A miscellany of heaven-only-knows-what along with opinionated nonsense from the largest village in Cornwall. Plenty of silliness, very little of merit and the occasional tirade.
I'm certain that this is exactly the sort of thing that the Prodigy had in mind when they wrote what is arguably their best known song. In the what will almost undoubtedly be the final instalment of the Millbrooker Towers' woodburner fitting saga, here is the photographic evidence that Mrs The MIllbrooker and I now have a toasty warm, if slightly under-decorated, living room.
Before I got home last night from nearly nine hours of answering the usual range of silly questions from my adoring public at the railway station, Mrs The Millbrooker had laid a fire in the heart of our new heating machine. (The previous night, I'd glued some stove rope into the door grooves to provide the necessary seal). Note nice new fire bricks lining both sides. Note also the cheapskate version of firewood, old shed timbers for the most part. Much cheaper than chopped logs if marginally less attractive.
After a formal dinner of sausages, peas and baked potatoes to mark the occasion, the ceremonial first lighting duties were passed to yours truly. Once again, as it is in barbecue season, the crème brulée torch was pressed into service - and lo! there was flame.
I hesitate to use the word "owner" in conjunction with the word "cat", so perhaps I'll substitute "feeder-cum-cushion". So - as all feeder-cum-cushions of cats will know, the furry creatures do enjoy a nice spot of warmth. GoGo is no exception and almost as soon as the doors of the woodburner were closed and the heat started to emanate I found myself with company...
Mrs The Millbrooker and I went out for a little pootle around Millbrook Lake a couple of days back; not a strenuous walk, you understand, just an amble to get us out of the house for a half hour or so.
We'd not got even as far as the Tractor Park when the sky closed in and a few drops of rain splished upon us.
"Oh bottoms!" or words to that effect, exclaimed Mrs The Millbrooker. "There's washing on the line - I'll go back and take it in, you carry on. You've got your mobile with you haven't you?"
I responded in the affirmative.
I only got a few yards and decided to sit and watch the birdlife on the island and enjoy the autumn colours. It was a little bit nippy, but nothing unbearable, so I settled down on a bench and took a few photos.
This is a cormorant, a black headed gull and a little egret on the piles by the island.
After a while, my phone made the little knocking sound that indicates to me that I have a text message.
"Where R U?" it read.
"On the bench looking at the island, opposite Molesworth Terrace" I responded.
In one of those moments of misunderstanding the meaning of "opposite" was interpreted differently by the writer and by the receiver of that little message and Mrs The Millbrooker duly appeared on the far bank.
"What are you doing over there?" she politely enquired (you might note the mobile phone glued to her ear as she speaks to me from the width of the lake away).
"I'm taking a picture of you" I replied. And it was the truth (see above).
We met, by telephonic arrangement, on the dam and continued our pootle together. My goodness me, but we live an adventurous life in Millbrook.
Ian the Taxi (who took over Millbrooker moving duties from Tony the Taxi when said Tony emigrated to Poland) is being a very energetic Ian as I write.
The annual 10 mile road race up hill and down dale on the Rame Peninsula is currently being run (the faster runners will have finished before I finish this posting).
Mrs The Millbrooker and I went down to the lake to watch the start in the sweeping rain and gusting autumn winds at the appointed hour (according to Ian) of 10 o'clock. We stood on the jetty and watched the dam for signs of runners galloping across at the beginning of their voluntary 10 mile self-flagellation.
Nothing happened. It got to be nearly twenty past the allotted hour and we thought that perhaps it would start at 10:30. At around that time a lone runner was seen lolloping across the dam.
And then he ran past us, still with no one in pursuit. "Strange way to stage a race," I thought.
Having now stood in the cold on a Sunday morning-day-of-rest, Mrs The Millbrooker and I decided that this runner was probably just doing a lap of the lake to warm up and the official start must be 11 o'clock and that that was too late to stand there any longer, so whilst Ian the Taxi and his boy Shane along with numerous other very fit and healthy types panted their way around the first part of the 'Eller's 'ellish course, I sat down in the warmth of Millbrooker Towers' kitchen and enjoyed a jolly decent breakfast.
So I do hope that Ian had a good run and made his target time of about 1 hour 40 minutes and I'm a tad sorry that I missed the action, but it wasn't for the want of trying. The breakfast was most enjoyable, though.
No commentary needed - just a quotation from Lucy Mangan's Saturday musings in the Guardian's Weekend magazine.
The full article can be read here. Lucy Mangan would have been 14 or 15 when this (doubtless mildly coloured in by her own talent and memory) event occurred.
