onionbagblog

Cycling off to City Hall for #stld

Video wall plays through loop of largely pro-Boris messages. Blimey #stld

Nick Ferrari looming large in the wings. Very large #stld

For a 6pm start, the City Hall chamber is rather empty #stld

If this is anything like a @lambeth_council cabinet meet then expect the ‘public engagement’ to be of blink and you’ll miss it nature #stld

Dee Doocey, Chair of London assembly is going through in case of emergency speech. Three locations for debate. Confusing? Diluting? #stld

Now watching video of Boris’ declaration to stand for Mayor again, aka annual report #stld

Cycling and um, trees figure highly #stld

The build up waiting for the Great Man is like the hype ahead of an England #worldcup flop #stld

Ah, the London Living wage is mentioned in vid. Now then, which South London Rotten Borough doesn’t pay this to pimped out services? #stld

I hope Boris doesn’t use empty chamber in same way @ LambethLabour justify apathy in Rotten Borough: evidence that Little People happy #stld

This * really* is a re-elect Boris vid #stld

Sponsorship and the Cycle Superhighway – it’s like pimping out naming rights for yer Nan’s funeral #stld

Nick Ferrari sitting in the wings. Was that a nod in agreement as Boris delivered his re-elect me speech? #stld

Nick Ferrari proving that he is a third rate comedian #stld

Ferrari said that “scanner problems” led to poor turnout in City Hall chamber #stld

Why the f is Ferrari chairing this? He just said “while tube is crippled today…” #stld

Boris is “a brand” apparently. *sigh* #stld

And here comes yer man #stld

Intro from Boris mentions transport and knife crime. Murders down since 1978, apparently #stld

Air conditioning on the tube by the end of this year, so said Boris. Routemaster now spoken of in terms of “new bus.” #stld

“Right infrastructure being laid” said Boris. “We forget what a creative city this is.” Makes reference to, um, Snake Skin Farm. #stld

Boris repeating himself now. Roles out same lame joke about exporting cakes to France. Joke made at Brixton People’s Q Time last year #stld

Economy debate. First Q on ethic recognition of South American community. Once again, exact same Q asked back in Brixton. Groundhog… #stld

@BorisWatch had Boris flunky sitting next to me and ‘monitoring’ tweets #stld

This is damn confusing. Half empty Chamber now having live feed Q from “break out room.” Joined up thinking? #stld

Boris talking about earning power of University graduates. Yeah, right #stld

Question on funding students in London has managed to generate an answer about Kensington and Chelsea freedom passes #stld

@BorisWatch is that who I think it is sitting in front of me to my left?

Great Q on lack of jobs for elder people. “What is going to happen to me?” …you’re going to get older, said Boris #stld

Who did you use to work for, Boris asks lady asking about work for elder people. “I use to work for you, Boris.” Ouch #stld

Boris attempts to re-phrase decent Q about practical skills and degrees. Questioner rightfully interrupts and asks Q again #stld

Economy wrapped up for the time being. Ferrari makes judgement that only young people interested in environment agenda. How weird #stld

Lordy. ‘ere we go. Bicycling Q. Witch hunt #stld

Boris mentions re-phasing of traffic lights, pedestrian countdown at traffic lights. Ferrari cynical, and non-cyclist #stld

Boris trying to defend cyclists, but concedes not all cyclists have respect for law of road. Sounds about right. Cripes #stld

Lordy. Over to another ‘break out room.’ Why?#stld

Having said that, Boris asked about Tesco takeover of society. “Massive social force” said Boris. Especially in Streatham #stld

Tesco “creature of the market” said Boris. Ah, so that’s why @LambethLabour is in bed with the supermarket #stld

RT @AdamBienkov: @Jason_Cobb Who’s in these break out rooms and why were they put there? Bizarre #stld <- absolutely no idea. Pointless.

