I'm coming home I've done my time

Swings

And roundabouts

Seven years to be precise. During which time there's been a lot of swings, a lot of roundabouts. Good times (mostly), with a few not so good times thrown in too. I should have shipped out a year ago. I wanted to; before it really started to unravel. But, hey, you can't always get what you want.

The solicitors are saying June 1st. That'll do for me. Time enough to make peace with the place, and pack a few tea chests. The Medd caravan rolls on...

You Do Something To Me

I heard recently that Paul Weller has bought a pile just up the road from me; though I've yet to see him at the local supermarket or newsagents buying his twenty Benson. Weller has a reputation for being one of the grumpiest coves in the business, so he should fit in well round here. I ruminated on this blog a while back that we should invite him to one of our acoustic nights. Now that he's one of us there's no excuse why he can't join our local Songwriters Circle. That said, he'd have to come along each month with a song every bit as good as one of these:

* Pretty Green
* English Rose
* That’s Entertainment
* The Bitterest Pill
* Butterfly Collector
* Brand New Start
* Moon On Your Pyjamas
* Wild Wood

And if he could pen something half as good as this, we'd award him God like status in a heartbeat: nothing's so sure.

Paul Weller: You Do Something To Me

Metropolis

Since first mentioning to Phil that a move may be on the cards at some point in the future, he has, touchingly, said that he will, single handedly, build a wall wall around the town and lock the gates. In the meantime he has plans to turn our little town into a metropolis: one that I would be 'mad to leave.' And he tells me this with such conviction and such passion that I suspect he may well be onto something. I then proceed to park up the hate part of my love-hate relationship with the town and forget how things are slowly beginning to unravel.

Last night was one of those parking up nights. A new venue he's opened that has, overnight, turned a derelict space into a speakeasy with leather sofas, low ceilings, cocktails and, if last night's opening is anything to go by, a buzz. They also got this lot to play a couple of live sets: Rocketsmith are one of the many many excellent bands that reside here (something we would miss dearly if we were to hit the highway).

Here's a perfect song that will be finding its way onto all sorts of year-end compilations and one they played in a stripped down acoustic format last night.

Rocketsmith: By the Rails

I want to ride my bicycle (but not in lycra)

The lovely Heidi

We had the Tour de Yorkshire pass through our region yesterday. The whole town saw fit to deck itself out in blue and yellow - the race's colours: even the sheep. The sprint stage was at the rear of our local, so it was only a hop skip and a jump from my bar stool to watch the ten seconds of action and return to my beer. In that ten seconds I managed to get a photo of the leading bunch. Note to self: lycra is not a good look.

Backs to the wall

Last Sunday afternoon was too nice not to take the guitars into the back garden and annoy the neighbours. The Number One Son and I played this song a couple of weeks ago in a very traditional folk club in Leeds. We'd not been before and, as we were making our way to the venue, I said to James that he'd be the youngest person there; and I'd be the second. Right and right again. As you can see, we play this without resorting to putting our fingers in our ears. I hope you can listen to it without doing the same.

And a big thank you to Kirstie

Turn back the dial

My friend Phil does up old radiograms and Bluetooths his eclectic record collection through them in his rather wonderful pub. The names on the dial conjure up all sorts of imagery and evoke so many memories. I swear I can smell the valves warming up. And that's not a euphemism.

From top to bottom, left to right:

BBC Third, National, Hilversum, Athens, Budapest, West Reg, R Norm, Western Reg, Scottish Regional, Brussels, Beromunster, Dublin, N. Ireland, London R, Marseilles, Prague, Radio Eireann, Athens, Madrid, Berlin, Rome, Northern Reg, BBC Third, Cork, Mid. R, Welsh Reg, Paris PTT, Sottens

Oslo, Luxembourg, National, R. Paris, Lahti, Kalundborg, Motala, Ankara, Moscow, Huizen

Sun Readers

I'm pleased to report that 2014 has been a good year for The Sun Readers; you could say we're enjoying our second wind (we took a gap year in 2013). The little book group that meets regularly in The Sun have just had their Christmas bash at Medd Towers with an evening of poetry and recitals, informed discussion and a selection of cheese and wine that would have put Margot Leadbetter to shame. I was particularly moved by a reading taken from A Christmas Carol. Who couldn't be?  

Paul, our resident Prof., must have way too much time on his hands and has just produced some reader stats. I've always said there's nothing that can't be explained by means of a graph or a Pie Chart. Or, indeed, a Venn Diagram. A big thank you to all Sun Readers, past and present - see you all in The New Year.

Do you really think that's wise?

Left right, left right: John Le Measurier, Bill Nighy

The cast for the new Dad's Army movie was announced earlier this week. Tinkering with classics is always going to be fraught. Even when the original cast made the ubiquitous big screen version of their own TV show in 1971 it hardly set the world on fire. But this time, this time, it may just work. With big hitters like Bill Nighy, Tom Courtenay, Michael Gambon and Bill Paterson taking on the roles of Wilson, Jones, Godfrey and Frazer respectively, the project  certainly won't fail for lack of  talent. And hearing that it will all be shot on my doorstep*, almost literally, I'm warming to the idea more and more.

But it will be the script that makes it. Or indeed breaks it. It was an ensemble piece set during the war, but war was the very last thing it was about. It was about people. And people need natural scripts. If the writing is only half as good as that produced by David Croft and Jimmy Perry it will fly. If not, it will end up as soggy as the chips the U-Boat commander insisted on not having in that sketch.

* When the cast come to town they may well need to brush up on their pelican crossing etiquette:

Understudies

We've all walked across that zebra crossing in North London and recreated The Beatles' most iconic of album covers. But when was the last time you tried aping a Coen brothers movie poster?

Owning a ginger cat and living opposite a bearded folk singer, the idea for this photo shoot practically wrote itself.

Phil and Tom, everyone. Phil's the one with two legs.

                                                       

Tall Buildings

I discovered this song last night. It's a great song that, I'm guessing, is done better when covered by other people. Like David Tomlinson, for instance. He and Alex Thompson sang it beautifully last night. Unfortunately I don't think they've recorded it yet, so you're just going to have to take my word for it.

They have, however, recorded eleven of David's own tunes. It's been a long time since I've heard a breakup song as good as this:

David Tomlinson: Kinder Way

Friends

You can say what you like about this Blog (and many do) but I try and keep personal issues on the other side of the office door when I write it and, to that end, it's not what you'd call a Dear Diary; obviously it's got my fingerprints all over it (as you'd expect) but I've never gone down the road of logging every bowel movement as some people out there are prone to doing. My friends will often get mentioned here - sometimes by name, sometimes not - and, for the most part, I write nice things about them.

Some friends are like stray cats: they come to us and, if they like what they see, they'll stay. Others just come round for a square meal and disappear, never to be seen again. Since our move last November we've befriended some real Friends: they moved in over the road on the same day as us. Phil is a great songwriter and laughs like Basil Brush and Jane makes Mary Berry's cakes look like roadkill. And she's got a most beguiling smile. I really hope they like it here and stay a while.