Book review and podcast

Hi folks

I haven't had the time to write a full blog this week, but here are a couple of things that I've been up to instead.

First up is a podcast I was a guest on called 'The Cock Inn'.  A mix between a topical comedy panel show and a pub quiz, we discussed 'that' dress, plucky woodpeckers and the pitfalls of being santa.  You can listen at:

https://www.mixcloud.com/TheCockInn/the-cock-inn-episode-6/

You can also find it on iTunes.

Also, I provided a review of 'Jebel Marra' by Michelle Green for the latest online edition of Now Then magazine, which is an arts and culture magazine for the Manchester area.  Don't worry if you don't live in Manchester though, because the book is collection of short stories set in Darfur during the civil.

And yes, it is a right laugh!

Ok... clearly not.  But I did like it.  You can read my review at:

http://nowthenmagazine.com/manchester/issue-17/books/

That's all from me for now, I'll have a new blog at the end of the week.  Thanks for reading.

Student life, then and now

This week I had an article published online with Now Then Magazine, an arts, culture and politics magazine in Manchester.  In this article I look at the impact of the student population returning to the city, and reflect on how my experience coming to the city in 2001 would compare to today.  Enjoy!

http://nowthenmagazine.com/manchester/issue-13/student-life/

Driven to distraction

A Car

In a perfect world I wouldn't need a car.  Public transportation would get me wherever I needed, and at an affordable cost.  But that’s simply not the case.

I briefly had to commute from Bolton, where I lived at the time, in to Manchester where I worked.  It was hard to understand why the train system could claim to be short of money travelling at these peak times.

Stuffed in to carriages like victims escaping an atrocity (and Bolton isn't really that bad!), with guards at the entrance to the station to ensure nobody got through without a ticket.  They couldn't complain about the lack of numbers.

What was more annoying was that I was paying significantly more for a ticket than I would have done for fuel.  Yes, in my car I would have spent a lot of time queuing in traffic, but on the train I was given an experience that makes you feel jealous of veal.  When you add on the fact that the car took me door to door whilst with the train I had to also walk 20 minutes as part of my commute in all weathers, the ticket price was definitely not representing value for money.

Aside from the commute to work, the real reason I chose to drive a number of years ago was for comedy.  Any kind of career in stand up is virtually impossible without a car now.  There are a minority of pro acts who don’t drive, but these are pretty much all people who got established a number of years ago when the circuit was somewhat smaller to say the least.

 

Another car

Without a doubt though, one of the most stress making aspects of my career is to do with cars.  Fuel costs, repairs, the lot.  There’s nothing like driving along without a care in the world only for the oil light to come on followed by the car uncontrollably going up to maximum revs whilst huge clouds of smoke pour out of your exhaust pipe.

That example was at the end of last year and meant my turbo needed replacing at a cost of over £400!  Sometimes the costs can rack up that much that I feel that my existence is solely to earn money to continually fuel and maintain a car.

I’ve not had a lot of luck with cars.  I managed to write off the first car I owned for a start.  Whilst parking.  In my own car park!

Sounds stupid, and it was.  I just whizzed in too quick like the fearless boy racer moron I was.  Realising I was going too fast I went to slam on my brakes but my foot slipped on to the accelerator.  I was only to achieve a few feet of acceleration before hitting a wall, but that was enough to crumple up my bonnet.

As horrible as it was, I can’t really complain.  Friends had some sympathy at first thinking it was a low level perimeter wall I hadn't seen.  When they found out it was in fact a three story block of flats, their sympathy evaporated.  Needless to say, I couldn't really miss it.

If I learnt one lesson from that, aside from the obvious one about avoiding stationary... buildings, it was that if no-one else is involved, DO NOT claim on the insurance.

The car I wrote off was an old Punto, and after taking in to account my excess the insurance company paid out just £500.  Needless to say, they’ve taken many more times that amount of money from me over the years through increased premiums.  At its worst, I had pay an annual premium of £1600!

Over the last 5 years I’ve managed to stay clear of accidents, but don’t let that fool you into thinking that meant I could stay trouble free when it came to cars.  No, instead, the cars themselves would cause their own problems.

I had three Vauxhall’s in a row that all had some weird intermittent fault wrong with them.  Intermittent means that when the fault occurs you can’t drive the damn thing, but when a mechanic comes to look at it they can’t find a problem.  So there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

Yet another... oh no, wait, that's an owl on a skateboard

Call me old fashioned, but I just want a car that works.  Simple.

So I made the leap, and spent real money on a car.  Part exchanged my pointless car in return, and drove off a Skoda Fabia that’s only three years old.  On paper, this should mean I have a dependable car that won’t cause me trouble but what it also means is that if this one causes me grief I am significantly out of pocket.

Fingers crossed it does work, otherwise I’m back on the trains again!

Getting in the saddle

The mad bastards

It’s an usual taboo, but one I must confess to.  I have managed to get in to my 30s without being able to ride a bike.

Apart from being toilet trained and learning how to walk, there are few expectations of an adult more universal than being able to ride a bike.  Even if you don’t have one it is expected that you could ride one if you choose.  After all, “you never forget”.

Of course, I did try to learn, and the important thing is that I was able to swerve to avoid the car, but my muscle memory involved in braking wasn’t quite there yet, so I hit a curb and flew over the handle bars.  One broken arm later and I gave up the idea of ever learning to ride a bike.

This is a concept I have been perfectly happy with, especially when in my twenties I learnt how to drive.  The car is a wonderful concept.  Unlike a bike it has a roof, a radio, and heating.  Added to that it is also entirely impossible to fall off the bloody thing!

However, times change.  I started a relationship at the end of last year with a wonderful woman who decides she wants the best for me.  Turns out, that includes getting me to ride a bike.  Despite my protestations, she was determined that she would teach me.

She had me riding up and down her street as she held my seat for balance.  An image immediately recognisable to all parents, made absurd by the fact that I’m not a child but instead a 6 foot tall man, with a bald head and a beard.  To add to the absurdity, I was learning using her bike, which is only a 16 inch frame.  The only way I could look more physically comical would have been by wearing clown shoes.  In this scenario she looked more like my carer than my girlfriend.

As it should be

And yet, with plenty of patience, she manages to get me cycling.  The thought of cycling on roads still worries me though.  Parks and pathways near her home have only the danger of social embarrassment.  Roads, with 4x4s, BMWs, and other assorted wankers present the very real threat of death!

My fear is in no way abated knowing that the only thing I have to warn drivers and other road users of any impending peril on my behalf is a tiny bell.  The sound it emits is less likely to make people think danger is afoot than to think their microwave meal is ready.  I’m thinking my head is about to be split open like a brick dropped on a cantaloupe melon from 20 foot, whilst around me people think their chicken Korma is ready.

But Sally finds a solution to this, by booking us in to the Manchester Sky Ride.  At this event certain road are closed off to provide a 12.5km route through the city centre just for cyclists.  Free from the worry of cars I am able to cycle along at my own pace with Sally alongside me through the city centre itself.

Passing The Etihad stadium (AKA the council house), Piccadilly station and the Town Hall I gain in confidence monumentally and start to really feel comfortable with my new bike, purchased merely days before the event.  It was a signal of commitment on my behalf to buy this bike, and one that has been justified because now, with a huge dollop of help from my better half, I now feel that I can say yes, of course I can ride a bike.

Ready for the Sky Ride