A Valentine's Day Tale

"Last night...


I swiftly had to apply my instinctive twinkle-toed tailstop braking system almost immediately after settling into the rhythmic hippety-hop style of walk that I'd naturally adopted following the first near-fatal slip on the treacherous, lumpy ice. I was almost certain that there used to be a semblance of pavement underfoot here somewhere. Seriously, where the fuckin' hell were the gritters during (yawn) yet another predicted 'coldest winter flap for several zillion aeons?' I mean, did Monsieur Nostradamus not foretell this shit centuries ago? 

Er, anyway, I was apprehensive and keyed up, and for good reason. I was on my way to meet my new flame Fiona you see, and pretty damn fine she was too, my friend - all ash-blonde ringlets and a feisty aura of mystery.

I contemplated getting a bus into town and then decided it would probably be quicker to watch a slow-motion replay of the sedated three-toed sloths' sports day sack race. Fuck it, it was only a couple of miles, and a damn site warmer on the move. It's. All. Good.

I mean, Jesus, why does the entire country have to grind to a halt because of a bit of stupid snow? Put on some decent footwear. Simple.

Actually, I was glad I'd rung work earlier to say that I couldn't make it into the office because the 'car's going nowhere.'  Fuck it man, loads of people did and I live four miles away at least.

I needed to stop at an Offie to grab a couple of bottles of wine on the way to her house. I hadn't been there before and we'd only been out two or three times so far - you know the kind of thing: got off with each other at Sombrero-Steve's house party on the stairs (lush); went for a Mexican (horrifically hot); quaffed a few ciders, Sambucas and wound up fucking awkwardly in my hallway. And the kitchen.

I think I passed out in the bedroom. I can't quite remember the last bit.

Anyhow, I s'pose potentially, you could have said that rather a lot was riding on last night, if you know what I mean?

For starters, it just happened to be Valentine's Day evening. Friendly Fires were frenetically cow-belling their way into my eardrums like a jittery jackhammer, courtesy of my fancy new Skullcandy G.I. headphones, and hey, were these not the moments to be cherished if you own anything resembling a fully-functioning soul?

So I bimbled and then I skidded my way down the Kettering Road towards a nervy but nevertheless intoxicating, frost-thawing feast. I couldn't quite remember her surname, to my shame, something like Atherton or Addlestone (or was that the sweet cider we were drinking last week?) Didn't matter, I was sure there'd be some old letters or a card lying around somewhere to scan so I could indelibly etch it on my brain forever. She seemed to be really fucking cool and beautiful, so fuck minor points. I'd seen her bounding energetically around the tired-old haunts for a while now, spraffing to loads of cool people I knew, so it was always only a matter of time before our paths properly crossed - she was obviously into the same things as me.

Shit, she's gorgeous, intelligent (I see her writing sometimes), into music (I think she sings or plays something), vegetarian, into holistic remedies (okay, slight alarm-bells ringing) but undoubtedly up for the right royal rumpus and maybe, most importantly of all, at that moment was cooking some kind of moussaka with ricotta topping(?) Just for us.

'Tings be lookin' sweet ma frien', y'understand me? 'Ear 'dis now. Spin out 'Trampton Town. B-B-buzzin'. C-comin' at'cha. Trillion mile a nanosecond, get me? All da way from da Birchfield Ruff-up, right up to er, whatever that road's called next to the Bradders. You know the one I mean?

Following a brief, but harrowing, labyrinthine platform game-style conga round Mickey's to the Blossom Hill section (situated somehow impenetrably close to the front door) I stepped back outside into the Siberian slush. And then -

A snowball shattered in my face, with a generous proportion of it ending up in my mouth. The momentary shock and flash of pain was enough to make me want to cry like a girl, without the added surprise of an assault on my sensitive-teeth's sensibilities, just for that ferociously unexpected aftershock. Cunt.

