Didi Boyet has reappeared in town researching images for his new adult magazine 'Poodles in Pants’. With Duncan & Emma we drove over to the 'Moon & Monkey' pub in Burnley hoping for some action. Didi cornered various punters asking them about any cute poodles they'd seen, while the rest of us watched for Secret Society activity. We noted several men wearing identical shirts and ties, the significance of which remained obscure. Some old geezer with a stick & wig came into the pub with his Scotch terrier. Didi whipped out his mini-camera and started filming it -- perhaps this cute little white dog would feature in the 'exotic' pages of Poodles in Pants. I think the pants are airbrushed in, but who knows? Someone gave Emma a message. I got quite excited thinking we'd made a contact from the Secret Society but it only said "You look like a bit of all right. Why not come and stroke my.........." Very disappointing. The bloke winked at Emma and went outside. “I think you're ON there." I said but Emma didn't budge. She can be quite fussy sometimes. Duncan concentrated on his pork pie, belching occasionally. He scribbled notes for poems. Emma looked around nervously through her cute little round spectacles. She’d painted her fingernails a vivid purple -- I’ve no idea why. Didi came over and said, "I think I’ve found a pair of knockout poodles down the street." & went off. He didn't come back. Emma talked about her time in California last autumn. “It was surreal!" she kept saying in this un-surreal setting. The Salvation Army went passed outside making a boomy, unmusical racket. A uniformed bimbatio came in collecting for orphans or dope or something. I didn't like her beard, it looked evil. Emma stoked my thigh & downed another Whippit's Tease. What a life!
Saturday, Nov 6 1999
Liggylip playing up again. The left side of my face became completely numb. I phoned up Emma and she recommended the bar-codes on Paracetemol, so I swiped myself with a box. Can’t say it helped much.
New work by Ziggy Millburn on Radio 3 the other night. He called it Voiglenacht & was scored for 3 oboes and percussion. It had a certain gritty realism, punctuated by screeching enigmas and trailed off into an infinity of silence (well, about 3 minutes worth anyway, which is enough for most people). Someone clapped half way through -- par for the course at Wakefield Town Hall.
Sparklingly chilly autumnal day in Accers today. Did the usual tour of town taking in the statue of Admiral Howe, 1761,who was sporting a bright purple felt hat -- think the transvestites were having some fun after a late night binge at Ringo's. Noticed another addition to De Moncatute's original, verging on the obscene and involving a sturdy whimple.
In the Market I overheard an old crone who was returning some tinned goods say, “I gone off carrots. Got any peas with them bits in? I like them bits, they’re crunchy." Goodness knows what the bits were! In a charity shop (I can't remember which one there are so many) I found a book for 50p called 'The Truth About UFO's' by Walter Friend. It was a signed copy, 1968 & had a pull-out page illustrating the interior of a UFO complete with a space for captive humans looking like a tart's boudoir, and medical facilties next door. The text dwelt on phrases like "Government cover-ups"; "abductee reported she was interfered with"; "not visible on radar screens"; "incredible speeds”. Should be an informative read.
I walked speedily around the Hollingworth Lake anti-clockwise then clockwise, finishing with a pint of 'Old Socks' in the local lakeside tavern. Outside, packs of dogs fought and swam and fornicated.
Monday, November 15th
Emma spent the night last night. She’s rubbish in bed, makes all the wrong noises. Her moans are like the cries of seagulls & who's TURNED ON by a bloody seagull?
On Saturday I walked to the Haworth Art Gallery to see an 'Open Exhibition’. Some colourful stuff, particularly a papier-mâché dish in rich variegated reds flecked with gold at £25.Outside, the park looked splendid in myriad orange tones. Walked back to town and roamed about the market. Some transvestites were bitching about the cost of Quagmolls in a jar -- "50p lovie? EACH!! You could have ME for that price. Pop a couple in a bucket and whisper sweet nothing into my earlobe why don't you?”. A flock of blue & yellow budgies had escaped from the pet shop and swooped over the punters who "ooooo'd!" every time they went overhead, awestruck by the exotic splendour of it.