RT @FreeSouthLondon: Boris, would you support independence for South London? #stld

Oh Lordy. Wolfgang Monneypenny and @ FreeSouthLondon is on the screen behind Boris #stld

Ferrari manages to pin Boris down on two week period bin collection. Not ideal, said yer man #stld

Q on pot holes. Election winner, I tell you #stld

How to make schools more environmentally friendly? Boris pledges initiative in July. “Schools considerable CO2 polluter.” #stld

Environment Q’s finished. Now taking Q’s on crime #stld

Q on Parliament Sq. It’s a bloody disgrace said questioner. Boris sticks up for legitimate protest. “tribute to GB democracy.” Blimey #stld

Sting in the tail from Boris is that Parliament Sq protestors desecrating national heritage site #stld

RT @thebikeshow: @Jason_Cobb did Boris say he’d rephased lights against cyclists & pedestrians? <- nope...

Boris said homophobic hate crime going up, and uncertainty in Met Police as to why this is going up #stld

This just in: Boris mocks 10pm curfew for U-18s, then said proposal is "attractive." #stld

Ferrari presses Boris on Standard story to axe 455 police officers. Boris blames it on "previous Mayor." #stld

Highly annoying City Hall civil servants behind me banging on about some nonsense. Shut it #stld

Rather chuffed to see @FreeSouthLondon tweet still on big screen behind Boris #stld

Told tittle tattling City Hall civil servants to, um, shut it. Sort of #stld

Boris stumbling on Q about keeping police under tight fiscal control #stld

Data Protection given as the answer as to why crime maps can’t include exact address #stld

It was good while it lasted, but #stld WIFI has died. On transport Q’s and capital programme for transport. 24 hour tube ruled out.

“My old friend George,” said Boris. I think he means Oiky #stld

Not being partisan but People’s Question Time in Brixton was miles better. Passionate Q’s about local patch #stld

Boris said would like to pedestrianise Oxford St, but traders don’t want it #stld

Boris incredibly flakey on South London geography. Tries to relay route of East London line and gets as far as “Clap, Cla… Um…” #stld

Accusation that Cycle Superhighway is “a joke.” Ouch #stld

Q from Y10 kid. Not strictly on transport, but great points about 2012. Gets back on topic at end with transport tagged on. Clever #stld

Boris dodges bus Q #stld

On Cycle Superhighways, Boris said need to feel safe. Wants to see more cyclists. Not relevant for existing cyclists, but new riders #stld

RT @MayorWatch: @Jason_Cobb I fear you mistook me for a City Hall staffer <-whoops. Apologies.

Boris talking about empty seats. In relation to 2012, and not #stld

Boris somehow brings in role of private sector as justification for not having Traf Sq #worldcup party #stld

Blimey. It's only that nice @darryl1974 on the big screen behind Boris #stld

Ferrari asks Boris how fearful is he that ConDems will cut the Cross Rail cash. Boris sort of confident #stld

AOB now… #stld

Boris is doing stand up now. Taking requests from the audience #stld

Ferrari asks final Q: what would it take you not to stand again? Um, a free poetry course? #stld

Another week, another PPC to interview. And so the morning evening after the bluster of the Leader’s Debate, I welcomed the chance to take the political agenda back to where it should be – right down to the grass roots level of real local politics.

Jeremy Drinkall, the Anticapitalist PPC for the Vauxhall constituency, very kindly agreed to my request to meet up for some political chat over a pint. I believe that it is crucial for all candidates to have a platform to put across their political solutions, ahead of May 6th.

On paper, the choice for the good people of Vauxhall seems fairly representative. Candidates are standing for Nu Labour [website fail], the LibDems, the Tories, the Greens and @VoteDrinkall’s Anticapitalist platform.

The reality of course is that Tally Hoey will be returned to Westminster yet again, the ‘victor’ in a political system that allows only half the voters in a risible 46% turnout to decide who represents us.

The anticapitalist or the anti-cyclist candidate? Mmm – let me think about that one…

The Anticapitalist party is basically a new political platform emerging from the Worker’s Power party. As @VoteDrinkall was honest enough to admit in the @audioboo below – a seat at Westminster come May 7th is some way off the radar.

The Anticapitalist party aims to assess the level of support for the ideas and solutions being put forward, and then move ahead with an agenda for Vauxhall.

In the absence of any political literature from Nu Labour, the Tories or the LibDems, (although I have seen Caroline Pidgeon walking around SW8) meeting up face to face with a candidate who actually wants my vote, was something of a refreshing change.