"...And then there was that poll tax business...I remember that because it was on the news and because a friend of my dad's took the opportunity to explain to me...''Imagine a rich man has bags and bags of gold all around him. And a poor man has two gold coins that he has managed to save over the years. Now imagine an evil hag, dripping blood from a blue suit lined with kitten skins knocks at their doors and demands a gold coin from each. Is that fair? No, and that's why if you ever vote Tory I'll come back and chop your balloting hand off." "
I don't think I've ever been quite as eloquent with the younger family members, but I do hope they've generally got the message.
*********
photo shamelessly stolen from guardian.co.uk, cartoon by the great Steve Bell.
Mr B has finished his labours at Millbrooker Towers for the moment. Just a little matter of fitting a slate hearth once the freshly laid concrete has dried properly is left as a job to be tackled.
So, as nothing more exciting has been happening in this neck of the woods as winter draws itself around us, here's the latest exciting set of pictures from the inner sanctum of Millbrooker Towers chronicling the installation of our new stand-alone heating appliance.
We took delivery of, along with many other chimney related artefacts, 10 metres worth of flue liner.
Mr B and his mate Pipkin fitted it into its rightful place in the blink of an eye and to see this stuff now requires a feat of great dexterity involving straining one's neck around inside the chimney breast after detaching the register plate that's sealing it all off from the outside world.
Some more rendering got done around the bleedin' great hole in the chimney breast.
And, eventually, the woodburner that has waited patiently for so long to find its rightful place in the world...
...found that very place with the help of some heavy lifting duties by Mr B and Ralphie (Millbrook's favourite "Who's Who" inhabitant).
Just some blacking needed (that's my and Mrs the Millbrooker's job), along with a little stove rope to be fixed into place to seal the doors, and we're looking forward to being toasty warm this coming chilly season. Huzzah!
Some readers of long standing might remember Tony the Taxi who used to have the dubious pleasure of picking me up at stupid o'clock in the mornings to take me to work.Tony had that pleasure for several years before embarking on one of life's big adventures; he emigrated to Poland to be with his partner Basia and make at least one extra small Polish person.
Tony tells me that his Polish language skills still leave a fair bit to be desired, but some help is on the way with that - in the shape of a school teacher to whom he gives English lessons. Some mutual language lesson exchanges are to be made.
In the meantime, the former Millbrooker transporter is teaching English and familiarising himself with his new surroundings. He's kindly sent me some photos - and as very little is happening in my immediate surrounds with which to entertain you...here's a little touch of Poland from the man on the spot.
Here are some shots of Krakow's main square and its wavel (castle). Very attractive, I must say. Mental note to self - must visit Poland one day. I'm afraid that I'm one of those sad souls who really likes other people's holiday snaps almost as much as I like my own.
And this is a place with a throroughly unpronouncable name (go on, try it), Ogrodzieniec Castle, at which Tony and Basia witnessed some seemingly homo-erotic goings on at a medieval entertainment. I do hope the enjoyed themselves.
Bern the Lens has been out and about again. He's sent me a magnificent shot taken a couple of days ago in glorious late autumn weather. I reckon he's surpassed himself with this atmospheric close shot.
Here's the details in Bern's own words:
"A bit of magic on the Bodmin line...winter photography has come back!! 5552 passing Charlie's Gate 1525 Bodmin Parkway-Bodmin General 24-10-10."
Sadly, it's obit time for an old heroine of mine who has died (reportedly from cancer) at the ridiculously young age of 48. Good god, that's only a year older than me. Ouch.
I'm only too well aware that most of my friends probably hadn't even heard of Ari Up (born Arianna Forster in 1962) and were unlikely ever to have done so. Nonetheless, her influence on music was vast through the works of her band the Slits; particularly the earlier work leading up to and including the 1979 album Cut.
Ari Up personified punk in a way that the bigger names simply couldn't - when the Slits first began they were genuinely barely capable of playing more than a couple of chords on their guitars, yet using the massive influence of Jamaican music and their own raw, youthful energy they created a very special sound indeed. That sound never truly made it onto record; the Slits belonged to the live arena and the charts were pretty well untroubled by Ari's hard-edged and distinctive vocal style. The closest the Slits came to commercial success was the single Typical Girls which reached number 60. Its flip side was a very left-field rendition of Marvin Gaye's I Heard it Through the Grapevine, which has come to be regarded as something of a classic version over the years.
This is the original video to promote Typical Girls, delightfully amateurish and shot with a budget of about tuppence ha'penny. It's a boppy little tune with a genuine bitterness underlying the bounce-along beat; I love it. Ari was 17 when they did this.
So, from the little corner of the world that is Millbrook, and from one old punk who didn't manage to follow the dream and the lifestyle like Ari Up, the thought that we're all a bit poorer for her not being around any more. I shall play Cut to the unsuspecting film clubbers this very evening - perhaps not the greatest tribute, but it'll be my little bit.
