Bear baiting, Jane's Walking and Colchester

You think you know where you live? Think again! I've lived in Colchester for over forty years, yet last Saturday I went down a town centre street that I had never before visited. And what a story it has to tell.

So what has been happening? Walk Colchester http://www.walkcolchester.org.uk/ is a local organisation promoting the cause of pedestrianism. The group has been around for about a year, and their first big task was the development of a community mapping site. The next big project was to place itself amongst the international community of "walking as transport" advocates. And later this year Walk Colchester are promoting a series of practical projects to make the town more walking friendly.

Last weekend was Jane's Walk weekend, where there have been a series of local walks led by local people, celebrating the legacy of Jane Jacobs http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jane_Jacobs . Colchester was the first town in the UK to take part in this international festival. Eleven exciting walks and events were set up, the publicity machine was set rolling, the sun shone, and the crowds turned up.

Frank and I attended "Professor Charles Young's Quest to Unlock the Secrets of Colchester", for young urban detectives. Frank loved it, wearing his binoculars and following the clues. Well done Neil Jones and Jo Coldwell, acting out the Professor's and Inspector's roles, and to the kids too, for following all the clues round town, and cracking the secret code.

And what's the story behind the uninspiring looking place, in the photo at the top of the page? It's Arthur Street (a road, not a person), and Dorian Kelly, standing on a red stool, is getting near the end of a fascinating tour of the "Theatres and Lost Theatres of Colchester". Now I consider myself fairly knowledgeable about Colchester and its history, and I thought Dorian might have  maybe a dozen places to show us or talk about. And he came up with over thirty locations, varying from Roman amphitheatres, to halls used for AmDram, to old music halls, to flea-pit cinemas, to professional theatres.

The photo is the location of Colchester's Bear and Bull-Baiting Ring, identified from a medieval map of Colchester. Looking back eight hundred years, not many bears were baited, as they were rare expensive items, but plenty of cattle had suffered on this spot. The tradition continued for centuries, with a slaughterhouse very nearby. Indeed this was the last surviving abattoir in the town centre, until closure a few years ago. However the meat tradition continues to this day, with the long established butchers "Allen's" in adjacent St Botolph's Street.

And from these facts, we move into speculation. Why were animals baited at this location? Maybe this was where the Romans had their amphitheatre (Camulodonum must have had one somewhere, but where exactly?), and the medieval people took over the ruined oval shape for their activities? And what happened after it was a bull ring? The town must have had an Elizabethan theatre, but no site has been identified. Think of Shakespeare's "The Rose" or "The Globe" theatres on London's southbank. Maybe a theatre became the next tenants of the circular arena of the killing floor, on waste land just outside the town walls?

What we see now are the remnants of some Victorian housing, and a big shed now being used by Emmaus, the charity that helps tackle poverty and homelessness, and helps recycle old furniture. All trace above ground of the bull ring has gone, but the disused slaughterhouse remains, and Allen's trade on, with 800 years of meat history under the fingernails of this corner of town.

And you thought walking was just about putting one foot in front of the other? Love your neighbourhood, join Walk Colchester now, and strut out for Jane's Walk next year.

Treasure Trove on Plough Monday

Today is Plough Monday, as celebrated in the East of England by aspiring middle class people from suburbia. It's the first day of the agricultural year, when work on the land resumes after the Christmas period. As we're now signed up as Radical Homemakers, Domestic Goddesses and Urban Homesteaders, I got myself a diggin'.

And look, there's some blue sky here, after the gloom since the snow and ice melted. This weekend we went for a walk in Friday Woods, and started digging the new veg patch. Some of the patch hasn't been dug for thirty years, so it was hard work, and I spent some of the spadework time catching my breath. Looking at the soil I saw a small dull disc, and recognised I'd found an old coin. And now it's time for a history lesson, explaining why I was a tad excited.

