room. The whole time since arriving I had seen very few people. Earlier in the day the eye of Typhoon Hato had rolled over Hong Kong, before ploughing into Guangdong ruthlessly. Nature claimed several lives that day. The storm’s trail leaving totalled trees and clattered cladding across Hong Kong. Hong Kong Special Administrative Region of the People’s Republic of China had issued Typhoon Warning Level 10, for the first time in over a decade. The warnings had immobilised people from going outside and probably saved countless lives. Similar warnings had been issued across Guangdong too.

With a visa arranged, two nights later, I sped, slowly, on a train from Hong Kong to Changping arriving on Friday the 25th of August 2017. My pick-up by Simon at the school was smooth and I immediately dropped things into my temporary dormitory…

ROOMS FIT FOR A KING

The dormitory has so far had a replacement fridge-freezer, fan and bedding. The shower and toilet are both in urgent need of repair. The western toilet and shower both have extremely high water-pressure. Two blasts have destroyed a shower head and a U-bend sealant! The room is quite warm and A.C. My-heartsaver has been working hard alongside a fan on the highest of near-typhoon strengths. Anyway, the plan is that the room is temporary and provided by school until I find somewhere-less-located-on-school-grounds.

DAY ONE

Standing at the gate around 7.30am for 50 minutes in blistered 32°C heat with humidity so high, wasn’t all bad. Excited new students rolled by for drop-off in high-end luxury cars, yellow school buses and the odd, lesser spotted two-wheel effort. Some skipped, merry and wide awake. Others appeared dozy and out-of-routine, with school beginning just today for most.

My new school, St. Lorraine’s Anglo-Chinese School, is attached to numerous English language programme, notably Cambridge University’s language courses. Mr Lam, the Principal, has been most-welcoming. His support and that of his right-hand man Simon has been clear and concise from day one. With Mandy overseeing the teachers, and Cici assisting me in class, the year ahead is ready to take-off. Up, up and away!

再见/ Zài jiàn / Bài bài / Ta’ra / Goodbye

Smart? Sea? View? Brighton?

So, I booked Smart Sea View Brighton, Brighton & Hove on Booking.com. It had 4.5/5 on that website. I’ve since seen reviews on Tripadvisor giving 2.5/5. Facebook’s new reviews system is equally low. So, here’s what I posted to all three.


The name Smart Sea View Brighton sounds bold. Does it promise sea? How is it smart? Brighton? Well, it is in Hove. I guess since Hove and Brighton, or Brighton and Hove became gay lovers, they hooked up and had a civil partnership and the City of Brighton was born. Hove is not as dominant. It happens in any relationship, I guess.


I arrived 1.30pm, joined a sizeable queue and was seen inside 30 minutes. The eastern-European ady was busy but polite, but even a smile would have made it more welcoming. Paid £1.50 for a extra locker (by the counter area) and went to the room. The room was basic. It looked like I was the first there. I left my coat on the bed, noticed no bedsheet or pillow case. Went to reception, asked for this. Was given this, with apologies by a big tall man (grey haired). Went back and prepared the bed. Left my rain jacket to mark it as being a bed taken. I was allocated room 118, bed 12. I then went and locked my valuables away.

I returned long before midnight, having enjoyed food and two (just two beers) following City’s game at Brighton and Hove Albion. It was a hot day, I’d been up since 4am with only 4 hours sleep the night before. I was due to meet my cousin the next morning. I was being, how shall we put it, sensible. I grabbed my things from the locker, and went to my room and bed. It had many belongings including a phone tucked under the pillow. I did not want to move it. I checked every other bed. All appeared taken. All had bags on them.

People drifted in, about 4 blokes, sound lads from Manchester, polite as anything and I was told their party of 9 had been split between several rooms. I couldn’t find a bed and they didn’t know of a spare bed or who had taken bed 12. So, I went to reception, a tattooed lady, went to my room and said I could use another bed. It had no sheet or duvet. It had a bag underneath it but not on it. I was tired. I tried to bunk there. After a little nattering, more people came back. I counted 16 bunks across 8 double units. From then until 3.30am, at least 30 different blokes entered the room. Each claiming to be in that dorm. At that time, I was exhausted and was in and out of sleep, disturbed constantly before about 4 or 5am when a tall-slim man, who worked there came in with two sheets of paper, he shone a torch into my eyes waking me from a troubled light sleep. I was startled. I almost reacted to defend myself, before he spoke and told everyone else that they should not be there before reading just two names. He said only two people should be in that room. My name was not on it. I shown him my paper. After some arguing he went away. From then until maybe 6am, people left because of the confusuion, and some muttered over-bookings. I checked out after sleeping from 8am to close to 10am. Shattered. I was supposed to meet my cousin in Shoreham by 9am. We met at 11.30am.

The room had a sagging ceiling, no toilet rolls in the holders either in the room or the two cubicles close to the room – at 11pm. The shower unit stank of toilet matter. The windows need to be covered to allow light to be blocked out. The breakfast is served from 8am to 9.30am, but due to that night, that was the only time I slept. Towels costs extra, which I don’t mind. Complaints are waved away and laughed off on departure. The whole hostel idea needs rethinking. I stayed in civilised and organised places where earthquakes and conflict have hit – and felt more welcome and safe. Opting to use my bag as a pillow and lay down in clothes was a choice, because frankly it needed it. I have itchy red patches where my skin had touched the bedding and my feet are sore from resting on the bars at the end of the beds (1.85m long) – and I am 1.94m tall. There are no doubt homeless people in Brighton enjoying better rest – and that says something.

