tag:,2008:/659 2008-06-11T11:52:14Z Join him as he wades through this thing we call life, this city we call home, and all things despicable! Movable Type Enterprise 4.21-en tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2008://193.49231 2008-06-11T11:43:38Z 2008-06-11T11:52:14Z

Well, Capital of Culture year seemed to be actually happening last week, what with the start of June, Paul Macca's big concert, Liverpool Comedy Fest and some sunny weather too....

Paul Baker Well, Capital of Culture year seemed to be actually happening last week, what with the start of June, Paul Macca's big concert, Liverpool Comedy Fest and some sunny weather too. Anyway, it's Saturday night, the last day of May and I'm drinking in the Ship and Mitre on Dale Street. I had been talking earlier in the week to some people about the guy from the Zutons. I saw him in the paper and was surprised by his new look. He has really long hair and a beard. He looks like he should be in a stoner metal band. So a bloke with long hair and a beard comes in the Ship and Mitre and I say, him, that's what the guy from the Zutons looks like now. And everyone goes, 'hmmm, yeah' and then, 'hmmm, nah'. An hour or so later the guy is leaving and they all go, 'oh yeah - that is the guy from the Zutons.' Dave McCabe's his name - the frontman of the group. A barmaid unlocked a heavy door for him, he seemed to have his bike kept there. I nodded at him as he came past our table, as if to say, I know who you are, mate. He stared at me, as if trying to place me. Then he got on his bike and left. The next day he would be playing to thousands of people at Anfield, supporting Sir Paul McCartney. Fast forward to Monday, June 2nd. That night, I went to an event called 'Drink up, Stand up'. Part of the Liverpool Comedy Festival, it involves going to a pub, having a drink while a stand-up comedian performs and then leaving with everyone else to head for another pub and seeing a different stand-up. In order to keep everyone together, the compere has a megaphone with which to guide and cajole the group into the next pub. Moving from the Flute and Firkin pub on Hardman Street, down to the Metropolitan, I spotted a familiar looking chap, with long hair and beard, on the other side of Berry Street. He seemed to be just finishing off a rather necessary wee by the bookies on the corner of Slater Street. He turned around to face our group with a smile on his face and made a rock god salute with arms outstretched. A passing drunk had grabbed our megaphone and was singing a very passable version of mega Zutons hit 'Valerie' and broadcasting it across the street. Mr Dave McCabe listened dutifully, turned and strolled down Slater Street, shaking his hips and dancing to his own song as his fellow male Zutons creased up, further on down the road. Inside The Metropolitan our compere summed it up: "The lead singer of our city's premier band, p**sing it up against the bookies. Capital of f**king Culture!" tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2008://193.40608 2008-03-05T17:03:19Z 2008-03-05T17:05:17Z

Did anyone see Master of the Universe the other night?...

Paul Baker Did anyone see Master of the Universe the other night? A girl in work was talking about it, and I thought it was a strongman competition. Then she started talking about Stephen Hawking and I was reminded of a Newman and Baddiel 'History Today' sketch - you know the sort of thing: two professors discussing the battle of trafalgar when one says something like, "You know a piece of dried up old p00? Well, that's you that is." Anyway, in this one sketch the eminent professor asks his colleague if he is aware of that great scholar Prof Stephen Hawking. He says he is, and what a great example he is to us all, in triumphing over such adversity. And the first professor nods and says: "Yes, and he's your favourite Gladiator, he is." Ah, great days. The rise of alternative comedy on TV. I think we grew up in a great age for TV comedy. Anyway, this girl who'd seen the documentary on Hawking said "I can't believe he hasn't been knighted yet." Her colleague, sitting next to her, pipes up: "Really, I didn't think he was English." And I said: "Yeah, he's just putting on the American accent." tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2008://193.38622 2008-02-14T11:23:02Z 2008-02-14T11:24:54Z

Yes, Valentine's Day - a day of cruelty and jest. A day for ominous silences and regretful glances, a day for pent up lusts to manifest as manufactured love in the hope of sex to come....