Three thousand years ago our garden was part of a sandy heath and woodland that covered much of what is now named Essex. Two thousand years ago our suburban patch found itself within the massive Oppidum (a very large defended area) of the Trinovantes tribe (ancient Brits). Half a mile away at Gosbecks  the Trinovantes King Cunobelin had his Royal Palace. Two miles away in the other direction is modern day Colchester town centre, which nearly 2000 years ago was the Roman city of Colonia Victricencis, which was made Britain's first capital city. The two local historical sites fairly happily co-existed during the Roman period, apart from the Boudiccan uprising. The Romano/Brits built the largest theatre in Britain, and a massive temple, about half a mile from our house. As we live between the two sites I reckon it's not too fanciful to suggest that Celtic and Roman people were tramping through our garden two millenia ago.

During subsequent centuries, the Romans went away, the Saxons came, and then the Normans. Slowly, over the last thousand years, agriculture spread over the ancient heathland, and eventually our garden became part of Prettygate Farm, as an orchard. Meanwhile the ancient town of Colchester expanded, the farm was bought, and our housing estate was built in the late 1950s.

So when you find a coin in our garden, you wonder who dropped it. As picked up, it couldn't be identified, and a quick wash under the tap revealed a fairly smooth disc. Further careful cleaning revealed that it was a half-penny of King George the Fifth's reign, dated 1930.

Not exactly treasure trove. And we can only guess if it was dropped in the orchard, or was mislaid sometime after the house was built. Still, we had a good Plough Monday, and we wonder what other riches might come from our soil, or will it just be vegetables?

To love, and be loved. Difficult enough to be there for many of us. Put Gay and Disabled into the mix and it's even trickier. But the yearning is, of course, still there.

I've seen plenty of plays, films (yes Moulin Rouge), books and poems on the theme of searching for love, but none had prepared me for the show at Colchester Arts Centre last night. I should have known it would be something out of the usual, when the flyer said "FAT is the journey of a gay, disabled man in search of his heart's desire. Pete Edwards uses distinctive movement, projected imagery, and spoken text to create a surreal narrative along the banks of the River Thames. Follow his quest to find the fat man, eat some spaghetti and live happily ever after."

The scene is set with an empty performance space, a screen at the back with video images, and a sign language interpreter stage left. The lights go down, there's a pause, and from the shadows appears Pete Edwards, a bald man of about 50, wearing only some very shiny, very short shorts, and a pair of Converse. (I immediately thought of my friend Severine, who wears those shoes.) Oh, and Edwards is in a wheelchair, and he's shuffling himself along, his limbs writhing.

So, what's coming up next I wonder? Will it be some in-your-face diatribe about how he can't use the Tube or get on a bus, because of the step? Oh no, it wasn't disabled specific. It was about isolation, and dreaming, and desire. Themes that touch us all.

As Edwards spoke, his script appeared as sur-text on the screen, above the images of the Thames. The programme explains that Edwards is a drama "workshop facilitator ... for people with differing speech". For the audience the sur-text was essential, as strangers to Edwards' speech could only pick up the odd word. (The sign language person seemed a little superfluous, but maybe I missed the point?)

The play unfolds, as we meet the fat man (only on screen), and they go back to his flat, for spaghetti bolognese and "afters". Now Edwards is completely naked, as we read quotes on screen, from Shakespeare, that are specially relevant to the play character's predicament. Rich fare indeed.

Now I may consider myself a right-on guy, with interest and some personal experience of disability, caring and access issues, and as a follower of gay culture (indeed, some of my friends are heterosexual and able-bodied), but there was much to learn about the HUMAN experience from Edwards' play. A remarkable show.

And for me the most moving images were Pete in front of a projection of a dance club scene, Pete's writhing linked perfectly with the mass of dancing bodies on the dancefloor. Just for a moment we can escape from ourselves.

Fred Slattern vaulted into top 100 live poets

From next year's Guardian "Fred Slattern made his debut public performance at Colchester Free Festival on 18 September 2010. With there being uncertainty about the exact time and place of Fred's performance, he couldn't depend on his loyal crowd of misfit friends to support him, and instead had to live or die on stage by his wits. Standing at a busk stop just inside the Castle Park gates, Fred had good footfall, and not all of it kept walking by. Witnessing an inspired performance from Colchester's wordsmith equivalent of Seasick Steve, some innocent members of the public has their ears assaulted by Colchester's self-styled slum poet.