It was difficult to try and summarise the entire Anticapitalist platform with @VoteDrinkall in one @audioboo session. How do you put over the idea of a worker’s revolution in a one off podcast?

I did note that @VoteDrinkall was keen to keep it local. He didn’t do the banner waving global revolutionary thing during our chat; the agenda was kept at a very #hyperlocal level, with Vauxhall and the problems that we are facing being addressed.

This is not surprising when you consider @VoteDrinkall’s Vauxhall background. Jeremy currently works as a teaching assistant at Lilian Baylis. He was active in the campaign to defend council stock on the Ashmole estate at The Oval and he has been involved in defending the NHS from privatisation in nearby Myatts Fields.

Jeremy very kindly left me with a small pile of anticapitalist leaflets after we finished the interview. All information is good. You need to know what candidates are offering before you make your choice at the ballot box.

I wouldn’t call it *shhh* #labourdoorstep-ing, but I certainly liberated a number of leaflets around Fentiman Road on Saturday morning. Y’never know, Comrades…

Plus as you can see from the picture below, I have in my possession the little red book that is the Anticapitalist Manifesto for Vauxhall. If Nu Labour, the LibDems or even *shhh* the Tories want my vote around here, providing me with a copy of their manifesto seems like a basic act of political decency.

I can’t see Vauxhall being a hotbed of revolutionary activity over the coming weeks, but to be fair to the Anticapitalist party, this isn’t the aim at the General Election.

I heard little evidence during the Leader’s Debate to suggest that the solutions being offering by the Big Three are anything but a clone of each other’s manifesto. At least @VoteDrinkall is offering the voters in Vauxhall a genuine political alternative at the ballot box.

You can follow @VoteDrinkall on twitter, as well as keeping up to date with the Anticapitalist campaign via the blog. Jeremy is also appearing on the wonderful Resonance radio on Monday, time to be confirmed…

Viva, um, Vauxhall.

heads up @langrabbie.

Francis Sidebottom, performing a puppet show on the stage at the heart of London’s glittering theatre land? Blimey.

Not quite. A Camden toilet venue may not have the same glamour of Shaftsbury Avenue, but the boy with the paper mache head was never Grade A celeb status anyway.

I last saw Frank at Glasto ’91. Adored by the inkies, our Francis had successfully cornered the market in Northern style cabaret, all performed on a bon tempi organ by a man with a pumpkin style head. It wasn’t a burgeoning scene, but it was highly original, all the same.

Frank seemed to have peaked around this period. The music world was changing. Old style DIY indie status was on the decline; the majors were muscling in on the cash.

How refreshing then to find in these days of manufactured chart wars, a sold out Monarch crowd turning out on a bitterly cold midwinter evening, to see a cardboard cut out puppet theatre.

Fantastic!

Any doubt over Frank’s showbiz status soon disappeared, once the sight of Pumpkin Boy descending from the top of the stairs at The Monarch became visible. Guided by a minder (not so much for security, more to do with the problems of being able to find the stage with a paper mache mask on,) Frank made a triumphant NW1 entrance.

The cult of Frank is built around comedy genius with a Northern ’80′s indie twist. Hit the North opened the show, with backing from Scritti Politti minus Green Frank’s Oh Blimey Big Band. The real identity of Mr Sidebottom remains a closely guided secret (sort of) but as keyboard player @rhodri confirmed to @funkturm and I during the interval, Pumpkin Boy may, or may not, be Green Gartside.

Blimey.

The run of mis-hits continued – Panic, Hey You Riot Policewoman and Zoo Scrapbook.

A brief break, and then it was time for the bizarre puppet pantomime. Predictably, anything involving Little Frank and his cardboard cut out girlfriend, Little Denise, was utter bobbins. But that’s kind of the appeal.

The bon tempi and banter continued, climaxing with Guess Who’s Been on Match of the Day?

And so some eighteen years since I last saw Francis Sidebottom, I departed into the bitter North London nigh time air, grinning with a smile that was almost perfect to be captured in paper mache form. Frank hasn’t aged over the years, and hopefully neither has the market for Northern style cabaret, all performed on a bon tempi organ by a man with a pumpkin style head.