After last week's touring event in which a full strength film club gathered at Shazzerooneypoos' abode to see Jon Boorman's 1968 wartime drama Hell in the Pacific, we return to the usual venue tomorrow.
We're still in something of a building-site style mess, but as Slocombe is currently pottering around Marseilles talking to young people and doing lots of good works, we can just about fit the remainder of regular clubbers into the available space.
So - for those interested - this week's presentation is Alfonso Cuaron's 2006 thriller-cum-future-vision Children of Men.
Well I've finally managed to sort something out with uploading photos, although I've had to revert to the "old editor" as far as blogger.com is concerned. It's fiddlier and more time consuming, but it means that at least I can stick some photos onto these highly sought after and eagerly devoured pages.
Unsurprisingly, Millbrooker Towers currently sports a cladding of scaffolding to allow work on the chimney and flue before we get our wood burner working in a week or two's time.
Equally unsurprisingly, yours truly was unable to resist the temptation of a little clamber to check out the view from above the roof ridge of the place we call home. Needless to say, I took the old camera up with me. The squashed looking panorama over Millbrook Lake at the top is one of the resultant shots.
Here's another - it's the 81C on its way to Insworke from the quay. Stay with me here, it does get moderately more interesting.
Only moderately more interesting, I grant you, but you've made it this far - loking eastwards, a roofscape towards Hounster.
A view of the Masonic Hall on the quay; you'm gets strange goin's on in there involvin' trouser legs and aprons, me dears.
There, told you it got moderately more interesting than a pink bus doing its stuff.
These pages have been a bit quiet over the last few days.
I'm having some problems with uploading photos - in fact Blogger simply won't allow me to do so at the moment . My google account got hacked into a couple of days ago and I've had to change just about everything, but some small problems appear to be still hanging in there.
I'll keep working on it and, with luck, normal(ish) service will be resumed very soon.
Ah yes, not only the title of a superb one man play by Glen Berger, but also a previously unseen view of inside Millbrooker Towers.
As I sit and write this drivel from the steam-driven laptop's temporary home on the first floor, there is much rattling and and banging going on immediately outside the window as a brace of scaffolders erect a small tower. Soon, upon that very tower, Mr B's 'umble assistant will clamber to our chimney pot to lower a flue liner into its dark depths.
But, before that momentous event in the history of our very own historic (well, it's Georgian) erection, some more prep work has taken place.
Mr B came around and plonked a lintel into the chimney breast. Here's the very smart new pre-stressed concrete log that Mr B gently inserted into the hole.
Not long after that bit of work, our own Jah Cousteau was once again pressed into action and the hearth was well and truly dug out ready to be concreted with proper damp proofing.
And now, finally, the money shot as advertised in the title of this bit of nonsense. I stuck the camera underneath the lintel and pointed upwards. So here, for your delight, is the inside of the Millbrooker Towers chimney flue number 2 which will soon be lined so as to be usable by our little log burner. No small boys are in evidence, but we're thinking of a youth employment scheme to match Mr Cameron's "Big Society" idea; just doing our bit, you know. Oh please, do try to contain your excitement.
Those groovy Gigspanner boys are going to be having a busy autumn. Oh yes, Millbrook's musical adopted sons are out and about all over the country in the near future.
Not, sadly, on the Rame Peninsula - we'll have to await their return in the spring; a May 2011 tour is being planned, with our neck of the woods included in stopping off points, I hope. Debs - if you read this (and I know that I get the occasional virtual visit from the Gigspanner household), please try to avoid Whitsun weekend; that clashes with Chippenham Folk festival and the Wreckers (including me) will be away strutting our stuff.
Meantime a new album is in the offing. I get the impression that it's a live one from Debs' description: "The new album'Doors at Eight' was recorded during Gigspanner's May/June tour, and there are hopes that it will be ready for release during the forthcoming tour. One highlight of the album is the beautiful didgeridoo playing of Joe Caudwell on 'Sharpe goes Walkabout', who was a special guest of the band during their gig at the Quay Arts Centre, Isle of Wight."
I know that not everyone who reads this stuff is on the Rame Peninsula, so here's the list of autumn dates. just in case one of the gigs is near to you.
Friday October 29th
Village Hall, Forthampton, Near Tewkesbury
For tickets call 01684 297270or 07811 643115
Tuesday November 2nd
Winchester Folk Club @ The Railway Inn, Winchester
Tickets will be available soon fromwww.peterknight.net, by calling 07974 842950 and Blockley Village Stores (in about a weeks time). Please keep an eye on Peter's website for an update.
You might have guessed that I've started to get a wee bit annoyed by the sanctimonious self-serving claptrap being spewed from the mealy mouths of the government's junior partners.
