Wednesday 26th April 2000.
It’s been unbelievably wet in Accrington. Kiddies are thronging to the gutters to sail their toy boats; cheap, gaudily coloured umbrellas saturate the market stalls; Morgan Dinny & Rose Fluxom are regularly seen doing the Puddle Dance and splashing irate passers-by.
Despite the weather I ventured out to the Library, which was reeking of the sodden uncleansed masses; damp punters were to be seen in every direction, rigidly static but carefree in their warm haven as they systematically mildewed the written word or snored off into dreamless oblivion. Some just sunbathed under the relentless yellow glare of the puassaint electric lights.
I was on a mission – to grab some reading matter (not a popular idea in most Libraries nowadays even when it isn’t raining heavily). I sauntered to the ‘Books For Sale’ shelves and was delighted to find a hardback copy of Oliver Sacks’ ‘An Anthropologist on Mars’ which I snapped up promptly since it’s been on my reading list for yonks. I also came across a worn paperback of Sonia Moaner’s ‘Desdemona Gets Kinky’, a classic from the 60’s and lavishly illustrated with jet-streaming pink brushwork augmented by lithely erotic doodly penwork of the gorgeously blonde Dessy getting into all kinds of bother with her dog Woofy & best friend Chrissy & hordes of lusty men who flock to her door to ‘be of service’. If it hadn’t been an ex-library book it would be worth at least £12 at any antiquarian bookshop. In the Music Section I placed an order for Ziggy Millburn’s ‘Greatest Hits’ but with little hope of success – not popularist enough. When they get feedback of yearly sales they’ll say “sorry, the library cannot afford to be too avant-guard in its selections.” At this point I normally start phoning up the Library, adopting all sorts of exotic regional accents, to enquire about availability of Ziggy Millburn’s 4th String Quartet or surely they must have a copy of his Duo for Accordion & Saxophone? No? Is it out on loan? You mean you don’t have any copies at all??……etc. They’re always politely apologetic and never seem to catch on.
As I squelched home under my gaudy, ruptured umbrella I contemplated the Universe and all its diverse inspirations… …………….at least those pertaining to what feast was in store for my schlemenky stomach this evening. Not corned beef & cribbnuts again darling?? REALLY!!!!
Tuesday 9th May 2000
It's been extraordinarily balmy in Accrington, or should I say BARMY!?? The two seem interchangeable in a not very intelligent or insightful way. I think it was Lord Rothermere who implied the COGENCE OF COGENT IMPROBABLES but I prefer to defer to the DETERMINATION OF DETOX TEA-TOTALLERS!
The heat brings out the worst in the locals; the men take to wearing knotted white handkerchiefs on their heads, seemingly oblivious to references to Mr.Gumby in 'Monty Python'. Toddlers run amok, foaming at the mouth and smearing ice cream on each other (this gets the childless freaks purring like kittens on Pesril!); dogs roam about in packs looking like jackals, all lean and hungersome - they turn their noses up at links sausages, it's gobfulls of fresh human flesh ripped from the most succulent appendages that they're after & who can blame them?
The Planet Café had some tables outside on which sat a few punters broiling themselves in their umbrella-less lethargy. As an added feature, a caged parrot hung in resplendent speechlessness. It's voice was supplied by a subtly positioned tape machine which emitted gems such as "PIECES OF EIGHT" and the rather testy "I 'ATE YOU YOU LOUSY PIECE OF SCUM!" I suppose they know what they're doing. The parrot had clearly seen better days; maybe it was stuffed.
The Fishermen (i.e. the men who dote on FISH and related FISHY matter) were out in force on the canal side. If you attempted to walk along the tow-path they would block your progress with they're rod extensions (no phallic observations here please! OK then if you MUST……..they're 'tiny prick' compensators then!……happy??) forcing you to make a giant step over or to burrow underneath; so I walked up onto the Moor instead in my washed out frumpy blue T-Shirt with DOG QUEST emblazoned across the front in vivid green (I don't know what it means either!). The views were uninspiring and hazy; orange tip butterflies swarmed up into the foamy sky and blurted out requests to the GodHeaD to give them a more fashionable wing pattern such as that which the peacock butterfly sports or perhaps something on similar lines to the cinnabar mothy - some chance! - olde Goddy has only got a limited number of outfits for the frippy fliers and they've got the short straw. Too bad you inadvertent minimalists!
I walked to the celestial harmony of "Fiddle-me-Dooo", the old Celtic rhythms intempering my falloping stride.