You know it hasn’t, it really hasn’t.

Fantastic!

I really do despair over recent events down at Meadow Lane. A provincial Fourth Division team getting into bed with the mysterious Middle East millions, a seedy Swede happy to pimp out his services to the highest bidder, plus an ageing pro looking for one final pay check – you have the perfect plotline that encapsulates football losing its soul.

It was no great surprise to wake up on Wednesday morning to find that Super Sol had gone AWOL. Again. Campbell’s appearance down at County was a marketing exercise; he was the marquee player (urgh!) bought in to tempt the other big names down to The Lane for a final fling.

Fourth Division football is a world away from the Champions’ League. It’s a lesson that the mysterious Munto Finance has learnt overnight, and one which will make its famous five year plan to return to the Premiership appear as unrealistic to the plotters, as it did to the real football world when it was first revealed over the summer.

But first a disclaimer:

(Lapsed) Forest fan having a knock at Notts? Not really. You need to understand the hierarchy of East Midlands football to recognise that County are a family club. There’s no worse sight than a bitter football fan, spewing out bile and hatred over a regional rival. But if pressed, I reserve the right to spew out my bile and hatred over the regional rivals of D***y and L*******r.

Pity the poor Notts old boys, who get genuinely angry that Forest fans don’t hate them with the same feeling they hold for their foes across the river. I grew up watching Notts County. Whilst Forest were winning European Cups, County gave my primary school free family tickets, in an attempt to snare a lifetime of misery upon the impressionable young Nottingham football fan.

Thankfully I followed the glamour, and went down the balmy European nights route at the City Ground. But yeah, Notts and I have history. I have happy memories of watching Neil Warnock’s side (really) in the late ’80s, taking the Pies all the way up into the old First Division.

“We’ve got Charlie Palmer, he smokes marijuana.”

Yeah, it was a crazy time, and one which treated any UB40 carrying young man around time rather well, with very generous discounts for the unemployed. It was almost worth not getting a job, just to watch the Pies on the cheap every other week.

The small fan base was one of the genuine innovators of the burgeoning fanzine scene of the time, with the wonderful Pie serving as a template for what football fandom could achieve on a local level. Cult heroes were born on the wrong side of the river, with Don O’Riordan, Mark Draper and Tommy Banana Boy Johnson. I once saw Big T doing the shimmy shammy.

Glorious Wembley days followed. Watching Notts beat Brighton in an old First Division play-off final is one of my highlights in thirty years of watching football. We didn’t like the view from the cheap seats, and couldn’t but help notice that the outer edges of the Royal Box were free. A quick trip around the old stadium, and one almightily blag later, we were sitting within touching distance of minor royalty.

Not many Arabs around, mind.

Ah, and so what attracted you to the multi-millionaire football investors, Mr Sven? It certainly wasn’t the female fan base down at The Lane.

And then along comes Mr Campbell. If paying the thirty five year-old £40k a week for sitting around and being ‘unfit’ wasn’t bad enough, allowing to release him from his footballing reality check just smacks of a short term hit and run investment in the club. Munto Finance has already lost the family ethos of the club, trying unsuccessfully to eject Meadow Lane tenants Nottingham Rugby.

The club has sold its soul, playing around with the infrastructure as though it were a Subutteo game, reducing the few loyal Notts old boys to something of a laughing stock. If it wasn’t for the Forest love / hate thing, then yeah, I would find it more amusing than alarming.

And so as the song said: Notts County had a wheelbarrow, and it looks like the wheel has finally fallen off. They’ll be bringing Gary Birtles out of retirement next.

Fools.

*ah, and we appear to have come full circle, with the very first onionbagblog post addressing… Sol Campbell, almost six years ago – blimey*

In true rock ‘n roll tradition, it was twenty years ago today… I went to my first music festival. Blimey. Reading ’89 was where I found free love in a field in the middle of Berkshire. Actually it was a car park just outside of Reading town centre, and there wasn’t a great deal of free love going around either to be honest. But still…

Reading ’89 was a tipping point in the history of UK rock festivals. Donnington was still the domain of good old-fashioned British metal – Live to Ride, Ride to Live; Glasto catered for the tree huggers, long before it became part of the Establishment’s Summer Season. Reading meanwhile was the home of the Quo, Meat Loaf and Bonnie Tyler.

