Snow

Many people have fallen victim to the UK's pitifully woeful response to snowy conditions. I fortunately was only slightly effected, alas, others I know have missed their holidays, or been stuck in airports for days.

By far however, my favourite snow related travel mishap has occured within the A50 tunnel in Stoke. The A50 is a bypass which handily allows you to pass right through Stoke-on-Trent with ease. The A50 tunnel passes under a round-about in the town of Meir, handily helping to reduce traffic in this very busy area.

However, due to the snow, there was a power cut, and the lights inside the tunnel, which is not very long, went out. Thus, for the safety of drivers the tunnel was closed. This of course led to huge traffic jams and more stress during the holiday period.

This incident did make we wonder whether some one ought to invent some kind of device, which you could attach to a car, that would allow you to see in the dark. Some sort of illuminating device that drivers could use in times of reduced vision that would help them to see where they were going...

Merry Christmas.

Scenes from Stoke: The Council House Palace

A man’s home is his castle - as the saying goes, and the owner of this fine abode in the upmarket neighbourhood of Meir has taken that sentiment very much to heart. So proud of his home was he that he decided to raise columns as if it were some kind of Greek palace - just one with double glazing.


And with these fine columns, he constructed a balcony. Somewhere where he could relax and enjoy the atmosphere, site and smells. That of the A50 dual carriageway, Stoke-On-Trent’s most famous and popular road.



Popular of course, as it’s the quickest way to drive through Stoke without having to stop. Alas, last time I passed by, the house was up for sale. Sadly, the owner has had a spot of bother with some of the neighbours. Particularly with one who was a BNP member, who I believe is now dead. Who would’ve thought that the creator of such beauty could be unhinged...

Scenes From Stoke: The Church of the Holy Boxing

Worship not on thy knees, but with thy fists. Sadly, religeon hasn't been so popular in Stoke of recent times, except with kids who like to pick up rocks and throw them at windows. But casual violence has continued to grow and grow, so why not get the kids in to pay to hit each other, while their birds get a tan out back? Twas an idea as divine as heaven itself.

Scenes From Stoke: The Scaffolding Monument

Yes, it's Stoke's legendary scaffolding monument. Created to beautify the glorious bypass that allows people to pass through Stoke even quicker, it was created to symbolise Stoke on Trent's industial past. Either that, or they just had a bunch of old metal left over after they built a bridge nearby*.

It's certainly well placed, sitting as it does next to a demolished factory, a Co-Op depot and a closed down Little Chef. And it's very admired by the people of Stoke. They glance it several times a day as they pass by on the A50 at 50 miles an hour. What a wonderful, inspiring way to spend public money....


*My money's on that one.

Scenes From Stoke: The Fenton Monument

Yes, it’s the Fenton monument. Centre piece of Fenton, which is far from the least important of Stoke-on-Trent’s 6 towns. The ‘Onward and Upward’ message perfectly encapsulates the spirit of a town which may not have a high street, but is totally like vibrant and full of life.

It may have been accidently forgotten about by Arnold Bennett when he wrote his famous books on the “Five Towns” but Fenton has so much to offer. Its important landmarks include the largest swimming pool in Staffordshire, the magistrates’ court, the...uhm Town Hall, and of course there’s the 6th Form College, where I had the pleasure of studying myself, although they’re going to move that down the road so it’s part of Staffordshire Uni. It did have a large part of the pottery industry, although that’s mostly gone – but they have a big KFC there too now; there was an armed robbery there once.

Oh but the people who still live must be able to draw constant inspiration from this inspiring monument, which is by no means gaudy, tacky, or a complete waste of time, effort and space. Hail to Fenton: ‘Onward & Upward’ the only place it has left to go.

For All the Stoke Fans Out There...

An essential style must-have, this shirt combines two of my most favourite things in the world, and is just perfect for relaxing at home or for going out and spending a night on the town.




Many thanks to Ms Pamela Smith for bringing this subject to my attention.

This Week...

This is what I've been upto so far this week.

- Knocked the disinfectant clip off the toilet inadvertantly and when noticing that the toilet was draining slowly, stuck the toilet brush down it and knocked it round the bend, therefore, blocking the toilet.

- Emptied the bodies of two mice out of the mouse traps and put them to rest: I dropped them in a bag and threw them in the bin.

- Caught a cold: blew my nose a lot and found it very difficult to sleep.

- Was turned down for four jobs. I'd spent a lot of time on one of these applications only to be told they'd decided to cancelled the project altogether.

- Attempted to get 2 different DVD reviews but was pipped to the post in both cases.

- Waited uncomfortably for news of the 6 ceramic umbrella stands I posted last week to arrive. As far as I'm aware, one arrived broken.

- Made the following items available for purchase via ebay.



Click here to bid.

- Entered a short story competition.

- Beat Philip Ogley at Scrabbulous by over 100 points*

- Found my bike tire was punctured. Took it off and repaired the puncture then found out there was a second puncture. Fixed that puncture and found that my pump had no attachments which would allow me to actually inflate the tire. After much improvising I found a method to inflate, after many attempts, I accidently tore the nossel away from the tire. Will now need to replace.