Was a fucking good shot too - I kinda saw him out my peripheries I think, but hey, I might be lying. Anyway he fuckin' ran away laughing. And somehow clung to the ice like a sticky-toed winter gecko.

Fuck him. I couldn't chase him. I was struggling to walk.

But walk on I did, using my scarf to wipe my frozen fizzog. And then just before I got to cleaning my steamed-up glasses, hoopla, I slipped - almost flipping upside-down temporarily - before landing with a splash on my coccyx. I managed to smash one of the bottles of red during this whole sorry episode and the carpet of slush was starting to look like a murder scene from Fargo. I was partially lying in some strewn bin-bags, thankfully head-end to the good, i.e., on them and a little bit in some weird shit that I wasn't sure I could ascertain the origin of.

I hadn't worn decent shoes.

Naturally, I scrambled to my feet with an expression of utter indifference to any agonising pain I may or may not have been enduring and scanned the horizon to see if anyone witnessed my fumblings. Lots did. But more importantly did anyone I actually know observe this shit? Don't think so. So, small mercies.

Then I briefly mused outrageously about compensation.

I was pretty much sopping all over my arse from Claret which was seeping into the snow and facing an unavoidable buttock-inspection from the girl I really felt for - when she'd said a full-bodied red, I ain't particularly sure that's what she'd meant. Oh, fuck it, I thought - focus on my batty and laugh. Might as well get it over and done with.

All was by no means totally lost. It's surely in my unpredictable and exciting rock n' roll nature to turn the fuck up, late, with a tale, even if I do look like a twat.

So I did.

After punching the head off a snowman in a stranger's front garden and hurting my wrist.

I was starting to like the way Fiona and I were getting along in those first, sweet, tentative steps of our (ok, my imagined) relationship, and when I arrived...

Obviously, I lied about everything that had happened on the way - some big geezers, dunno, kind of just walked into it, weren't bothered about me, was lucky really, etc, and the evening unraveled thus.

She was listening to Razorlight? Maybe she'd just put something kind of neutral on that she thought wouldn't offend my ears before fervently questioning me about what I was into - I mean, I don't want to admit this shit, but I do own the first two Coldplay albums. I know.

I'd also brought along the DVD of The Wrestler to watch. I hadn't recommended it, she had. Apparently she knows the names of lots of wrestling holds or something. Might be interesting I thought?

Anyway, the DVD wouldn't play for some reason (probably me fucking things up when I'd burnt it earlier) and so we settled for watching M. Night Shyamalan's Signs from her collection. She served munch about an hour or so into the film, and shortly after crunching my way through the sixth or seventh arduous forkfull of lord-fuckin'-knows-what (I'm certain it should have been tender and not like Joan of Arc's charred chinbone) it dawned on me that the film we were watching was complete toss. The main flaw in the technologically-advanced, galaxy-vaulting, world-conquering aliens' plans was to somehow overlook their significant achillies' heel - instantaneous death if exposed to water, so er, probably best to avoid this type of planet to attack? They're probably not even that common. Anyway, the aliens didn't, they chose Earth to invade.

At almost that exact second she turned to me, laughed, and said:

'This food's disgusting isn't it?'

She was not wrong.

'Hey, I'm a crap cook too,' I offered, pushing away the offensive plate.

And then it was funny.

She slapped her forehead and then properly laughed:

'This film's fucking shite as well isn't it?'

She zapped the TV. And then, despite my freezing, rouge-drenched jeans, grazed hands, nauseated palatte and assaulted artistic senses we had a moment of perfection.

Pure laughter.

She kissed me, then she hugged me and then she said:

'Shall we split-up before we even begin?'

'Yeah,' I replied.

And on my merry way I jolly well trotted."

The G8 Summit: A Success Story?