Paul Baker Yes, Valentine's Day - a day of cruelty and jest. A day for ominous silences and regretful glances, a day for pent up lusts to manifest as manufactured love in the hope of sex to come. We forget it is a holy day for the venerance of Saint Valentine. I wonder if the saint would be pleased with the tributes to the currency of love paid at his altar each year? Now I've got the lyrics to 'What if God was one of us' by Joan Osborne in my head. "What if God was one of us, just a slob like one of us," Just a stranger on the bus, trying to make his way home." I always thought the girl who wrote that was pretty confused. What is she trying to say in that song? What's the message, that God would find it as difficult to cope with life as anyone else? That life is pretty awful, so get down here and have a go yourself, and then feel free to judge us? But then at the end, she says that no-one's calling on the phone. Oh, except for the bloody Pope! Not such a normal guy now is he, this Godman?? Hmmm, Joan Osborne?? tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2008://193.37998 2008-02-07T13:31:40Z 2008-02-07T13:32:34Z

Anyone watch the Superbowl last weekend?...

Paul Baker Anyone watch the Superbowl last weekend? I saw the first half before bed. An interesting tactical battle but so much cutting to the studio, discussion and adverts that it's easy to lose interest. In America they use these breaks to hype the game and players, and also to advertise with crazy prices paid for a slot on Superbowl Sunday ad-breaks. What I wonder is how the general American public (whose attention span can't be great) maintain interest in the game. Baseball is slow too, but still moves along quicker. Ice hockey and basketball are non-stop action. I'm surprised someone hasn't come up with the concept of delayed viewing for American Football. While the game is on someone is cutting out all the cr@p and breaks so that all you get is the game (maybe a few replays of key plays too). So at the end of the first half (in real time) the game starts in quick time. The game has only 60 minutes of real time play so it should be possible to put this all together as long as you leave a half-time break to make sure the prog has enough time for editing. It's simple stuff and it would be easy enough to avoid finding out the real score. What do you reckon? tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2008://193.38003 2008-02-07T12:34:07Z 2008-02-07T12:42:38Z

I've been a naughty boy. I've not been keeping up my visits to this blog, in fact I have been giving my self to another!...

Paul Baker I've been a naughty boy. I've not been keeping up my visits to this blog, in fact I have been giving my self to another! Yes, at the start of the year I set myself a challenge - a resolution was made to write a short story every day for the next 12 months and stick it on the internet for all to see. I decided to give myself the weekend off (!) but I have managed to keep it up so far and am a month in. It's good fun and I feel like I am creating an interesting body of work. Plus it is helping me improve as a writer. The stories are short - between 300 and 800 words daily - and subject matter varies wildly. But people are coming back to read the tales each day (I know because an invisible web counter tells me so), so that's pretty cool. If you'd like to check it out the adress is as follows: http://dailytale.blogspot.com I will keep this blog going to put down my musings about anything crazy I observe and it should pick up once Capital of Culture gets into full swing (if it ever does - is it really 2008 out there??) Please feel free to comment on either site to let me know what you think or if you notice that Capital of Culture is actually happening, out there, somewhere. tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2008://193.35501 2008-01-11T11:45:57Z 2008-01-11T11:53:37Z

I was in Rigby's on Dale Street the other night and Stan Boardman was in there having a stand-up arguement with Ken Dodd (well, it kind of looked like them). Doddy wasn't convinced about the whole Capital of Culture idea...

Paul Baker I was in Rigby's on Dale Street the other night and Stan Boardman was in there having a stand-up arguement with Ken Dodd (well, it kind of looked like them). Doddy wasn't convinced about the whole Capital of Culture idea and Stan was putting him straight: "You'd like that wouldn't you? Me, praising the great scouse diaspora; you, belittling the great strides we've made since Derek Hatton. I suppose you'd like to go back to the days of Scargill and the three day week? You hairy red. Look at the streets now. The clumsy coblestones have been part covered with tarmac to stop people putting in tripping claims; there's only 73% of the litter there was in 1989 still on the streets of the city centre, and the docks have got real jellyfish in now, not just inflated johnnies. There's a beautiful rainbow called Capital of Culture growing over Liverpool, dropping sweet sweet joy, like in that Skittles advert. Don't sour it all with your Maoisms. You're probably still waiting to see the results of the French Revolution. Well don't wait to see if the Liverpool Revolution has happened, cos it failed and good on us, I say." I can only paraphrase really, as I didn't have my dictaphone handy, but I think the basic message is this: "Gather the gold while it's flowing, people, in my Liverpool home..." Peace. tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2008://193.34750 2008-01-02T16:59:02Z 2008-01-02T17:08:47Z

Merry New Year. After a brief sojourn away from the keyboard I'm back for the crux of this blog, namely 2008. What's going on, does the city feel any different and what's the point of it all anyway?...

