Black Friday: a dark day indeed

Sunday, November 30th, 2014

The utter chaos that Britain's first Black Friday was met with beggars belief. People were tearing at each other to get to bargains they believed they had to have, even going so far as to physically assault fellow shoppers and abuse retail staff.
I mean, is anything worth that: losing your dignity just to get your grubby hands on a new telly?
Black Friday is, of course, an American thing, and what happens in America almost inevitably makes its way to the UK eventually, for good or ill. In several states in the US, people are actually given a public holiday on Black Friday so they can get in the midnight queues early. As a result, the first Friday after Thanksgiving has been the busiest shopping day of the year every year since 2005 in the States.
This year was the first time it's really been picked up on and actually pushed en masse in the UK. Everywhere I went in Manchester on Friday, there were signs and adverts telling me the day was black and that I could get so much per cent off this, and it could well be my last chance to get that essential gift at such a knockdown rate.
And the streets were packed. I mean, severely congested to the point that you were barely able to move freely without either treading on a small lost child, or bashing shoulders with a frenzied housewife with consumer hara-kiri on her mind.
And it saddens me that this anti-social and frighteningly damaging annual ritual is being promoted in the UK. Christmas is stressful and expensive enough as it is without retailers smugly trying to wring even more pennies out of those who cannot afford it by trying to convince consumers that they really have to buy it today - not tomorrow, not closer to Christmas: TODAY! It's your last chance, or else you'll be paying twice the price, and probably for less.
I fear for the pockets and bank balances of those in Britain who really cannot afford to fall victim to this consumerist pressure. Retailers should take responsibility and refrain from putting undue and unnecessary pressure on people to spend, spend, spend what they haven't got. People will pile up their debts on credit cards and then find themselves in even more trouble in January than they might have if they'd just stuck to sensible, paced Christmas shopping throughout December (or earlier!).

And the violence that broke out on November 28th in the UK, where people attacked one another in supermarkets in desperate attempts to get the last cheap iPod or whatever, is unacceptable, yet depressingly predictable.
Metropolitan Police chief Sir Peter Fahy rightly said: "The events... were totally predictable and I am disappointed that stores did not have sufficient security on duty."
Greater Manchester Police's Deputy Chief Constable Ian Hopkins echoed these sentiments, saying that while shoppers' behaviour was appalling, the lack of planning from retailers was "really disappointing. They should have planned appropriately with appropriate levels of security to make sure people were safe. They have primary responsibility to keep people safe and they can’t rely on the police to turn up and bail them out."
The Black Friday phenomenon is only going to get worse year on year because we live in a consumerist society where electronic goods and multimedia and pointless tat like loom bands and woolly Christmas jumpers are valued more highly than simply making sure there's enough (not too much) food on the table and having a happy, family-orientated day in the spirit of Christmas.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not religious, and I certainly don't begrudge people a bit of fun and frivolity, but the destructive power that Black Friday has demonstrated this year has to be kept in check, for all our sakes.

It's all very well giving Tesco and Asda and all those other multinational retail giants bigger profits sooner, but what is it doing to our society, to our debt-ridden and those on restricted budgets who feel pressured into buying when they really needn't?

I hope that if Black Friday rears its ugly head again in 2015 - which it will - retailers take responsibility, and mediate and control its marketing, make sure there is security on their doors at one minute past midnight, and above all, don't encourage mass debt.

But then this is the UK. I shouldn't expect so much.

Something wicked this way comes...

Thursday, October 30th, 2014

Halloween. Or, more accurately, Hallowe'en. Or, most accurately, All Hallows' Evening. A celebration of all that is spooky and dark and scary and twisted. Some people might think it distasteful to celebrate a day that wallows in death in such a way, but you know what? I love it!
I love Hallowe'en more than Christmas, more than any birthday I've ever had or ever will have. I'm not one of those people who dresses up, knocks on doors and scares the living statins out of little old ladies, but I do love a good scare. Fear is one of the basic emotions, and it makes you feel very alive to be scared. Especially when it's all artifice, as Hallowe'en is. Obviously, if there really was a crazed knifeman banging on my window to get in, and it was the height of summer, I'd be as petrified as the next serial killer victim.
Many years ago, when Gareth and I were in the pubescent stages of our relationship, we used to mark Hallowe'en night by settling down and watching a spooky horror film.
But that tradition has grown over the years, and these days we have expanded to marking what we've labelled Hallowe'ek - seven days of spooky goings-on!