AN OBSERVATION -- those toddlers with ice cream cones on their heads, reciting gibberish & looking up at the clouds quizzically??? Where do they come from? Do they come from the future attempting to reinvent the past? Or do they come from broken homes? Do they come from the Bokkers Estate where dogs are a culinary delicacy? Who knows? They roam about in small groups, formulating campaigns of action to subvert the adulteration of their planet. I was young once; only once mind you. My main memory was of waiting for Jacques Cousteau to come on TV. He'd eventually appear and then just sit about waiting for some vital piece of diving equipment to arrive; it never did. Of course by then they realised they could do without it with some improvised piece of ingenuity like a coat hanger turned upside down. Then there would be another hitch like a change in the weather and Jacques would end up playing chess with the ship chimpanzee Ollie, who would throw a tantrum and chew somebody's beret. Flying fish would leap over their heads just out of camera shot; dolphins would appear briefly then go off to a more lucrative filmic location like a James Bond set. That was my young life. Everything just out of reach.
Thursday 18th May 2000.
Lunch with Emma & Duncan at the Broadacres Dining Experience. I had the MUNCHY SPARKLER - crystallised monkfish in lemon jelly with dollopé potato casks; Emma just had the FROTHY MOUSEY - poached egg with French fries; Duncan struggled through a QUEEZE DILEMMA - gratin of mulled roach with crispy seaweed. The manager, Dick Idlemann gave us all complimentary liquors since we're regulars and also, I suspect, because business hasn't been too good since the opening of the PLANET CAFÉ. He's even taken to adorning the walls with cheap prints of SCENES FROM A TURKISH BROTHEL. A brothel in Sidcup more like.
Emma has started up a Spiritualist 'New Age' shop with her friend Rachel. They've taken small premises at the edge of the shopping centre and the shop is called THE BLUEY CAVERN. It displays a blue theme throughout and sells the usual stuff - candles, smelly essences, crystals, flying carpets etc. Duncan might also work there part-time; Emma tries to rope me into doing occasional afternoons but I explain to her that I simply couldn't cope with brain pierced weirdo's trying to levitate themselves by climbing up onto my shoulders, or whispering nonsense at me while their dogs re-enact WW2 on the pavement outside. I did magnanimously offer to supply the shop with some selected pieces of my Computer Art but Emma wasn't interested; it lacks the spiritual dimension apparently. So this haven of all that is mystic & charm like is yet another stab in the back for rationalists such as myself! Does none of my inspired intellectualism rub off on people? Apparently not.
We rounded of the evening with a bout of synchronised bawling that sent ye olde dogs of Accrington a-scampering to their dilly dwellings.
Wednesday 24th May 2000.
Met up with POPPY FRESH the performance artist at the Blitz gallery in Accrington where I found her hosing down some puppies on the gallery floor. She was far too entranced in it to interrupt her with feeble questions so I just left her to get on with it while I got myself a coffee. Later she allowed me to follow her around town as she 'did a piece'. This involved selecting a location to stand about (we did about 15, ending up at the bus station) where she would hang a sign around her neck saying GIVE ME MONEY. After a few minutes she would toss 1p coins at the passers-by and chant: "forgive us poor sinners!" in a drawling monotone. I wrote the artwork up for the PENDLE ARTS REVIEW interpreting the works as the fancy took me. She was decidedly uncommunicative about all her works so she can't be too upset if I draw my own conclusions.
The Accrington Intellectuals spent last night debating who was to receive the 'Arthur Tunner Memorial Prize' for the most prominent intellect among the membership for the last year. Things got a little heated - I don't think the old church had ever heard such appalling language in all its many years & all in aid of some petty little egos. A new member, Tim Peploe, insisted that his dissertation "The Mind of an Aesthete" warranted recognition. Arnold Dunne (another old Strifflurian!) said that he certainly recognised it - as self-indulgent nonsense! And nominated Clive Whistler who in return nominated Arnold (both of them fawning & bowing at each other in sickening fashion). Old Tim lunged at someone whom he caught whispering a derogatory remark and they had to be forcefully separated by Bert Oliphant. A compromise candidate was found - Eric Strobbly, who's most distinguished feature is his uncanny ability to doze off through most of the AI meetings, scarcely remaining awake long enough to contribute anything of note, never mind something of merit. I was none too pleased at Sheila Okky who sarcastically nominated ME by drawing attention to some of the articles I've contributed to the local press, particularly the less cerebral ones such as "Bobby the Budgie sings hits from the 70's" which amused everyone no end, the pompous creeps!
In fact yesterday was not a good day for me all round. Tanya Oxales, my hairdresser, had distractedly cut into my earlobe while listening to something on the radio. When I screamed she flew up onto the washbasin thinking that I had seen a mouse or something! Rather than apologise for blooding my ear she just kept looking about nervously as if I really had seen a mouse. Why would she think that a grown man such as myself would scream at a small rodent scuttling about?? I think the ear is infected; it certainly stings a hell of a lot! I have a plaster on it. Suppose those scissors had cut somebody else before me & not been cleaned properly? I might develop Hexaleteumatopia & end up walking on my knuckles, jabbering nonsense about my friend the colander, while repeating everything six times in a fearfully rising intonation! So Tanya after recovering a little says, "I think you are moving. That is why I cut your ear off, you silly personage! Of course I cut your bloudy ear off if you suddenly move! I once cut a man's, how you say Bollinks off?? Clean off!! HE moved………I don't really! I'm a very good hairdresser. I cut hair of the LADY MAYORESS. She no move, she nice, we have friendly chats." Bloody Lithuanians!