Opening with a tale of sub-standard housing in suburbia "condemned" he led into "fear and loathing in Prettygate" a story of aging, isolation and fear. Slattern introduced each of the (mercifully short) pieces, his staccato delivery giving the impression of an accountant on EPO. He recited a piece about procrastination entitled "when I get my tattoo", a mordant ditty that he claimed he wrote at a "creative writing for no-hopers" course a few years ago. Upping the performance by several gears, he did a political piece about chavs, more specifically about those who revile them, with the cryptic title of "Council House and Van". Fred clearly fancies himself as the people's poet Rick from "The Young Ones".

Moving on to the whimsical "had James Dean lived, would he have shopped in Waitrose?", Slattern was into his stride, as he delivered some appalling wordplay involving car crashes and the cheese counter. Clearly Slattern had problems concentrating at school, or indeed at any other station in life. Then a topical piece written with an eye on the art gallery under construction and the vitriol in the local papers "when's it going to be finished?". But Slattern's session wasn't all about lampooning of the authorities and the media, it was about celebrating Colchester,with two pieces about the history lingering in our open spaces at "Hilly Fields" and "electricity" about High Woods.

Fred's finale consisted of pieces about the ever changing High Street "the High Street's full of cafes and charity shops" and "thanks for the sandwich" celebrating our Big Issue sales people. Twenty five people witnessed this tour-de-farce performance, vaulting him into the top 100 poets performing live today.

His banter between pieces was well received, and the sole poetry themed joke he could invent - about the iambic pentameter - was appreciated by at least two or three in the audience of mainly rural folk. A warm ripple of applause greeted the end of the show, maybe from a sense of relief, but mainly because these ordinary folks had, at last, found someone to blather on their behalf - a fanfare for the common man, with no side salad thank you very much. Fred Slattern, this modest man from suburbia, who has much to be modest about, has now been approached for other gigs."

Fred Slattern, Colchester's slum poet

FRED SLATTERN - Colchester's SLUM POET is expected to appear on the busk-stop stage at the Colchester Free Festival on 18 September. He will present his show “love, hate and prettygate”.

Fred is Colchester’s “x for no publicity” slum poet, and has been talked into appearing in public for the first time. His short pithy poems reflect Colchester life from the vantage point of anonymous suburbia. Listen to his tales, and spot yourself in his writing. He’s been watching you.

I have written some fairly upbeat pieces, mostly mercifully short, celebrating Colchester. I would suggest the material's more in the "amusing observations" bracket rather than proper poetry. Every now and then I like to challenge myself to do something different. This could all be a terrible mistake.

Joel "mystery man" Thomas - Col U legend

Mystery man, Joel Thomas, has last year been seen at Colchester United's stadium, but has never played a whole game. Joel was signed from Hamilton Academicals for £125,000 in July 2009, by Colchester manager Paul Lambert. His record at the Accies was ten games started, nineteen sub appearances, and one goal. Obviously the guy had hidden talents. (And no jokes about Scottish goalkeepers on here.)

In the first game of the season Colchester beat Norwich 7-1, a result so impressive that Norwich sacked their manger, and appointed ours soon after. Striker Thomas never played a whole game for Lambert, despite him having paid a fortune by Col U standards.

The next manager Aidy Boothroyd also never selected Joel, althoug he kept the bench warm for some matches, and actually made seven substitute appearances for the U's during 2009/10.

Boothroyd left Colchester this summer, so Thomas's third manager in one year, John Ward might have given him a run, especially as we're low on strikers? No, Thomas doesn't want to play for Colchester any more, and he's been released for a free transfer, not that anyone's signed him yet.

Well, for Thomas's year's salary (of say £30,000?) he made seven brief appearances, totalling maybe an hour in a Colchester shirt? He scored no goals, but the soccernet website suggests he had three shots, one of which was on target. He made no assists, got fouled six times, fouled others eight times and got a yellow card for his efforts. I was fortunate to catch a couple of his substitute performances and can confirm that he ran about a bit, possibly as he was cold sitting on the bench for the previous eighty minutes.

Frenchman Thomas (23) has played for several clubs in France, Germany and Scotland, but never much, or for long. So why did Lambert sign him last summer, and make Colchester United £155,000 lighter, one year on?