American Horror Story: Coven.
Not one for ophidiophobes.
Or, indeed, gynophobes

To mark Hallowe'ek we choose a selection of supernatural and horror genre titles we'd like to be entertained and spooked by and watch them each night, leading up to the day itself. We usually watch American Horror Story (one of the most twisted and unsettling shows on TV at the moment) and almost always break out the M R James adaptations, whether they be the Ghost Stories for Christmas from the 1970s (by far the best supernatural television ever committed to videotape) or the various other interpretations that have emerged over the years. My supernatural archive television collection brimmeth over!
Although this year life seems to have got in the way of Hallowe'ek somewhat, we're still doing our best to uphold the tradition. Last night we watched the 1982 John Carpenter film The Thing - visceral, gory, gooey and thoroughly entertaining (how I wish Carpenter could get his mojo back - it's been lost for decades now). We're also wading through American Horror Story: Coven (Jessica Lange at her crazed best) and have been dipping into the 1986 M R James readings for TV by Robert Powell too.
The crowning glory of Hallowe'ek 2014 will be seeing two productions at The Lowry in Salford Quays (regular readers will know that place is my second home!).
First of all we're seeing The House That Stank of Death (Volume 4), a "unique multi-media comedy/ horror experience featuring short plays and films which will make you scream with terror and laughter". I love the alternative stuff they put on in the Studio at The Lowry, so this should be a real treat (or trick).

Secondly, we're seeing a faithful reading of M R James's Casting the Runes by Nunkie Theatre Company's Robert Lloyd Parry. I've seen Robert recreate James's fireside readings before, and he really does bring the essence of telling a ghost story to its unsettling fundaments - it's just him in period costume, in a big leather armchair, and the whole studio theatre illuminated by candlelight alone.
And it is M R James's expertly crafted words which lift the hairs on the back of the neck: "He put his hand into the well-known nook under the pillow. Only it did not get so far. What he touched was, according to his account, a mouth. With teeth. And with hair about it. And, he declares, not the mouth of a human being..."
Shudder!
And I have other spooky films lined up too: Hammer's The Plague of the Zombies (one of their B-movies which really exceeded the main feature at the time); the silent German Expressionist horror Das Cabinet des Dr Caligari; and Jack Clayton's 1967 overlooked spook-fest Our Mother's House.
So what are my favourite Hallowe'en films of all time, I fail to hear you scream? Well, one of my favourite films of all time, of any genre, is 1963's The Haunting with Claire Bloom and Julie Harris. If you've never seen it, seek it out. It's by far the spookiest, eeriest, most unsettling ghost story I've ever seen committed to celluloid... and the scariest thing is, you never see anything. But my God does it give you the willies!

Michael Myers from Halloween

On the other end of the spooky scale, I think John Carpenter (it's that man again!) produced the best modern day horror flick with the original Halloween in 1978. The direction is flawless, the music really gets under the skin and the terrifying creation at the heart of the film - namely, Michael Myers - is, to me, the fictional embodiment of my nightmares. That face, that mask... That point of view shot at the start of the film. Yes, the ultimate slasher film for me, and Carpenter was quite right when he said there should never have been any sequels. With a few exceptions (which I could probably count on the fingers of one gnarled hand), sequels are never a very good idea.
What's that I hear? The chiming of a distant clock telling me it's time to get to bed... or my coffin!

Me, when I wake up in the morning...