Old Charlie the 90 year old PUNK walked his two spaniels up & down outside the Library, protesting against the "No pets allowed!" notice. He had been there a week now and the dog shit was piling up on the pavement. The police of course won't touch him. He’s a hero in the Gazette.
Drifted away towards the railway viaduct, a busking rock band blaring away after me the theme from "Gadies Bonce". Who put me in this warped segment of place and time? Yes, of course, it was Mr. Universe himself swimming in an ethereal halo of his own creation. PATIS MINERVA QUI.
Friday, November 19th 1999
Took the train to Bolton today. I knew I had arrived in Bolton when the speaker system announced, " Diss Ooots ONTIN Pssssst ".
Went to Arthur’s Cafe & Bookshop, my first visit and I was hoping to find some fellow Intellectuals hanging out there, sipping coffee and debating the KROONCE DILEMMA but not a bit of it! A group of old ladies were huddled together comparing handbag detritus and shouting obscenities at the waitress. In the corner a young man with a baseball cap folded over his eyes looked decidedly furtive whist munching something horrible -- it might have been a LOG O LARD, the local speciality & to be avoided if possible. I left after a brief book browse (not worth the trouble burning, most of them).
Went for a hike up Winter Hill, dodging teenagers off-roading in stolen jeeps. Serious Ramblers appeared from nowhere en-masse, waving their walking sticks at the rain and throwing mud at each other. They would say things like "Ay oop Enery thars nowt out aboot a crag is do yerself in jerkin spring oonions"
The massive transmitters on the top of the hill wobbled in the wind, sending lumps of ice plummeting to the ground. Dodging them is a fun game though perilous since a small piece can slice through your Goiters no problem. The view was immense, particularly when the sun broke through. I walked round to Rivington Pike & criss-crossed along the wooded, archaic terraces, once the Gardens of the famous musician and Philofilopterist Sir Andy Anderton. Picked and ate some anonymous bitter fruit -- didn't swallow. Caught a bus back to Bolton, the conductor speaking in a dialect so fruity, only Plums & Pomegranates could have understood him (I have it on good authority -- Mr.Bananas).
Emma keeps ringing me up. Dear me, this is what comes of dropping your guard for a few seconds. I’ll have to find her a Boyfriend, perhaps the bloke who hangs round the Bus Shelter stuffing creosote up his nose & wailing the theme from 'Where Eagles Dare'?
SAT, DEC4 1999
The transvestites have set up a stall in the market. Passers-by are assaulted by beehive permed Tabitha's & forced to buy catnip at massively inflated prices...."Come on Doll, fork out for a good cause!”. The good cause is a Christmas production of 'Dames In Dunkirk' loosely based on the raunchy WW2 novel by Hermon Hoikel.
Some budgies are still up on the roof battling the pigeons for roost space. Most have died off in the recent cold snap. Occasional brightly coloured stiffs drop from above and bounce erratically.
Emma, dear girl, has fixed a date for our Wedding. I do not recall her proposing and if she has proposed it must have been whispered while I was recovering from drink. Regardless of what I might have replied, surely it couldn't have moral binding?
Tried to interest her in a monosyllabic Taxidermist without luck.
A fog has descended over Accrington. It is a fog of perplexed anxiety........"What SHALL I buy for Aunty Fluerrie for Xmas? But of COURSE.....a Marks & Spencer’s Suspender Set! She can always take it back if she doesn't like it."
I’ve entered Crispin in the Accrington heat of SMART CAT UK which involves a series of tests to find the cleverest pussy in the whole damned country (£5 entrance fee).