And this is one of my better weeks.

Place to visit of the day: Centralia, Pennsylvania, USA, home of the 45 year old mine fire. Yes, back in 1962 a coal seem set caught on fire while rubbish was burning on a local landfill and the underground fire has been burning ever since. The ground is now unsafe (the ground once opened up and almost swallowed someone) and the once populous town is home to 9 people.

Estimates are that the file will continued for roughly another 250 years.

* A-hahaha-haha-haha-hah

Something

A little part of me died this last week. My mum sent me to Aldi with a receipt and a tin of 21p spaghetti hoops; she’d bought them by mistake and wanted me to go to the till and exchange them for a tin of beans.

The cashier didn’t even bother to put it through the till

Still, it wasn’t as bad as the day my innocence died – the day I went in a shop and found them charging 15p for a chomp. This whole world is fucked!

I did see Ross Noble this week. He was very good; though I definitely enjoyed listening to him speak more than gobby woman in the audience.

The definite highlight (and he recognised that this was the part we’d all be talking about the next day) was when he started to juggle Oatcakes – Stokes local delicacy, and source of considerable local pride*.



I included the picture of them wrapped up to make them look less like a severe damp stain.

And also I gather that there are almost no other possible circumstances that could prevent my cheque (remember the cheque) from arriving. I still shalln’t get my hopes up.

But in the meantime, why not enjoy the sophisticated prose of Jim Theis’s legendary fantasy saga ‘The Eye of Argon’, famous amongst sci-fi and fantasy fans as a legendary and unique genre masterpiece. The first tantalising chapter is reproduced here to give you a taster:

"The weather beaten trail wound ahead into the dust racked
climes of the baren land which dominates large portions of the
Norgolian empire. Age worn hoof prints smothered by the sifting
sands of time shone dully against the dust splattered crust of
earth. The tireless sun cast its parching rays of incandescense
from overhead, half way through its daily revolution. Small
rodents scampered about, occupying themselves in the daily
accomplishments of their dismal lives. Dust sprayed over three
heaving mounts in blinding clouds, while they bore the burdonsome
cargoes of their struggling overseers.
"Prepare to embrace your creators in the stygian haunts of
hell, barbarian", gasped the first soldier.
"Only after you have kissed the fleeting stead of death,
wretch!" returned Grignr.
A sweeping blade of flashing steel riveted from the massive
barbarians hide enameled shield as his rippling right arm thrust
forth, sending a steel shod blade to the hilt into the soldiers
vital organs. The disemboweled mercenary crumpled from his
saddle and sank to the clouded sward, sprinkling the parched dust
with crimson droplets of escaping life fluid.
The enthused barbarian swilveled about, his shock of fiery
red hair tossing robustly in the humid air currents as he faced
the attack of the defeated soldier's fellow in arms.
"Damn you, barbarian" Shrieked the soldier as he observed
his comrade in death.
A gleaming scimitar smote a heavy blow against the
renegade's spiked helmet, bringing a heavy cloud over the
Ecordian's misting brain. Shaking off the effects of the
pounding blow to his head, Grignr brought down his scarlet
streaked edge against the soldier's crudely forged hauberk,
clanging harmlessly to the left side of his opponent. The
soldier's stead whinnied as he directed the horse back from the
driving blade of the barbarian. Grignr leashed his mount forward
as the hoarsely piercing battle cry of his wilderness bred race
resounded from his grinding lungs. A twirling blade bounced
harmlessly from the mighty thief's buckler as his rolling right
arm cleft upward, sending a foot of blinding steel ripping
through the Simarian's exposed gullet. A gasping gurgle from the
soldier's writhing mouth as he tumbled to the golden sand at his
feet, and wormed agonizingly in his death bed.
Grignr's emerald green orbs glared lustfully at the
wallowing soldier struggling before his chestnut swirled mount.
His scowling voice reverberated over the dying form in a tone of
mocking mirth. "You city bred dogs should learn not to
antagonize your better." Reining his weary mount ahead, grignr
resumed his journey to the Noregolian city of Gorzam, hoping to
discover wine, women, and adventure to boil the wild blood
coarsing through his savage veins.
The trek to Gorzom was forced upon Grignr when the soldiers
of Crin were leashed upon him by a faithless concubine he had
wooed. His scandalous activities throughout the Simarian city
had unleashed throngs of havoc and uproar among it's refined
patricians, leading them to tack a heavy reward over his head.
He had barely managed to escape through the back entrance of the
inn he had been guzzling in, as a squad of soldiers tounced upon
him. After spilling a spout of blood from the leader of the
mercenaries as he dismembered one of the officer's arms, he
retreated to his mount to make his way towards Gorzom, rumoured
to contain hoards of plunder, and many young wenches for any man
who has the backbone to wrest them away."

Continued here...

*Gotta have pride about something.