Paul Baker Merry New Year. After a brief sojourn away from the keyboard I'm back for the crux of this blog, namely 2008. What's going on, does the city feel any different and what's the point of it all anyway? As I thought about my blog that lies hereth, I was struck by the dissapointment that it hasn't really done what I wanted it to. I wanted to write about my thoughts on the city and what was going on, but lately, it seems like nothing has been going on. I'm half expecting the sea change to come, it has to, something has to happen, there must be something to write about soon. Come on Liverpool, wake from your apathy and start annoying me! Of course, the problem is also mine, I am suffering from the same apathy that Liverpool slumbers beneath, but once more I hope to shake it off and experience something worth writing about. I enjoy reading my little musings and strange witterings but I realise the audience for such things is limited, particularly if you haven't backed it up with a firm 'product'. Well, 2008 is the product of all blog products and there will be a great many Scouse bloglords commenting on the iceberg threatening to hit the city any day now. I wait with baited breath, dear reader, and pray it rocks the bows sufficiently to startle and amaze, without causing too much wreckage. It's Capital of Culture time... tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2007://193.29683 2007-11-07T11:56:36Z 2007-11-07T11:58:21Z

I saw a firework, dead, burnt, on the street. I reflected on how sad its resting place, how briefly it had burned and now how ignominous its fall....

Paul Baker I saw a firework, dead, burnt, on the street. I reflected on how sad its resting place, how briefly it had burned and now how ignominous its fall. At one time it had potential. Potential to explode and cause delight. Always while it had potential it was a special thing. A device of magic, waiting to bring wonder. In its short life of usefulness it was above us all. It could fly, it could shower us with metallic petals of light. Great golden arcs that would shard in the sky. And then, dropping black and crippled onto an unlit street corner it could now only move if kicked or gusted by a force of nature. Still, at least it had fulfilled its potential. tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2007://193.29677 2007-11-07T11:37:41Z 2007-11-07T11:56:23Z

The other night, I thought I'd kicked someone's head off. It was the day before Bonfire Night and strange sounds and lights filled the air. Suddenly I saw him!...

Paul Baker The other night, I thought I'd kicked someone's head off. It was the day before Bonfire Night and strange sounds and lights filled the air. Suddenly I saw him! A grinning demonic mask upon his face, it seemed to call to me from the darkness and I thought only of my own survival. I was all cries and moans afterwards and fell down in the street. I put my hands in the mush that used to be his face. I rubbed it all over my face in a fit of despair. Such chasms I was swimming in, I think I saw the thorniest beasts of shadow crawling about me in exaltation. It was then that I noticed the smell. Sweet and familiar, it stank of childhood. What fresh torture was this? A taste now flooded my tongue. I recognised a flavour not sensed since enjoying a particularly tart starter in a Cornish restaurant that was attempting to replicate Michelin standards. Pumpkin! I stood slowly and staggered to the fallen figure. A small puffer jacket wrapped a somewhat disfigured body - loose and sagging like it was just a bag filled with socks. There was a cap next to the body, some money was in it. Then I regarded it's legs. They weren't there. Just a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms led down to some scuffed trainers. Empty spaces, both. Two young boys flanked the hapless creature and stared at me in a mixture of fear and disbelief. I screamed. "I've killed an amputee!" Then I ran off in the direction of the darkest street as fast as my legs would carry me. tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2007://193.28662 2007-10-26T11:31:41Z 2007-11-07T12:08:19Z

Dear reader, I recently stumbled across an article on George Galloway. An interesting work, it told me much that explained the strange actions of this inimitable politician. I can't vouch for the validity of the work, but it is interesting...