As the inspiring We're Not Afraid* campaign gathers more and more subscribers at an amazing rate in response to the July 7 atrocities, and July 21 bungled attacks in London, it is clear that al-Qa'ida haven't succeeded in their objectives. What they did achieve though, was to divert attention away from the issues up for discussion at the G8 Summit in Gleneagles, Scotland.
The bombs were timed to coincide with the gathering of arguably the most powerful men in the world, including President Bush, UN Secretary Kofi Annan and Tony Blair. The results of the summit were overshadowed by the aftermath of the London terrorist strikes.

So what was the outcome of these discussions?

The G8, (no, it's not text-speak for gate), comprises of Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, the UK and the US, with the heads of state or government meeting annually to tackle major economic and political issues facing domestic societies and the international community. They deal with macroeconomic management (obviously), international trade and the relationships between developing countries. Member states act as host on a rotational basis, and 2005 has seen the United Kingdom at the helm, with Mr Blair chairing proceedings.

Top of the agenda at Gleneagles were Africa and climate change. These two issues represent the most serious problems facing the international community, presently and for the foreseeable future. The other pressing issue being peace in the Middle East.

As things currently stand, Africa will not meet any of the Millennium Development Goals. In a continent where 3,000 children die every single day from malaria, action is long overdue.

Concerning global-warming, ice in the Arctic has shrunk by 1,000,000 square kilometres and with sea-levels rising, we have lived through the hottest 10 years currently on record. All occurring since 1991.

So what was achieved? These are some of main promises:

Africa:

• The 18 poorest countries have had their national debt cancelled. There are more than 40 still waiting.
• Annual development aid will be increased by $25 billion by 2010 (as part of an overall increase of $50 billion for all developing countries) - more than doubling the 2004 level.
  There will be universal access to anti-HIV/Aids drugs by 2010.
• Funding to eradicate Polio.
• To reach 85% of people vulnerable to malaria with drugs and bed-nets, with a view to saving 600,000 children's lives each year.
• 75,000 African Union troops (including the 20,000-strong AU Stand-By Force) will be trained and equipped to help prevent and resolve conflict and war.

Climate-Change:

• To promote energy efficiency and to finance clean technologies - coal, diesel and methane, renewable energy, bioenergy and more efficient power grids.
• To promote the research and development of hydrogen-powered vehicles that emit water rather than harmful fumes.
• Not much else.

Peace In The Middle East:

• Support for the Quartet Special Envoy for Gaza Disengagement, James Wolfensohn, regarding the Israeli withdrawal from Gaza and parts of the West Bank.
• $3 billion agreed for the Palestinian Authority for investment in infrastructure with contributions over the next 3 years to help build the economy.
• A pledge of support for the newly-elected democratic government of Lebanon and urging the withdrawal of Syrian forces there.

So, some promising results have come out of last month's summit, but behind the posturing pop stars and their politician pals' spiel, we need to see some real results. There is certainly a lot more that could have been done.
This year alone, we have seen genocide in Darfur, western Sudan, where the civil-war is ongoing. We have watched all-too-familiar images of famine in Niger which the west knew was coming - there were appeals for food as far back as last November. We have witnessed the demolition of shantytowns in Zimbabwe, rendering 700,000 people homeless, under the orders of dictator Robert Mugabe.

This is while Africa is top of the G8 agenda.

We are now seeing progress in Israel with the dismantling of Jewish settlements, which must be incredibly difficult for all concerned - with Israeli removing Israeli - but this is a huge step forward for the Middle East and they should be commended for their actions.

As for global warming, Mr Bush has refused to budge, having been handed the Kyoto Agreement and blowing his nose with it. He has finally conceded that climate change does exist, and is a genuine problem caused by human activity though, so there is hope for further progress when the G8 meet again in November...

We shall see.

Is it hot in here or is it me? aTcHoOo!

* http://www.werenotafraid.com/ is essential viewing.

The Roadmender: Beyond Repair?

On the evening of November 10, more than 150 people congregated at The Roadmender for a public meeting to discuss the venue's future. Tellingly, not one single member of the Conservative County Council cabinet, those responsible for the outcome, could be bothered to turn up.

