Sorry for the red top type headline, I really couldn’t resist that one. I was woken from my slumbers last night by an indeterminate noise and the ceiling visibly shaking. Confused I was. What was happening, not the plumbing playing up again or my partner performing a tap dance in a pair of clogs upstairs? Removing the redundant laptop computer from my knee and heading off upstairs I encountered said partner asking me if I’d heard the earthquake? Tempted to say no out of devilment, I indicated yes, checked the curtains to see if the street was still in place then headed for bed.
Of course the media was full of the big story this morning. An earthquake with it’s epicentre in the town of Market Rasen, thirty miles south-west of Hull in Humberside had occurred to a literal tune of 5.2 on the Richter Scale. The quake had erupted at around eight miles beneath the earth’s surface.
Dare I say that this was a very British earthquake? Along my cul-de-sac, neighbours could be heard chattering out on the cold pavements shortly afterwards, comparing notes and anxious to understand what had happened. (It’s just an earthquake folks – go back to bed).
It’s always the wheels that take us there. Wheels that seem incongruous with a stride through the countryside. When the wheels have stopped and our boots are on, the day takes on a different pace and atmosphere. A different meaning. Time slows and becomes somehow more livable, somehow more rational.We carefully cross the quiet winding lane at Lowdham Grange and feel the stones and mud under our boots. The welcome and watery winter sun is bright with little warmth, twinkling down through bows and branches through to the tree-lined lane and down to the old church. We are not alone. Ahead of us lies a large limousine with its young driver leaning against it, quietly, respectfully, passing the time, fingers clasped formally in front of him. His suit tells of a duty he is carrying out. It is a sad day for one family and group of friends as a small, muted service is conducted in the ancient faded yellow stone building.
I was saddened to read of yesterday’s news story about Paul Gascoigne being detained under the Mental Health Act after an incident in a Gateshead hotel. It seems as thought the mercurial former England international footballer is never to be found far from problems or controversy. Indeed this latest report possibly shocks very few observers.
Gascoigne attracts very polarised views from the public, his image is that of a troubled yet cheeky chappy. A sad clown and one who possessed a serious talent for the game of football but struggles endlessly with the more serious game of life.
I’ve noticed a lot of writing interest in the new ‘Nottingham Eye’ recently – probably quite rightly as it is a huge and dominant current addition to the city landscape. It was a classic double-take I experienced when wandering down St. James Street and into the Old Market Square two Sunday evenings ago to be confronted by the huge construction in the latter stages of being erected .
Here in Nottingham, people are well used to such sights of course. The annual Goose Fair invariably provides at least a brace of such rides come October each year and accentuates the night time view over the Forest site along with hundreds of other gaily-lit attractions. The Nottingham Eye however appears to completely dwarf even those huge fairground rides. Read on and take a ride on the Nottingham Eye!
“The Most Hated Family In America”
I wonder who caught this a little while ago? I never got around to talking about it at the time but Louis Theroux’s excellent recent documentary inside San Quentin prison in California reminded me about that bizarre, outrageous and downright weird programme – as is to be expected from Louis’ investigations. That time, our man spent three weeks living with the family who comprise the tightly-knit Westboro Baptist Church in the US.
There was a time a few years back when I found Theroux a tad supercilious but I now believe he has something of a genius for teasing out all manner of strange idiosyncrasies from his explorations into human nature. It’s great and unmissable TV. In these days of endless, boring ‘reality’ TV that is quite an achievement
It’s very much a rarity that I use the words of others on this site. I attempt at all times to be original and present the world with my own particular (and sometimes skewed!) vision of it. Today though, I have no compunction in transgressing that policy, for the below is just comic genius. It’s by blogger, Johnny Virgil at :
Read on to explore this writer’s little surprise delve into the fashions of 1977…
Last weekend I put an exhaust fan in the ceiling for my wife’s grandfather. While my wife’s brother and I were fitting the fan in between the joists, we found something under the insulation. What we found was this:
A JC Penney catalog from 1977. It’s not often blog fodder just falls in my lap, but holy hell this was two solid inches of it, right there for the taking.
This morning saw me heading off to the University I study at for a job interview regarding a part-time position within the student support department. Ten o’clock was the time in my mind as I got myself together after another poor night’s sleep and headed in on the ever more sluggish Trent bus into the city.
Of course many would identify with the odd butterfly in these circumstances but truly I find this less and less over the years. I’m sure this is the result of experience which includes quite a bit of public speaking, exam preparation and meeting many new people through classes and meetings within the Higher Education system. Additionally when you’ve had to face up to brand new classes of thirty-odd children working as a temp in teaching it tends to prime you for the worst. Speaking to an interview panel of three people seems relatively relaxing!
The position(s) advertised were for a Disability Support Worker. The main duties include going into lectures with students who have disabilities and writing their notes for them. This can be people with dyslexia, hearing or visual impairments and other disabilities.
Well I scoffed my pancakes for Shrove Tuesday last night – very nice they were too thanks. It’s been more than a year since the last ones so they were very welcome. (I have eaten other things in the meantime in case you were worried.) It’s Ash Wednesday today of course and I can tell you it’s taken me a little while to decide on what actions to take for the Lent period and I finally decided after much head-banging right up until midnight last night!
The common conception (and probably quite a reasonable one) is of ‘giving something up’ for Lent. I prefer to take a slightly more lateral view of the meaning and apply it suitably. Some say this can be by offering of your time and efforts towards others for instance and I find that example a very pleasant one. Abstaining from certain things can be a very faithful and apt way of observing Lent, but so can other behaviours and thoughts.
Hate is a difficult word and it’s one that describes an emotion I try my best to avoid. There are very few people I struggle with in that respect but Noel Edmonds is definitely one of them.
There, I’ve got it off my chest.
I’m not sure what annoys me the most about him but his monumental arrogance, conceit and sense of self-worth will suffice for starters. I’m very surprised that his latest brainchild, Deal or No Deal on Channel Four has not been elevated to prime-time viewing as yet. Certainly it seems strange that one of the BBC’s favourite sons has not been brought ‘home’ to present this unfathomable game show from the Portland House institution, the way they have sought his services over the years.
Sport followers are well catered for in the city of Nottingham though it has to be said that some of the city’s oldest and largest sporting institutions are, well let’s be kind and say, ‘stuttering’. The city shares two football clubs Nottingham Forest (remember folks, always Nottingham Forest as the Reds’ supporters get a little sniffy about that one) and Notts. County. Notts and Forest are respectively the oldest and third oldest league clubs in the country and possibly the world, respectively. The two clubs are also closer together geographically than any other in the UK apart from the Dundee teams. Further Nottingham has a Rugby Union club which used to play in the suburb of Beeston but currently has a new home at Notts County’s Meadow Lane and a leading ice-hockey club, The Nottingham Panthers.