Gone Too Soon: Remembering Michael Jackson

Wednesday, June 25th, 2014

Michael Jackson on stage during his Dangerous world tour (1992)

Today is the fifth anniversary of Michael Jackson's death. I find it hard to believe it's been five whole years since that happened: time really does fly when you're not looking.
Jackson's death is one of those events that you remember where you were when you heard, like I imagine John Lennon, Elvis and JFK were for previous generations.
There were - and still are - fewer people more famous than Michael Jackson, and when our children and our children's children grow up, they will not be able to understand the level of fame Jackson reached.
Today's biggest stars are the likes of Katy Perry (53.96 million Twitter followers), Justin Bieber (52.48 million) and Lady GaGa (41.55 million), but if each one of their followers bought one copy of one of their albums, then they would begin to reach the height and breadth of Jackson's impact.
His 1982 album Thriller has sold 42.4 million certified copies worldwide to date: that's just one of his albums. If Katy Perry sold 54 million albums, then she'd be a superstar. To date, she's sold fewer than 15 million copies of her three albums combined.
People of my generation - and my parents' generation - were lucky to live in a time which witnessed such global superstardom. I am always envious when I see and hear about the sheer excitement and insane hysteria which surrounded Beatlemania in the 1960s, because no amount of flickering monochrome TV footage or talking heads with "people who were there" can reproduce what it was really like.
It was similar with Jackson. In the 1980s - particularly the mid-1980s to mid-1990s - Jackson was one of the most famous, and probably one of the most loved, human beings on the planet, orbited by satellite superstars such as Madonna, Prince, Tina Turner and Whitney Houston.

Smooth Criminal

But nobody ever quite attracted the hysteria and excitement that Jackson did in his prime, as any "child of the 80s" will tell you. Thriller, Beat It, Billie Jean, We Are The World, Bad, Smooth Criminal, Moonwalker... The excitement he generated was exhilarating, frightening even.
And regardless of What Happened Next - the allegations, the drugs, the court cases, the surgery - he was still Michael Jackson, the biggest star in the world, even when his shine had faded.
His latter years - really, his final decade - were troubled times, plagued with misfortune and controversy, and it is sad to look back at the inexorable decline of such a huge star. It is both tragic and humbling, and certainly a lesson for anybody else seeking fortune and fame without the necessary equipment to survive it (Mr Bieber take note).
Anybody who enjoyed music in the 1970s, 80s, 90s and 00s cannot fail to have been touched in some way by the talent of Michael Jackson, whether they are a fan, an admirer or just a begrudging observer.
I remember where I was when I heard Michael Jackson had died. I was lying in bed in a hotel room in Manchester. A BBC newsflash came on between programmes - which is never, ever a good thing - and there it was, the caption scrolling across the screen, defying my disbelief.
The next morning, while out shopping in the city centre, the impact of Jackson's death was everywhere. His music echoed out of every shop doorway, the headlines paid tribute to him on the cover of every newspaper and on every news billboard, and it was all people seemed to be talking about as I caught snatches of conversations in the street.
It will be some time before another celebrity death has quite the same impact in as many countries, in as many cultures, as Michael Jackson's.
Bieber and Perry and GaGa may be famous, but Jackson was a superstar. And they are rare to find in our skies.

Michael Joseph Jackson: 1958 - 2009

Two-minute warning

Sunday, April 20th, 2014

Tapes up at Belle Vue stadium, Manchester, on Good Friday

Back in the mists of time, when I was a twentysomething at university (so long ago that it was in the last millennium), I used to regularly go to the speedway. I studied in the north-east, in Darlington, and travelled over to Middlesbrough to watch the home meetings for the speedway at Cleveland Park.
I got into it through a friend on my uni course who was a lifelong speedway fan, and one night he asked if I'd like to go along. I was going through a particularly tough period at university at this time (around 1995) and was grateful of anything that got me away from the student digs I was sharing.
Going to the speedway sort of saved me, and I'll forever be grateful to my friend Steve ("Beardo"!) who took me along. We used to travel over from Darlington to Middlesbrough in a rackety old three-door car driven by Steve's speedway-obsessed friend who barely registered my presence because he was too busy talking about the various injustices that had happened in the speedway world that week, or which riders had been chosen (or not chosen) to take part. He wasn't rude, he was just a fanatic (and I wish I could recall his name).

