A Literary Giant in the Making I'm sure.

Hello all.
After sorting through my documents on the old laptop, I came across my half-hearted attempt at starting a novel I began whilst I still lived in Nottingham. I may continue it, but already it seems cringe-worthy. It's the first chapter. Enjoy!! I certainly didn't!

Chapter One.

It was a cold day in April. The clocks weren't striking thirteen though, Dave mused to himself as he walked along the path that ran alongside the old brook. He was on his way into town and had slipped into one of his random thoughts, usually involving some form of oft-stored pop culture references. Though he wondered, as he neared the large supermarket on the corner, how many people around him would have actually picked up on the reference to the opening sentence to Nineteen Eighty Four were they to somehow hear his thoughts at that particular moment.
Dave rounded the corner and continued at a fairly brisk pace to the subway that led under the ring road and into town. He was on his way to spend some of his birthday money he still had left from last week. By now he had honed the ability to discern how to get the best price for most DVD box sets he was interested in, and was on a mission to see if he could find the 5th season of Frasier cheaper than the internet stores. A tall order he conceded, but like the majority of people he knew was unwilling to wait 3 working days for to arrive.
After browsing through all three of the establishments that were likely to sell such an item, he sighed and returned to WH Smith and paid the extra ten pounds. As the cashier handed him his change and receipt, Dave made a mental note of which areas he could cut back on in order to accommodate this unnecessary additional price. "Well I walked here" he thought, "so that saved some petrol. And I'll probably get bought some birthday pints tonight, so that'll save some cash." In actuality this was a common exercise for Dave. If a DVD or CD took his fancy that seemed slightly out of his budget, he tended to buy it anyway, and then justify it later. "Oh yes, I need that Free Cinema collection because I can show it to my students to as an example of cultural identity." "The Best of Billy Bragg? Well it's a double album isn't it? I need something to last the entire car journey home." Ad verbatim.
The return walk home was indeed one of his cost-cutting exercises, but Dave wondered if he should just have bitten the bullet and driven down. If he had he would easily have been back by now. But on the other hand, Dave thought, he would also have been a hypocrite because in fact, he would have joined the ranks of those drivers he so despised – the 'can't-be-arsed's' he called them; mothers who drove 500 yards in their 4x4s to pick up little Angelina from school; blokes who headed out at 11pm in their cars to get some fags from the garage before it closed. Anyway, another internal rant over, Dave was actually pleased that thinking once again about such folk, he was over halfway home.






(Alan Sillitoe's rep is still safe then)

Richard Hawley at the Sugarmill 30/08/07

Last night myself and a friend made our way up to Hanley to see Richard Hawley at the Sugarmill. As we arrived Andy Gower was finishing his set, and the place began to fill up in the minutes that followed.
As Hawley played I couldn't help but be amazed by the tunes - mostly 'Bacharach-esque' romanticism in 3/4. One of Britpop's original players in his 40's. A glance around the venue revealed fans in the same mould.
"I was in a band called The Longpigs, many moons ago" said Hawley. "Yes" I thought, "and I saw you in the very same venue 11 years ago. And the singer then was from round here." How much had changed in the intervening years? Didn't bear thinking about.
Anyway, Hawley and his band mates, bespectacled and adorned in suit jackets and blazers, seemed to epitomize the state of those mid-90's acts still around today. Easier listening tunes and a more lounge-like approach. The crowd seemed to have embraced this as well. No reliving old times with zip-up stripey Adidas, Fred Perry's or Campus trainers that might have filled the venue in those days. We were all united in a sort of "let's just wear whatever, and hope the gig finishes before midnight so I can go to bed" vibe. There were quite a few 'oldies' there as well. Sadly, nobody I recognised from that bygone age. If I were to hazard a guess I'd say they're probably in their own homes somewhere, perhaps putting their young kids to bed, settled in a professional routine, maybe even living further afield.
"Britpop is Dead - get over it!" one might cry. But it isn't. It's just, like us, grown old with dignity. And the current scene is all the better for it.