Paul Baker Dear reader, I recently stumbled across an article on George Galloway. An interesting work, it told me much that explained the strange actions of this inimitable politician. I can't vouch for the validity of the work, but it is interesting nonetheless. George Galloway is actually part horse. Affectionately known as Gee-Gee by his mother, the young Galloway grew up in the Scottish borders in the area known as Dumfries and Galloway. This, in a similar way to the action hero archaeologist Indiana Jones, accounts for his surname (his mother's name was Enid Bruton and his father's was Shergar). The name George was given in tribute to the English painter, George Stubbs, who was a friend of horses and may have painted the family. The young Galloway was not fond of school and would often skip classes to frolic in the fields chasing butterflies and eating wild grasses. Some say it is here that he developed the leftist tendencies that would later bear fruit in his political life. [Interestingly, Galloway did once bear two red apples, one from each of his armpits. These he offered in tribute to the former Iraqi leader, Saddam Hussein, during a visit to the troubled Middle Eastern state. The dictator was said to remark "Shefti Cuqi" which, roughly translated, means "the honour of my mother and the fate of several small countries rests upon your shoulders."] When he took his seat in the House of Commons for the first time, the Chief Whip, as is his traditional wont, spurred back bench MPs to cover Galloway's seat with hay and make neighing and braying noises every time he made a speech. This was to continue for the first 50 days of his tenure in the House. Galloway took the light-hearted reference to his parentage in his stride, even incorporating one particularly amusing joke about Mr Ed (the talking horse) into a speech about new drink-driving laws. There wasn't a dry eye in the House. Things went a little too far, however, when a Tory MP dumped horse manure on the bonnet of Galloway's new BMW, "for fine japes". The Chief Speaker placed a ban on future initiations, which apparently prompted Liberal leader Paddy Ashdown to ask the House: "what am I meant to do with this horse head and balls I ordered from my butcher?" The Speaker's response was not fit for publication in the next morning's edition of Hansard. From this time onward, Galloway has managed, quite successfully, to put his equine ancestry behind. However, suspicions of animalistic traits of character were once more controversially recalled during his infamous appearance on the television show 'Celebrity Big Brother' where Galloway pretended to be a cat live on national TV. His mother commented that she was "hurt and shamed by his actions, but not in the least surprised." There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. George Galloway: part-man, part horse. tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2007://193.26167 2007-10-01T12:37:33Z 2007-10-01T12:47:23Z

Dear reader, I am writing to you while eating steamed toast! Yes, that's right, toast that is nice and steamed....

Paul Baker Dear reader, I am writing to you while eating steamed toast! Yes, that's right, toast that is nice and steamed. It's obviously disgusting but there we are. You see, it's self-service in the canteen now and what do they do? They leave the toast in the same vats that they are supposed to leave sausages and bacon in, you know, to keep them moist so that they don't dry out. Thing is - it's toast! It's not supposed to sag when you pick it up!! The vats are floating on boiling water and they have holes in to let the heat up. Thus, soggy steamed toast. It's a small challenge picking them up too. The canteen provides cheap plastic forseps so that you can entice your sweating bread from its warm place of rest, like some kind of difficult birth. The canteen staff must be watching me now. Are they smirking? I haven't dropped my toast, yet. Ah, what a ritual the canteen run has become. Then, to top it all off, you get it in a clear plastic bag - perfect for that ultimate steamed fresh taste. God bless the work canteen. tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2007://193.24734 2007-09-17T11:41:43Z 2007-09-17T12:04:06Z

I missed a programme on BBC4 the other day, called Comics Britannia. Apparently it set out to reminisce with its viewers on the subject of good old fashioned British comics. Everything from the Beano and Commando, to Roy of the...

Paul Baker I missed a programme on BBC4 the other day, called Comics Britannia. Apparently it set out to reminisce with its viewers on the subject of good old fashioned British comics. Everything from the Beano and Commando, to Roy of the Rovers and the Beezer. In this digital age, I currently live without a digi-box, broadband or the ability to 'catch-up' with must see TV via the pathetic screen on my mobile phone. I did, however, read an article pertaining to the prog on the BBC website. I frown on nostalgia fiends, dewey-eyed mistiness and all other forms of regression. However, my tiny heart of stone couldn't help but quicken and pump anew at the thought of times when the one thing I looked forward to most was the advent of the next edition of a simple comic. Ah, I remember waiting for the paperboy to deliver my copy of the Dandy on a Friday night, when he came along with the Echo. Sometimes there would be a free McCowan's toffee chew bar coming with it (they must have done some sort of long term marketing deal). I would wait patiently (while watching Fun House with Pat Sharp on CITV) for the rat-a-tat of the letterbox and then run to the hall to see my comic lying on the mat. At last it had arrived, and with a Highland Toffee Bar too - absolutely free! I turned over the magical periodical and scrabbled for my surprise. All too often though the front cover story was torn carelessly and the prize was lost. Peering out from the letter box I would see the cocky strut of the paper boy, walking off munching on a tasty toffee chew. I would slink away, dejected. All I had left for the weekend was bloody Desperate Dan. tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2007://193.24369 2007-09-12T16:27:54Z 2007-10-01T12:49:53Z

