Southampton City Walls

The River Test apparently used to lap up against the old City walls 500 years ago. Today I ate my Marmite sandwiches near here and listened to The Libertines on my mp3 player. What you can't see is the glass and stone edifice of a modern De Vere hotel. Old and new in grudging proximity.

Hope of the States gig

The Wedgewood Rooms in Southsea is a 300 capacity rock venue on the up and coming circuit. My younger son Mike and I caught Hope of the States there just before Christmas and re-reading my review made me wonder if it might interest anyone.

“Who do you think those guys might be?” I asked Mike. "Dunno." He volunteerd rather helpfully. They looked out of place in grubby Southsea with their happening haircuts, brown leather jackets and black jeans. We tracked them for half a mile and followed them into the Wedgewood Rooms. They showed backstage passes and breezed through, they were The Open. Well three members of the band anyway. Surprising what you see if you keep ‘em peeled.

Mike made straight for the bar and got the drinks in. We took up position about seven feet from the small stage, just to right of centre. A big crowd was swelling by Wedge standards at 20:00. Young teens, twenty something art students and middle-aged aficionados of the Indie and Britpop scene. A spot of pre show surfing had elicited three acoustic downloads so we knew what to expect from Brighton's The Upper Room and they didn’t disappoint. Their short set was politely received and I guess there’s enough room for another band who can produce great sweeping guitar tracks and who wear their Morrissey influences with pride. The young lad on bass was surely no more than 19.

The front line stage equipment was swiftly dismantled and on came the boys from Liverpool. The Open showed plenty of energy and aggressive attitude as they strutted the stage and delivered a breathtaking set that would almost overshadow the main act. They previewed half their debut album with all the assurance of veterans. This is a class act which has built its following through last minute guerrilla gigs. They didn’t introduce themselves, they didn’t say goodbye, they just played. Played hard loud and with passion. After their set I spied the unassuming figure of Sam Herlihy sidle in the main door and head discreetly for the stage door.

Hope of the States finally appeared at 22:25. Worth the wait though. These are truly accomplished musicians and they play their repertoire to studio standard. But were they just a bit jaded after three months on the road? I think so when you compare their stage presence with the earlier acts. It was a pretty brave move to bring along such strong support.

“Sing a happy song Sam!” pleaded someone. Sam debated with the band whether they knew any happy songs or indeed any happy people! It was decided with great irony that George Bush was about the happiest person they could imagine fight now. The music was set to a constant backdrop of video footage showing the band's familiar images of American patriotism and military might. My highlight was The Red the White the Black the Blue. I took some video footage during this one.

The band was using Orange gear. In the centre of one speaker cabinet the Orange name plaque had been scribbled out rather scornfully in black felt tip. Pinned to the amp head was a dollar bill. Hanging from the amp was a hand written note which read, “Modern Life is Fucking Terrifying.” The last number was dedicated to the late great John Peel.

Set lists:

The Upper Room:
All Over This Town
Black and White
Portrait
Once for Me

The Open:
Bring Me Down
Close My Eyes
Change Forever
Forgotten
Just Want to Live
Can You Hear

Hope of the States:
Black Amnesiacs
A Crack Up at the Race Riots
George Washington
Black Dollar Bills
Black Stars Red Stars
Bonfires
Farewell to Pripyat
The Red the White the Black the Blue
Nehemiah
Enemies Friends

Drinkers on the Dry
Static in the Cities

Ramp (or wind tunnel) to the pontoon

At 8am on a cold Feb morning this is the last place you want to be. Low tide pulls the ramp down to a 45 degree slope and an icy north wind is howling up here like a hurricane. I'm first in the queue today, worth it if only to get a front seat. Looking forward to a bouncy ride over the Hythe stretch of the River Test, to be made all the more unpleasant by the sickly aroma of juicyfruit chewing gum, mindless converstions and grating ringtones. Ear buds in and turn up the music I think.

Sunrise towards the Isle of Wight

Hythe Pier

The Retiring Assistant Manager – Mch 1990

The retiring assistant manager penned his last initial, put down his weary biro with an air of finality and pondered. His “in tray” was empty, his “out tray” full and yet there were loose ends…things remained undone and must forever now remain so. There was no more time. The sand lay flat in the lower chamber of life’s hourglass. Intentions, objectives, ambitions; these were the loose ends which could not be neatly knotted and cut.

He drew comfort from the tangible and considered the forest of paper that had traversed his desk these four decades, hungrily sucking the ink of a thousand pens; gorging the graphite of a towering pencil. His mark lay on reams of records stowed safely in the banking bowels below. Tasks completed, returns returned, ledgers ruled and checked. There lay the rich seams of evidence indelibly stamped in banking history.

A million signatures had authorised, confirmed, advised, certified, applied, declared, reported and claimed. With this unique monogram a mountain of responsibility had been safely shouldered. Our man reached for a cigarette and wreathed himself in its haze. The mood of reflection continued and he seemed almost to disappear within the plumes of blue and grey, his mind a raft drifting on the sea of memory. An endless tide of faces, names, places, conversations ebbed and flowed out of time and context. When reality returned he would try to remember these details in ordered fashion, but not yet. Enough for now to indulge at random.

A column of white ash dropped unnoticed. Imagination slipped its leash and began to pad softly down the corridors of wistful thought. So much to do, yet so little time. Off these corridors lay unopened rooms containing untested talents, unexpressed emotions, abandoned projects, forgotten thoughts, lapsed aspirations. With frightening suddenness, conscious thought returned. His empty desk stared gravely back at him. An old and trusted friend, he must remember to bid his faithful wooden companion farewell. But how to say “goodbye”? How to say “I won’t be back”? Its drawers would fill with foreign clutter and this it would accept with either brave resignation or bland indifference – he did not like to contemplate which.

Sadness came over him. ‘End of an era’, how woefully inadequate. What an empty phrase. Sadness turned to frustration as he glanced at the relentless clock. He willed it to stop and encapsulate the moment. On it went into the future. If only it would just mark time or pass the time of day! He laughed aloud. With that the spell was broken and the fleeting moment of regret was past. It was the future that held the key. The key to all those unopened rooms of opportunity, potential and above all time. With spirits rising he left the Bank.

A broad grin spread across his face as he detected a spring in his step, which had not been there yesterday. Was that last step more of a skip? The years rolled back and he remembered that glorious July afternoon when a small boy of twelve had pedalled furiously home from school, eyes ablaze with anticipation at the summer holiday stretching endlessly ahead.

He hadn’t felt like this in years! Cares, worries and responsibilities lay strewn in his wake as he hurried towards his tired old car. His mind whirled with expectation on the journey home. He concentrated on nothing in particular, allowing himself to bask in expectation – summer holiday, cricket, garden, Vivaldi, sun, solitude, deck-chair, reading, writing... He nearly drowned in euphoria! Full of unabashed excitement he hurried home to the future and with a sigh of relief he closed the door on a most eventful day.

The beginning…

Frame Heath - The New Forest

The ground is wet and sticky and it's just too cold to walk far today. On the plus side didn't see a soul for an hour!