It's a pretty well established fact in these pages that I'm not a Tory lover. In fact for the last umpteen years (since 1992) I've voted Lib Dem in every election just to keep the buggers out.
I did so again this year. I can't say I really took to Karen Gillard, the Lib Dem candidate in this constituency, but I stuck my cross next to her name because she was the only one with the slightest chance of keeping the recurring nightmare that is Sheryll Murray out.
Turns out that I needn't have bothered. Not only did the Hounster windbag win in this corner of the country, but as soon as they got a sniff of power the Lib Dems turned into Tories as well. Suffice to say the yellows will never get my X again; at least you know the Tories are a bunch of self-seeking bastards, and not a faintly ridiculous party with pretend conviction.
The thing that's finally really got my goat is the fact that every single Lib Dem MP signed a pledge before the election that they would oppose tuition fees for higher education. Soon, in the House to which they were elected at least partially on that pledge, the leadership of the party will vote in completely the opposite direction. It's expected that many, if not most, Lib Dem MPs will do the same. That makes them hypocrites and liars. No excuses, no platitudes from Vince "Pinocchio" Cable should convince anyone otherwise.
These people benefitted from a free-at-the-point-of-use university education, but now they want to prevent ordinary working people from sharing that privilege. Make no mistake, that's what this is all about - preserving the privileges of the few against the many. Who on earth can even contemplate spending three or more years at university and coming out with a debt of somewhere around £30,000? Answers on a post card please to Eton, Westminster and other jolly decent schools from whence the majority of university students of the future will emerge. Oh, quelle surprise, they appear to be the hugely expensive public schools of the 2 Cs (how appropriate) who currently occupy the premiership and deputy premiership.
Not to mention that this bunch of yellow-goldy coloured right wing apologists are also about to hand the management of those student loans (debts) to the banks rather than the nationalised student loans company - market rate interest payments, here we come. That should ensure most graduates remain in debt (highly profitable for this government's banking chums) for decades.
Clegg, Cable et al - don't bother pretending it's because of the "financial crisis", or the great god "deficit". You are liars. This move is pure ideology intended to keep the top places for the top people - "Don't you worry, I'm alright Jack - we've never had it so good".
I look forward to seeing them electorally annihilated at the earliest opportunity. Hmm - that'll be in May for starters, then.
For the curious about the lyrics at the top of this rant - one of my old heroes, recorded live in 1978, the Tom Robinson Band performing "I'm Alright Jack".
I'm indebted to Frankenkeith for sending me a link to this.
The wonderful trio Fascinating Aida at their rude and pithy best.
I hope you enjoy this short observation on the low cost airlines that seem to have taken over the airborne travel industry of this country even half as much as I did.
It was back in May that I let readers in on the secret of how to tell that you've "arrived" as an actor. I'm now in the fortunate position to divulge the same information about one's career as a musician-cum-dancer-in-braille.
You know that you've "arrived" and are now considered to be what is thought of in the trade as "hot property" when you start appearing in august publications as part of the news agenda.
Oh yes, dear readers, yours truly has got a photo into the much admired literary and theatrical periodical that is commonly known as the Torpoint Journal. It is, of course, also sometimes known as the local free rag or equally often as some welcome free lining for the cat litter tray, but we've all got to start somewhere haven't we?
So, for your delight and delectation...
I'm sure the cats of Torpoint and its surrounds will enjoy a fulsome poo onto one's physog in the very near future. Although it looks as if, having muscled into front centre position for the photo above, Leslie Wrecker will be first in the firing line.
I labour under the delusion that some people actuallyread this stuff and that occasionally someone uses my witterings as a sort of moderately reliable but by-no-means-comprehensive "what's on" guide to the locale.
Our old mucker Frankenkeith has mostly finished with his seafaring acts of derring-do for the season and is taking up position for the forthcoming Rame History Group season of talks.
Mrs The Millbrooker and I have said we might well be interested in going along to one or two evenings with Frankenkeith's historically-fascinated chums in the RHG. As a result he's kindly sent us a list of forthcomings.
Should anyone else fancy heading to Cawsand Congregational Hall on Garrett Street and parting with a piffling £2 (same cost for any event), here's a list of what's occurring and when. Start time is always 7:30 in the p.m.
Monday 18th October
"Royal Silver Mining in the Tamar Valley"
with Cynthia Gaskell Brown.
Monday 15th November
"The Great Blizzard of 1891"
with Roger Collins
Monday 17th January
"Pilchards and Palaces"
(a very relevant subject to this area)
with Ron Smith
Monday 21st February
"The Edgcumbes and Musical History"
with Mike O'Connor OBE
(A Bard of the Cornish Gorsedd - this will be a "lecture with musical illustrations")