These bikes have no brakes

People who know me these days might find it hard to believe I like speedway. After all, it's a little-known, sadly ailing sport which exists in a very masculine, "blokey" world - not the sort of thing expect me to be into. But not all gay men are into Barbra Streisand, Kylie Minogue and RuPaul's Drag Race; some men do defy the stereotype!
What do I love about speedway? I love the atmosphere at a meeting, the smells and sounds. The smell of the oil mixed with the dusty gravel of the track, and the burgers and chips; the compelling roar of the four bikes' engines as they rev up in unison, then step up to top gear simultaneously before the tape rises; the excitement mixed with trepidation as the riders approach and negotiate that first bend, where they could either steam ahead past competitors, or topple over and skid at high speed into the barriers.
It's not a complicated sport: four bikes from two teams compete in 15 races, each of four laps. The winner gets three points, the second placed gets two, third place gets one, and last place diddly-squat. Add all the points up at the end and plug it into a league table. And that's it, simple.
But I'm not into the stats, I'm into the sheer excitement of watching the racing. I couldn't do it myself - I mean, the bikes don't have brakes, for goodness sake! - but the thrill of watching the ride is enough.
I stopped going to the speedway in 1996 when the Cleveland Park track closed; the following year I left Darlington and I've never been to a speedway meeting since. The number of speedway teams has plummeted in the intervening years, and there aren't so many left these days, certainly not in the north-west.

Belle Vue stadium

But on Good Friday I made a "pilgrimage" back to my speedway days - 18 years since I last attended a meeting, I finally got to go to Belle Vue stadium at Manchester to watch the Aces take on the Wolverhampton Wolves. And it was amazing. The excitement just flooded back with the smell of the oil and the roar of the engines.
It's a pity Belle Vue Aces usually hold their home meetings on Monday nights - a time I find virtually impossible to be there for - but once a year they have a family day on Good Friday, and this year's was packed out due to the sweltering Easter weather.
I had a great time and feel sad that I can't go to the speedway more often. Maybe if I ever get to move Manchester-way, I'll be able to attend more meetings.
But until that time the joy and adrenaline of my speedway days will live brightly in my memory. Memories of the Boro Bears at Cleveland Park and the Aces at Belle Vue.

Happy with my programme

Music is my radar

Thursday, April 3rd, 2014

I don't go and see live music too often - most of the music artists I like are either dead or retired! But just recently things have changed, and some of the most prominent musicians in my life have re-emerged, either from obscurity or the grave!

Kate Bush... back on stage after 35 years

The biggest musical news of 2014 so far surely has to be the fact Kate Bush has announced her first live dates since 1979, and the media furore that surrounded people's difficulty in securing tickets to see this seldom seen genius.
Kate isn't to all tastes, but it's hard to deny that she has a towering songwriting talent and a totally unique voice. When her Before the Dawn live dates at London's Hammersmith Odeon went on sale last week, there was a mad scramble from fans across the globe to snap them up. She may be doing 15 dates, but that'll probably be it, so this is by and large a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see her live.
Luckily, I managed to get some, and I do feel ridiculously lucky to have got them when I see on social media so many heartbroken people who didn't. It was first come first served, and I was lucky enough to be served while they still had some stock in.
And so hubby and I will be off to Hammersmith in August to see the lady herself, and I really don't care what she sings, because it's Kate Bush! She could sing the Phone Book and it'd be beautiful (in fact she almost did just that on her 2005 track Pi, most of the lyrics for which are simply, well... pi! But done so beautifully!).
I'm secretly hoping for This Woman's Work (one of the most heartrending sad songs of all time), Running Up That Hill, Hammer Horror and Somewhere In Between - but really, she can sing what the heck she likes, because I'll be there listening!