Something had to give.

Ever keen to cash in on the chaos, the Mean Fiddler organisation took control of Reading in ‘89 and decided to re-brand it as a festival for the indie kid. With a Stone Roses T-shirt (first batch, natch!) a Crazyhead baseball cap and a pale indie kid complexion, Reading ’89 was on my radar.

I wasn’t alone, with the bill featuring The Wonderstuff, PWEI and Crazyhead being something of a call to arms for the kids I use to hang around with in South Nottinghamshire every weekend. Tickets were bought, bags were packed, and time WASN’T booked off work. Whoops.

There was a slight oversight in that the Rock Trip fun bus (oh yes!) was scheduled to depart the Fair City right outside my place of work early on the Friday morning. Never underestimate the camouflage capabilities of a Crazyhead baseball cap.

And so there we were, Reading bound and all ready to ROCK. I wasn’t really sure what to expect to be honest. This was my summer holiday for the year, and my first time away from home for the weekend without any proper adult supervision. I had noted that Forest were away at QPR on the Saturday afternoon, and this would be my escape route, should the indie kids of Reading prove not to be to my liking.

I needn’t have worried. We arrived in a festival come car park shortly after lunch, just in time to be greeted by an hour long feedback set from Spacemen 3. It was truly like entering into anther dimension. I thought crossing over into the Leicestershire border was living life in the fast lane at the time. The space cadets were already out of it, long before I even had the chance to find out what skinning up actually meant.

Stone Roses T-shirts were everywhere, less than six months since the debut release. A heavy cloud hung over the festival site, an aroma of which I hadn’t experienced before. My world was about to change, but not before I had to suffer a self-indulgent, and totally inappropriate scheduling, of a set by Swans.

I can’t remember much about that first Friday. Like I said, my world was about to change. The House of Love jangled their way through the early evening, and I think I had something of a strategic lie down when Bjork and The Sugarcubes came on stage.

New Order were poised perfectly for the Reading rock of old meets the leaner, meaner indie kid. Their set was a mixture of electronic bleeps, forged together with chunky bass riffs. I started to dance in a highly excitable way, something of a pale skin indie kid faux pas.

On site camping was what you would expect for five hormonal male teenagers. Sexual fantasies, pot noodles and farts – for three days, solid. Forest away at QPR came very close to becoming an option early Saturday morning.

I soon realised that Reading isn’t exactly a festival. There was no community spirit and little artistic endeavor to be experienced, except for bottles of p*** being catapulted towards the front of the crowd for the entire weekend.

Away from the Melody Maker Main Stage and the only other option was the Mean Fiddler tent towards the back of the arena. An alternative bill of The Cropdusters, Clive Gregson & Christine Collister and Francis Sidebottom offered a break from the tedium of The Mightly Lemon drops and Voice of the Beehive (another mistake booking?)

The afternoon lull passed away when The Scottish Friend became rather drunk, and managed to put his size 10 DM’s right into the resting head of an anarcho hippy type who had collapsed from cider, and was trying to sleep it off by an ice cream van. A chase of sorts followed, but it’s remarkable how even a Crazyhead baseball cap can keep you hidden away within the Reading crowd.

Billy Bragg was a highlight for me on the Saturday evening. I remember an early outing for Sexuality and a blown up condom floating around the front of the stage. These small details maketh a festival for a young man.

New Model Army somehow found themselves in the lofty position of second only to The Pogues on the Saturday night. I remember a very angry Slade the Leveller coming on stage, fully clogged up and kicking over an amp. Phew, rock ‘n roll.

And then it was time for The Pogues comedy road show. This was the balmy days when yer man Shane was still tolerated as a ‘lively’ stage presence, rather than a bloated pub bore. It was fine for the first half hour; the second half hour seemed slightly tedious. By the third, fourth and fifth half-hour, I was back at base and tucked up nicely in the tent. Memories are slightly hazy, but I’m still convinced that I awoke in the early hours with the sound of Shane still mumbling out some nonsense from the Main Stage.