Despite having the clout of showbiz radio-types Jo Whiley and Andrew Collins, who put their names to the Save Our Roadmender petition, alongside six and a half thousand other of us more lowly music fans (and regular venue users), on Monday, November 14, the cabinet voted to withdraw its funding from early next year.

The Roadmender was receiving around £140,000 from local council grants - £58,230 of which came from Northampton County Council annually. In April this year, the East Midlands Arts Council announced that it was withdrawing its funding which accounted for %40 of the venue's grant income. This becomes effective as of April 2006, which means that The Roadmender will probably have to close its doors for the last time before Christmas. Seasons' greetings to the town's youth from a contemptuous council.

A recommendation was made to cabinet for the council to end its financial commitment to the venue and work alongside trustees to help secure grants and sponsorship from other organisations.

Does this strike anyone else as being a little like stealing a kid's BMX and then offering him/her to hop onto their own stunt-pegs for a trundle down to the local Halfords? Sheesh.

Cabinet member for Community Services, Councillor Rosemary Bromwich has stated that, '..all our investigations and debates come back to the same point - this money would be better invested in other cultural activities and projects for young people.'

As for which ones? Hmm?

A beach at Sixfields? Maybe a simulated lunar surface in Jimmy's End? Well, you try and find out. She also cites other problems with the venue: poor pedestrian access, lack of parking availability, safety issues due to its location next to a dual-carriageway, etc. Now I genuinally don't want to be a pedant but these objections just don't stand up to close scrutiny.

Since when did a 5 minute walk from the town centre constitute poor pedestrian access or is there a pool of quicksand somewhere along the journey that I've somehow overlooked? Are there wild beasts to be dodged - lions, crocodiles, maybe even velociraptors?

A lack of parking availability? Forgive me, but is there not a council-owned, multi-storey carpark directly opposite the venue? It's the big, grey, oblong-shaped, tiered structure. You know, some kind of garagey, parking-lot type of affair.

I think it's called the Mayorhold. I assume there's no way that council departments can work together to solve this tricky strategic problem? Besides, the kids who attend the alcohol-free nights at The Roadmender don't drive there. They get dropped off by their parents.

The venue is also located next to a duel-carriageway. By sheer coincidence it is also sited directly adjacent to a pedestrian-crossing that traverses said dragster-alley. This 'duel-carriageway' is in the middle of the town centre and with the sheer profusion of traffic lights, the labyrinthine one-way system and spawning speed cameras every 100 metres it seems unlikely that Doc Emmet Brown and Marty McFly would have selected it to pick up the required speed of 88mph needed to coincide with a bolt of lightning due to strike the wonky weather vane atop of Northampton's Best Kebab House at the bottom of Gold Street on the morning of Friday, October 25, 1985.

1.21 Gigawatts? Great Scott!

Jon Gloerson, interim Chief Executive of The Roadmender says they are repaying their debts on time and that the balance is rapidly decreasing. They are in the middle of a turn-around operation where trading deficits have been reduced by £60,000 from 2002/03 to 2003/04. He goes on to say that in 2004/05, The Roadmender broke even and the financial projections for 2005/06 point to the accumulation of a surplus which would help to alleviate the Arts Council funding shortfall.

The council isn't interested.

Mr Gloerson also says that they have been approached by a number of possible new partners. Let's hope so.

There's a venue in Harlow, Essex called The Square which is funded by Essex County Council and managed by Essex Youth Service through its Harlow Locality. They have seen the likes of Blur and The Beta Band put on performances there, just as we have at The Roadmender. The Square has an extensive programme of live-performances, video and recording facilities, and a Rock School among many other ongoing projects. They receive funding from the Arts Council (East), the regional Arts Lottery Programme and the European Social Fund.

Sadly, what's good enough for the youth of Harlow isn't good enough for the youth of Northampton.

Do you know how much 45 minutes of Mr Droning Keating cost our council at this year's Balloon Festival?

Trust me, you really don't want to.