Meanwhile, a new season starts tomorrow, as the U's travel to Exeter for their first game. As always I'm optimistic, but know that by the end of August we'll be out of the League Cup, and it will mathematically almost impossible for the U's to be League 1 Champions, and that a play-off place might be the best hope. There's always the possibility of a decent cup run, before being knocked out by some team from the North Circular Road Relegation League, to a hat trick from their star striker, Joel Thomas. Being a football fan is such fun, and being mainly an armchair fan, I'm not funding this folly.

Silver Apples

I don't know much about music, but I love the noise it makes, paraphrasing an original quotation from Thomas Beecham, talking about the English. And on Thursday night I heard some wonderful noise.

First up was Dan Merrill, with "avant garde electronics from the King Dead Rat", playing a looped piece he wrote ten years ago. I've seen Dan a few times, and always enjoy his ideas and his violin playing. Next were Eat Lights Become Lights "celestial krautrock drone", a three-piece in the vein of Can, Faust, Amon Duul and Kraftwerk.

And the headliners were Silver Apples, or maybe it should be "was", as hereby hangs a tale. Silver Apples "legendary 60s psychedelic synth project from New York", Simeon and Danny Taylor were active in New York around 1967-69, and reformed in the 1990s. In 1999 their tour van was forced off the road, seriously injuring the band. Simeon broke his neck, had to learn to walk again, is unable to play his instruments as before, and is still partly paralysed. Danny died in 2005, of complications linked with the crash.

So there's just Simeon on the road, but he uses samples of Danny's drumming, so he's kind of still there. And what do we see? A kitchen table with a heap of old electronic equipment (called The Simeone), oscillators, valves, and tones of wire spaghetti out of the back, and a big brass handle making classic Doctor Who sounds - who needs a lead guitarist when you've got one of these? The instruments and the music would have brought a smile to Harry Partch's face.

And here comes Simeon himself, a dapper old guy with a foppish leather hat, and a charming smile. Little bits of chat, but mainly getting on with the music. I won't attempt to describe it; I'll just say he was doing his thing. Uplifting and accessible, repetitive vocal lines, a steady beat, and smoke and lights. I could almost have been in a New York club in 1968, except that I had just become a teenager at the time, didn't have a passport, and thought Chelmsford was a fair distance. Simeone looked like a mad scientist in a 50s horror movie lab, wrestling with his array of instruments.

Our evening's entertainment was at Colchester Arts Centre, and a great time was had by all. A good mix in the crowd, not just the weird beard and sandals brigade that are my contemporaries, but also lots of much younger people who had a super night out. How satisfying it must be for 70-year old (?) Simeon to be on the road, with his trunks full of gadgets, playing at small venues and having loads of young people dancing and grooving to his psychedlic tunes. It's all very well being a landmark in the history of electronic music, but can you still get out there and do it for a crowd, and communicate with people fifty years younger? For Simeon we can say an emphatic "yes". A magical night out for all who were there.

Shaun Sexton

It's been busy around here, and I've been neglecting the blogging, to the disappointment of my many followers and friends. There's always plenty to write about, what with the endlessly funny side of family life, a new part-time dream job, diabetes progress, summer fun and frolics, Tour de France cheats and liars, radical homemaking and urban homesteading, Frank's Unschooling, and the build-up to a possible Big Swifty performance at Colchester Free Festival on Saturday 18 September. All of which, more later.

But for today it was relaxation, and a late trip to town. Strolling down North Hill we saw the lights on in St Peter's Church, the garrison's adopted town centre church. We popped in, and it's always a cool, dark, peaceful haven, especially when there's a hot, brilliant sun, and loads of snarled-up traffic outside.

Glancing at some papers splayed on the desk we found out about a service earlier that day for Shaun Sexton. He had been in the town's 3rd Batallion Parachute Regiment, but had been working in Afghanistan as a private security guard, at the office of aid contractor Development Alternatives. He had died on 2 July during a Taliban raid. The Thanksgiving Service programme had its formal sections, but it was interspersed with music, presumably liked by Shaun. He had Luther Vandross, Snow Patrol and Robbie Williams. I didn't know Shaun, but I made a little silent prayer for him.