Summer finally came to our shores and for a few brief weeks that dazzling orb near blinded my eyes and scorched my skin. I had to crawl, friends, crawl on my belly deep beneath the rocks I call home and...

Paul Baker Summer finally came to our shores and for a few brief weeks that dazzling orb near blinded my eyes and scorched my skin. I had to crawl, friends, crawl on my belly deep beneath the rocks I call home and wait the summer out. Now, as the crepuscular rays thin like a police searchlight, only now can I rise from my cocoon and stretch my lace wings to the autumn winds. I am changed, I am new, I am a grumbler supreme. Look for me wherever a voice drills your earlobe, wherever life crushes you in its vice and wherever a cynic is needed. I'll be there, camouflaged on the wall, a mere dirty mark or fleck of dust. Listening intently, ready to smite the foes of reason until they lean their rough shoulders upon the wall and accidentally crush me. That's sod's law, and yet we cynics are always surprised by it. tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2007://193.18432 2007-07-13T11:31:10Z 2007-07-16T08:32:52Z

Things I've noticed in the papers today:...

Paul Baker Things I've noticed in the papers today: In football: "The Premier League has insisted West Ham, who hold Tevez's registration, must receive the majority of the fee rather than Joorabchian, who owns Tevez's economic rights." That's a weird thing to say - that another human being owns your economic rights. I imagine a slaver would own the economic rights of a slave. What sort of Faustian pact did Tevez and Mascherano enter into? Just who is this Joorabchian? Has the ancient beast come to earth to enslave mankind through the power of football? Onwards towards the apocalypse then 'cos the season's just around the bend... Remember Jonathan King? He's a paedophile and one time popular musician and media type. You may not have realised it but he is the voice behind that rather cool 60s psych song used in the recent Foster's Twist adverts, called 'Let it all hang out'. Well, Mr King has done a new song with a twist: "Disgraced pop mogul Jonathan King has sparked controversy by writing a song which claims serial killer Harold Shipman was a victim of the media. Convicted paedophile King has a track called 'The True Story of Harold Shipman' on his new album. The song, together with a montage of pictures of Shipman's victims, is featured on a website video." Chris Morris, of Brass Eye fame, would probably find it difficult to top that for offence to the general public. tag:paulbaker.merseyblogs.co.uk,2007://193.17898 2007-07-07T08:38:58Z 2007-07-12T12:07:44Z

(...continued)...

Paul Baker (...continued) Unity Building is pretty much complete now, but a year ago this street would have been bustling with hard hats and workmen, plus a couple of Portacabins on the corner. On a Friday lunchtime they would stroll with me down one of my favourite streets in town, Fazakerley Street. It is a strange road, slightly out of time, containing the remnants of shops from a more thriving time – probably just five or ten years earlier. I first encountered this street when I was invited to lunch by that affable Scouse character, George McKane, who at the time lived here within Irwell Chambers. But yes, that must be another tale in itself. So the builders of Liverpool’s new Meccano set could be seen lunching and letting off steam in the environs of one of Fazakerley Street’s remaining businesses, William Hill. Many would stand before the blinking and buzzing TV sets, a roll of ten pound notes in hand, their Friday payday might be about to get much better. Once one of the men tapped me on the shoulder and suggested I watch the regular. He was playing a computerised roulette game. Almost unbelievably his winnings had risen close to the £1,000 mark and a crowd was surreptitiously gathering. Then the 1.50 from Newcastle began to come to an exciting finale. We all turned to cheer our nag home. When the stubs were all torn up we realised our roulette king had slipped away. Did he carry a token worth more than a grand in his grey overcoat? We could believe what we wanted to, whatever made us feel better but, for today, lunchtime was over.]]>