TEST 1. NAME CALL RECOGNITION
TEST 2. FOOD IDENTIFICATION
TEST 3. CHASE THE RODENT
TEST 4. LAND UPRIGHT WHEN TOSSED IN THE AIR AND TWISTED
TEST 5. SOCCER SKILLS WITH SMALL BALL
TEST 6. WEARING A HELMET
TEST 7. PUSS IN BOOTS
TEST 8. KILL THE TOAD
TEST 9. FURBALLING
Test2 could be the critical one for Crispin - not its strong point. I’m training it for Test4, not without incident.
We in Accrington bare our souls to the coming Conflagration and prey to the MIGHTY TOPPERMAN to spare us in this time of warped sensibilities.
Thu Dec9 1999
Cold & wet day in Accrington.
Strolled into town amid the twinkling of Xmas lights. A Father Christmas Grotto outside the Town Hall was doing a flourishing business. A tv was waiting patiently in the long queue behind a huge lady in pink who held the hand of a tiny child immersed in a felt one-piece with polka dot scarf. The child stamped its feet in anticipation. The tv smoked a fag, hands in pockets. Tacky seasonal music blares out from the Market. Ormroyd's has a stall outside distributing free samples of rancid biscuity type things -- I spat mine out! I buy Crispin a spangly collar for the Competition.
I met Duncan in the Cafe Splendid. We shared an oatmeal soufflette & blackberry pudding. He’s quite chirpy having had a poem published/printed in the local Newsletter. It had a Xmas theme and ended thus:
THE TOWN INFUSES A WHITE NIGHT
Madge Hensopp, a feminist bruiser from the WOMEN'S HEALTH CLUB (a conveniently innocuous title for a virulent den of anti-male-ism) started ranting at us for no reason; said we were poor apologies for MEN and COULDN'T GET IT UP! which I thought rather unfair and began to protest, but she got this nasty, snarling look on her face and I suddenly thought better of it, subtly refocusing my attention on a SUPERB pie. Despite this she kept up a constant disparaging dialogue with her little lady friend who nodded enthusiastically whilst cramming endless crisps into her orifice.
I honestly don't know why I seem to engender such hostility from women, but they're always having a go. Possibly they notice the badge of the ACCRINGTON INTELLECTUALS tattooed on my forehead (so to speak), a whiff of the male INFILLAGRO TILLIFULGRUM. Who knows?
It is true that the AI's are not known for their sympathy towards the female intellect -- the Gazette regularly dish out headlines such as WOMEN ARE STUPID or GIVE THAT WOMAN A THRASHING! or FEMALES ARE FOR FUN before a tame little piece about a meeting at the AI's. Duncan took copious notes while the diatribe proceeded, possibly for a poem or perhaps a letter of protest to the Cafe management (his Uncle as it happens).
Outside, I bought a copy of THE BIG ISSUE and flaunted it all over the place, nice Socialist type person that I am and practically homeless myself, living in a hovel with an unfriendly, untalented cat and having my living space constantly mutilated by Emma's efforts at INTERIOR DESIGN which amounts to defacing the wall with lipstick and cheap emulsion and cramming precious air cavities with miscellaneous junk, such as the latest piece of appalling TAT -- it really is the most hideous piece of ravaged plastic which she insisted on calling a TOWNSCAPE SIMULATER which is meant to recreate the scenic splendour of the coast of the south of France somewhere -- WHY DOES IT GIVE OFF TOXIC FUMES and curl up at the edges and look so PLASTICCY and ORANGE and WHY does it look more like BRADFORD than BIARRITZ. If this is what I'm to expect from the window in a prestigious apartment in the south of France then I'm not going near it.
Strange thing happened as I was walking home up Nether Street. A student-type was walking towards me, so naturally I wafted THE BIG ISSUE in his face to show how cool I was when the next thing I know he's grabbed the paper off me and crammed a £1 coin in my fist. Could he possibly have thought that I was a homeless person trying to offload my last copy? -- apparently. Must be a lesson in it somewhere, something with a Xmas theme? Can’t spot it though.