Tori Amos... unrepentant

The other major live gig we're seeing this year is Tori Amos, too often cited as a poor man's Kate Bush but actually a prodigious talent who deserves much better classification than that. Tori has been going since the early 1990s as a solo artist but has evolved so much musically over the decades, in recent years even embracing classical scores and writing her own musical.
But it is the cheeky, daring raw emotion she pours into her music which marks her out, alongside her peerless talents at the piano and her soaring, ethereal vocals. We're seeing Tori in Manchester in May, and I'm looking forward to reconnecting with her after a few years drifting apart.
Album-wise, I'm looking forward to Blur frontman Damon Albarn's first ever solo album, Everyday Robots, later this month. I've followed Damon's career ever since the early days of the Britpop kings, Blur being my favourite band of all time, and while I've enjoyed his side projects such as Gorillaz and The Good, the Bad and the Queen, it is his individual songwriting talent, an ear for melody, which I gravitate towards.

Damon Albarn... solo after 25 years

His solo album sounds to be quite a sombre, understated affair, but I am still looking forward to what must be one of the most keenly awaited solo projects of recent years.
And then earlier this week they announced a "new" album by Michael Jackson. Well, I say new, but obviously he's been dead five years so these tracks are from the vaults.
I've always been a fan of Michael, ever since the 1980s (what child of the 80s wasn't?). He is a controversial figure, but at the heart of all the gossip and calumny was a clearly defined prodigy with a near unique talent for performance, and it's great that we can enjoy slices of that talent long after he's left us.
The album of eight "contemporised" songs is called Xscape and is out the same day as Tori's new album, Unrepentant Geraldines, so that'll be quite a big week!
My other musical mainstay is David Bowie, but he stole a lead on all the others last year when he made a comeback after 10 years with his fantastic album The Next Day. I look forward to more from him this year too, but there's no sign of that just yet. Live gigs, David...?
But if Kate Bush can come out of live performance retirement after 35 years and Damon Albarn can release his first solo album 25 years after his music career began, surely anything can happen!

Michael Jackson... Best not to ask.

A most memorable Mancunian memoir

Sunday, February 2nd, 2014

I had such a good weekend in Manchester that I felt I wanted to write about it, and you can choose to read about it or not.
It all began on Friday with a lovely meal at one of my favourite eateries in the city centre, Kro at Piccadilly Gardens. It's a Danish restaurant/ bar but has all sorts of dishes on the menu. Having said that, I often find I prefer the Danish dishes, many of which seem to incorporate either fried or poached eggs, beetroot or black pudding. Sometimes all three. It's very hearty food, the sort of solid, meat and potatoes nosh that makes you feel good on a cold, winter's night (which it was on Friday).

Medister sausages. They have
 quite a kick

This time around I opted for medisterpølse, a Danish or Norwegian speciality consisting of a thick, spicy sausage made of minced pork, and it was delicious. In the past I've also enjoyed biksemad, a hash made with pork, onion and potato flavoured with lashings of Worcestershire sauce, topped with a fried egg and beetroot. I often think that most food would benefit from a dash of Lea and Perrins...
After loosening my belt by one notch, we headed to Manchester Opera House for a show I've been meaning to see for years now - Thriller Live. It's been firmly ensconced in London's West End for most of the last eight years, but it's current UK tour was an opportunity too good to miss.

The calm before the storm of hits

Being a fan of Michael Jackson's music since I was a teenager (any "child of the 80s" cannot fail to count the Thriller or Bad album among their earliest memories of discovering pop music) this show was a fantastic celebration of the late entertainer's most popular work. I wouldn't say it had the most imaginative set list, but then if they didn't include the likes of Thriller, Bad, Billie Jean, Beat It or Smooth Criminal, I'm sure the audience would lynch them. It would have been nice to include a few of Jackson's lesser known but just as enjoyable tracks though, such as Whatever Happens or You Rock My World off his 2001 Invincible album.
Nevertheless, everybody seemed to have a riotous time, and it was a great atmosphere in what is a gorgeous little Edwardian theatre (little being the accurate description of its very cramped leg room).