Wednesday 7th June 2000.
I've been away in Scotland frolicking in my kilt. I sport the Fitz-MacDuff tartan of course (predominantly blue & grey) and my sporran is of the tufted variety much favoured by retired caber tossers. The kilt is still a novelty in most parts of Scotland and is apt to be commented upon, especially in Glasgow where a certain amount of abuse is not uncommon. This is all water off a ducks back as far as I'm concerned; I like to stir the old natives up a bit, subverting their mediocrity. Passing through Glasgow on my voyage up north I popped into a Chemist to get some ointment for my liggylip. This shifty looking bloke went up to the counter and said, "Got any e's?" I thought this was rather bold, since no legislation for the legalisation of ecstasy had passed through the Scottish Parliament as far as I was aware. He repeated his request and the surly woman behind the counter said, "We don't sell THOSE kind of drugs! Now if you'll please……..?" The shifty bloke interrupted her, "Whad'ya'mean THOSE kind of drugs? I only want some EAZZE for my haemorrhoids. It's a lotion in a tube!" "Oh I DO beg your pardon!" replied the apologetic chemist and fetched him some EAZZE ointment. After he left I made a quip to the surly woman but she just glared. "At least he doesny hev what you've goat!" she accented throttlingly. Cheeky wee woman! While in Glasgow I paid a visit to the Burrell Collection which is strongly recommended to connoisseurs of the fine arts but not to rowdy little school kids who roam around in packs, shrieking & gesticulating while simultaneously sticking pencils up their noses. I definitely don't recommend a visit by them though there were lots there when I visited.
I saw something dark & ominous moving about on Loch Lomond as I drove along beside it, but it was only Mr.Giraffe dangling from my rear view mirror - Phew! I was relieved!
Back in Accrington I popped into the BLUEY CAVERN, Emma & Rachel's spiritualist new age type shop. Emma was behind the counter and seemed pleased to see me. She showed me some new embroideries a local art student had supplied to the shop. They reminded me of Quin Tong's 'Entire Cubes' series but without the esoteric mandolin motifs. I took over the till while Emma went out to lunch. Of course this was the cue for a parade of weirdo's to enter the premises. The first was a wizened little man smelling strongly of turnip and with black hair sprouting from every pore. His eyes lit up when he saw the "natural woman" fertility cards and he began to slobber all over them, wiping the stains with the sleeve of his 'hide all' overcoat. "Are you going to purchase those sir?" I asked. He just mumbled something inaudible then made little hiccupping noise, farted and left the shop. 2 minutes later he ran past the window in a hunched posture. The second weirdo I recognised as John Massey-Frooper, a long-term resident of "The Institution". He filled his pockets with crystals & packs of 'clover mist'. When I asked for money he gave me a piece of halibut covered in fluff. So it went on till Emma got back. She was none too impressed by my attempts to run the shop and offered to floss my brain but I declined her offer pleading an urgent appointment with my impedimento.
Wednesday 14th June 2000.
The BLAST GALLERY in Accrington is running a
competition to design a sculptural artwork for the Town Centre on the site
of the dismantled Millennium Sculpture (now hollowed out & housing chickens
in a housing cooperative scheme in Nether Snedley). 24 artists have submitted
their ideas and the public is to pick their favourite. Some of the artworks
are represented in miniature such as Tony Ball's WEAPON RHTHYM, which consists
of 10 rifles pointing inwards towards a mechanical mouse in a cage. The rifles
fire at random emitting piercing bangs while the mouse scuttles about. A more
traditional sculpture is Pim Peck's AUTUMN WINDS, a rusting hulk of shipwreck
with a palm tree. Tracey Emin the Turner Prize Winner has submitted plans
for the use of one of her old bathtubs with various obscenities scratched
into the enamel and highlighted in lipstick. It's called WE BATHE IN FILTH
and she's keen that a rancid pool of liquid should gather in the bottom over
the course of time, which, since it will be open to the elements, and open
especially to incontinent citizens enjoying a boozy evening, is a fair bet.
Another entry is entitled CHANTING FRUIT -- wooden fruit chant and bounce
up and down. Unfortunately, the model supplied made rather inane squeaking
noises reminiscent of micklickity melons. My personal favourite was Sophie
Urgent's MOONSTRUCK consisting of a large blue neon sign reading SWOONY MOONY
with a crescent moon suspended above resonating in golden yellow. It got my
vote. One old lady moved around the exhibits in a state of some agitation,
talking excitedly to herself and emitting little shrieks from time to time.
"Shocking!" she kept intoning. As she left she commented to some innocent
bystander, "This isn't ART it's PORNOGRAPHY!" the logic of which baffled me.
Her final thrust was "I'm going to complain to the Women's Institute!"
Tuesday 20th June 2000.