A brief trip to the town centre on Sunday morning (booze and bog) and we were all set for Super Grebo Sunday – that’s something you don’t see on Sky Sports HD. Crazyhead, PWEI and the Wonderstuff – this was the soundtrack that has carried us around the rolling wolds of South Nottinghamshire all summer, and to have the Midlands grebos transported to Berkshire felt like a homecoming of sorts.

Crazyhead were crap, the Poppies were more interested in drum loops and the Stuffies introduced the dreaded fiddle into their set for the first time. The scene was over, and so was our weekend. No one wants to hang around for a Sunday evening headline set from The Mission, especially so with work on Monday morning crashing in and a sickie to try and explain away.

We didn’t return to Reading again. I’m not sure why as a bill the following year of The Cramps, Pixies and, um, Inspiral Carpets seems rather appealing. I was done with the pale indie kid thing and had Glasto and a sun-tan was within my sights for the next decade.

I made a return of sorts to Reading in 2002 for work purposes. I was dispatched back to Berkshire with a B ‘n B booking, a laptop and instructions to file copy on the hour, every hour. I was like a school leaver returning to his old playground. Too cool for school and far too old for the exploding NY chic indie scene (yeah, right) of the time. I took up residence in a local boozer and filed copy wire for three days whilst drinking myself stupid offsite.

And so Reading remains unique amongst UK festivals as a sixth form rites of passage. It is pitched perfectly in the calendar as one last jolly with the old crowd before University beckons.

Twenty years later and you can’t walk around King’s X on a Friday morning without some sixth form oiks trekking off to a random field outside of the Home Counties to watch some sub-standard indie landfill band. Festivals are the new shopping malls, something that you do as a lifestyle choice, and not as part of a tribal musical experience.

I’m still watching Billy Bragg and the Wonderstuff. Crazyhead – come on home. We need you now more than ever.

West Ham Vs Millwall and the boys up for a ruck: C’mon – even Stevie Wonder could have seen this one coming. But in the land of the media blind, the one eyed knobber is King. Which is why we have on Wednesday morning, much hand wringing from BIG media as it tries to get to grips with the return of the English Disease.

Hey fellas, listen carefully: Football working class hooliganism *shhh* – it never went away.

What has changed in the past two decades is the embourgeoisement of football (yeah, I’ve got a degree in sociology, and I’m going to bloody use it.) Sanitise the beautiful / ugly game with TV matches re-branded as events, players as pop stars and supporters as the… supporting cast, and football loses its appeal. It did for me, anyway.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, oh woe and a return for the good old-fashioned days of running from The Millwall after Neil Warnock’s Notts County had an unlikely 5-0 away win down at the old Lane. But it was, y’know, rather exciting at the time.

I was also rather young at the time, and being caught up in a ruck with other lads from a different part of the country, trying to pull one over the police, is exactly the kind of thing that gets a young man about town rather excited. Nowadays and an evening in with a bottle of bolly and a flick through of the New Statesman seems to help me sleep at night.

I can plot the downward trajectory and isolate exactly where I lost all interest in football – August 1992 and the first live Sky match as Liverpool came down to the City Ground. This is the exact moment when football went from being a passion to becoming part of the showbiz catwalk.

Across the river in the Fair City and the peak appears to have been reached this week with The Pies agreeing to pay the thirty four year-old Sol Campbell £10m over the next five years. Dear old Jimmy Sirrel wouldn’t have even given the big man a free bus pass, so that he could travel along to the game with his gaffer.

A return to city centre run-ins every Saturday afternoon isn’t the answer. But boys will be boys, and a bit of a Mexican stand off instead of a crappy Mexican wave might actually liven up some of the s**** Sky serve up on a Sunday afternoon.

The Nu Football Hooliganism (ha!) just might end up saving the game. Carling can’t be too happy being associated with the Hoolie Cup; I can’t see the Sky execs enjoying the gritty side of the game either. The only downside is that it can’t be too long before some knobber Tory politician fancies making a name for himself with a call for ID cards.

I’m personally hoping for a re-match, with West Ham drawn away at the New Den in the FA Cup come the start of the New Year. Now that’s a fixture I would happily pay to watch on TV.