Manchester Opera House managed to look a little like the cinema in Michael Jackson's Thriller video

After a few drinks in my favourite bar in Manchester - the Molly House on Richmond Street - it was to bed, ready for Day Two.
Up bright and early, and a delicious breakfast at the small but perfectly formed Blue Daisy Cafe in the city's Northern Quarter. It only has three tables inside, and a couple outside, but if there's space, this is one of the best places I know of for freshly prepared home-cooked food. They always have delicious looking soups and salads in their chiller, and I always feel I want to sample them all. This time I opted for scrambled eggs with spinach, tomatoes and mushrooms on thick bread, however. The perfect start for a busy day ahead.
We "did the shops", including one of the finest, most exciting, diverse, crazy, bohemian and imaginative places in the city, Affleck's off Church Street, again in the Northern Quarter.

Affleck's, aka Affleck's Palace

If you like to go round shops which sell oddments and knick-knacks, unusual handmade trinkets, vintage clothing and homewares, fancy dress, jewellery et al, this is the place for you - a vast multi-storey warehouse of individual, independent traders, many of whom make their own goods to sell, while others trade in second-hand and nostalgic goods. Marvel at Star Wars figures, 1950s telephones, retro wall paintings, stacks of old VHS tapes and Amstrad game cassettes, 70s lampshades and Army surplus clothing.
I love Affleck's, and after one visit, you will too.
We then drove over to Salford Quays (annoyingly, the Metrolink was undergoing maintenance on Saturday) and parked at the Lowry Outlet Mall, where you can get four hours free parking if you eat at one of the restaurants there. So we did, scoffing Italian breads and meatballs at Bella Italia before nipping across to the Lowry for our second theatrical date of the weekend, this time with Rob Ward of Manchester's own Working Progress Theatre Company, and his one-man show Away From Home (you can watch the trailer at the foot of this entry).
In the space of 65 minutes Rob manages to portray umpteen different characters in a play which addresses homophobia in football, or more accurately the lack of out gay players in the sport.

Rob Ward

Rob plays a gay footie fan (two things that go together rather awkwardly) who is also a male escort, and who one day meets a new client who just happens to be a high-flying Premiership footballer. A relationship blossoms between the two, but it can never be spoken of because footballers just aren't gay, obviously.
The play addresses the inability of players to feel they can come out while still active in the game, for fear of "career suicide" as well as a stream of offensive, homophobic chanting on the pitch from fans.
The play is explicit, daring, confrontational, challenging and most importantly of all, unafraid to address a topic that has been taboo for far too long. The Studio Theatre at the Lowry was packed to the rafters, so congratulations to Rob for coming up with something genuinely brave and entertaining.

The Reading Room at the John Rylands Library

Then it was back into the city to catch the free Subluminal event at the beautifully gothic John Rylands Library on Deansgate. Its cathedral-like grandeur was the perfect venue for Subluminal, which basically used lighting and sound effects to create a spooky, eerie and unnerving walk-through experience.
The main reading room at the Library is impressive at the best of times, but illuminated in deep neon pinks and oranges, it was like being in some dream-like netherworld. The trip into the Library's cellars was claustrophobic and exhilarating.
And it was all for free. Such a good event.
Just one example of the many and varied things you can do in Manchester on any given weekend. I could even have gone on a giant pink observation wheel if I wanted, but I didn't. I did the London Eye a few years ago, but not even the Mancunian skyline can top that!

The Freij Wheel at Piccadilly Gardens

Stag's head at the Molly House

Friday, November 1st, 2013

The best bar in Manchester is The Molly House on Richmond Street, a place not easy to find or particularly well-known. But it attracts the coolest clientele - creatives, media types, artists, fashionistas... and me!
It's not pretentious, but it is a cut above your average inner-city boozer.
Downstairs there is the more pub-like bar where they have European newspapers to peruse, as well as various guest ales and tapas dishes to try.
Upstairs they have the more sophisticated "bordello" bar where the seating is scant, but it needs to be to cram in the amount of people who turn up there of a Friday and Saturday night. They do great cocktails, there are some great Beartown guest ales, and there's a stag's head on the wall. What more could you ask for?
Unisex loos? Yep, got them too!