#PrayForManchester

Switching on my phone this morning, I rolled over and the messages started flashing up, “Sorry to hear of the news.” “Sorry about Manchester.” I counted them, ten messages but not one gave a clue about what had happened. I started to worry. I switched on the news via BBC’s website. A tear formed in my eye. A death toll and stark headline stared back at me. My family and friends are back home. I quickly established that my loved ones and friends were all safe. My sister Christina later told me she would pass Manchester Victoria station (next to, and above the M.E.N. Arena) on her way to Hopwood Hall College, Rochdale. Sadly, the targic news would mean that other families and friends would not have that same reassurance.

 

Manchester has always come together. My city has always been one of a multi-faith city,one full of strong philosophical mentalities and unity in eradicating hate. From the Manchester Village, to the Jewish communities to a vibrant diverse set of subcultures, from goths to Irish dancers to train-spotters, to sporadic parties of an epic scale. As a Mancunian overseas, a little love is needed to be shown, in any way possible. As an ambassador of my city, I must say don’t jump to conclusions, don’t hate and don’t let the cause of this atrocious event dictate how we live our lives, here, there or anywhere. No matter where we are Mancunians feel the love and support of the world. Miss Jiang, a senior teacher at my school, gave me her thoughts, for my home city, as I crossed the playground. These things matter. Love and respect ends differences. I may not be the Mayor of Manchester, a politician for my people or a superstar from the city where it apparently rains almost daily but I want you to know, Manchester has love for you.

 

Immediately, in the aftermath of the events, people donated blood, hotels opened their doors and soup kitchens supported Greater Manchester Police, the ambulance service and the fire brigade. Security staff at Manchester’s Arena could have been forgiven for fleeing. They did not. Mancunians never walk away from those in dire need. As blue flashing lights, sirens and helicopters skim overhead, my city is deeply in need of its people not to panic. Like attacks in Paris, Belgium, Boston and countless others, it wasn’t the first time and it will sadly not be the last.

 

Here at HubHao, Jodie Frain, our Content Manager is from north of Manchester, in a town called Rochdale. It is part of Greater Manchester. Manchester is often greater than its main city. It is a city mostly divided by red and blue football teams, but always comes together, and today more than ever. A city united today.

 

To celebrate the life of Manchester, I’d like to share some quotes with you. These sum up the spirit of the people of Manchester. The salt of the earth kind. We are strong and caring people, and community is at our core.

 

To my Mancunians, home and overseas, we are with you, no matter where we are. To those who want to be part of Manchester, we welcome you all. To those who have suffered loss, we show our condolences from the many people of Dongguan and beyond.

Facts about Manchester:

  • Marks and Spencer’s first opened a store in May 1894 in Manchester.
  • Emmeline Pankhurst, the leader of the Suffragette movement, was born andraised in Moss Side.
  • Manchester is the largest of the ten Greater Manchester Authorities with apopulation of almost 500,000 people.
  • More than 25 Nobel prize winners have come from Greater Manchester.
  • Greater Manchester has four professional orchestras.
  • Oldham was Sir Winston Churchill’s first parliamentary seat when he stood as a Liberal in 1900.
  • In Manchester, a Chip Barm is short for a Chip Barmcake, essentially hot potato chips on a bread roll.
  • Opened in 1761, the Bridgewater Canal was the first artificial waterwayfully independent of natural rivers.
  • Greater Manchester has the highest number of theatre seats per head of population outside of London.
  • Greater Manchester has six universities: the University of Manchester,Manchester Metropolitan University, the University of Salford, the University of Bolton, The University of Law and The University of Huddersfield Oldham Campus.
  • A car fuelled only by used coffee grounds made the trip from London to Manchester in 2010.
  • The 2004 remake of the film ‘Alfie’ was based in New York but some of the outside scenes were filmed in Manchester.
  • Greater Manchester county’s average annual rainfall is 806.6 millimetres compared to the UK average of 1,125 millimetres.
  • Oldham is the birthplace of the world’s first test tube baby, Louise Brown in 1978.
  • The Rochdale Pioneers opened the first Cooperative shop in Toad Lane in 1844.
  • Black Chew Head is the highest point in Greater Manchester.
  • Manchester has more than 500 licensed premises in the city centre which have the combined capacity of more than 250,000 visitors.
  • Wigan is home to the annual World Pie Eating Championship.
  • Stockport is home to the only dedicated hat museum and Edgeley Park football ground in Stockport is closer to the River Mersey than that of Liverpool’s Anfield.
  • Sir Robert Peel was from Ramsbottom in Bury. He was Prime Minister, founder of the Metropolitan Police and the Conservative Party.
  • The soap opera Coronation Street has been on TV continuously since 1960.
  • The world’s first railway station was built at Manchester in 1830.
  • Some well-known Manchester landmarks include: the Gothic style town hall, the Museum of Science and Industry and the Imperial War Museum North.
  • On 26 September 1916, Bolton was the target for one of the first aerial offensives in history. A Zeppelin of the Imperial German Navy, dropped 21 bombs on the town.
  • Manchester’s Arndale Centre, located in the heart of the city, is one of thelargest shopping centres in Europe. It has over 200 stores and attracts over 40 million visitors each year.
  • Two of the world’s most famous football clubs call Manchester their home – Manchester Utd. and Manchester City. Manchester Utd.’s nickname of the Red Devils was taken from a local rugby team who wore red shirts.
  • Manchester, it’s the British birthplace of vegetarianism. Look up Cowherdites.
  • Mamucium, Its Roman name meant “breast-shaped hill.”
  • The atom was first split in Manchester, in 1919.
  • Rolls-Royce Limited was created over a famous lunch in Manchester in 1904.
  • The first programmable computer was built in Manchester. The Small-Scale Experimental Machine, known as SSEM, or the “Baby”, was designed and built at The University of Manchester in 1948.
  • Manchester started the Industrial Revolution in July 1761.