Another feast for the ears - Nat and the Doomed

Though a non believer, I love going to church. Especially if it's a rarely open historic church, with live music, and it's hot outside. The food and drink festival in Castle Park (the largest in the UK) was calling, but the sun was roasting hot, and do I really need to eat even more pork pies, however tasty they are? (Rhetorical question, I don't need an answer.)

But the menu at the church was a smorgasbord of musical ideas and traditions that looked promising on the event's facebook page, and was served up to my delectation. First off was Nathaniel Mann, "animateddog sings... songs that will stamp, spit and sweetly weave their way into your body" mainly solo singing, sometimes with a zither (?) accompaniment. His powerful voice filled and reverbated within the ancient stone church. (And they don't get much older - re-used Roman tiles and stonework, possibly a Saxon building, mostly Norman, with lots of 14th century work to replace many of the Norman openings.) His musical themes went way back and deep, his expression pulling at the audience's feelings.

Later in his split set he bowed his instrument, accompanied by a source of white noise, and narrating a text that couldn't be followed but held one's attention with snatches that could be comprehended. It took me back to the Velvet Underground's "Black Angel's Death Song" by Lou Reed and John Cale. And Nathaniel did this all on his own. Marvellous.

The Doomed Bird of Providence were described as "Anglo-Australian folk tales of death, doom and destruction". The band's Aussie leader on vocals and accordian rasped out an array of folk style songs and shanties from the antipodes, and much closer to home (one about the Red Barn murder up the road at Polstead), accompanied by a more local fourpiece. A very engaging set of bloodthirsty tales, with an authenticity that reminded me of the earnest side of The Waterboys, but running on Foster's rather than Guiness.

The final act was Hypnotique, promising "Satire, storytelling and world-class theremin playing - as seen on James May's 20th Century and The Paul O' Grady Show". Given that the spirit of the programme was principally acoustic, it was a challenge for an electronica performer to serve up their dish in a less wired format. A slight looking woman filled the space with massive sound as she built up layers of sonics. A commitment at home meant that I missed much of her set, but I enjoyed what I saw and heard.

Having recently watched the depressing spectacle on BBC4 tv, of Stevie Winwood and Eric Clapton pouring out the same old stuff, it was so refreshing to attend live music played by people looking to challenge themselves and the audience, people who are prepared to explore in different directions rather than settle for the easier paths of popular music. I would love to see any of these artists again. Many thanks to all who put on the show, and performed at St Martins, literally the coolest venue in town. (And to Nat, if you ever read this "Crikey Weekly")

Some days are more interesting than others.

With some jobs, you pretty well know what you'll be doing today, next week, next month and next year. And I guess road liners come into that category. I felt so happy for the guy who did this. There he was anticipating another week shuffling along the gutter, mile after mile of straight lines, and he gets sent here. Lovely curving shapes round the traffic calming, an opportunity to show a bit more flair in his work. I hope he enjoyed laying the lines as much as I admired looking at his efforts. Bridget Riley, eat your heart out.

Who will be MP for Colchester? Footslogging underway...

Visiting friends near Castle Park this evening I spied a prospective MP pounding the streets and knocking on doors. It was Peter Lynn from the Green Party. So how will he get on? Checking the BBC website for accurate and impartial reporting, I looked at what they had to say about Colchester. Our current MP is Bob Russell, a hard working man dedicated to his home town. With boundary changes since the last General Election, the BBC has made an estimate of how many votes were cast last time, just in the area of the revised constituency.

It suggests that Bob Russell, Lib Dem would have received 47.7% of the vote, Conservative 32.1%, Labour 20.3%, and Others -0.1%. Wait a minute, the BBC are saying that last time round the others received a negative vote? Now I know the "others" are not popular, but are they saying that the candidates voted for the electorate?

In addition to the big three parties, we have candidates for the English Democrats, the British National Party, UK Independence Party and Green Party. I guess they're hoping for a better share than minus point one per cent of the vote................

All the news, for £1?

Some of my regulars may be thinking it's all gone quiet over here? So here's an update. Since my last blog about my fantastic musical evening out, I've been contacted by three of the four musicians, who all seemed glad I enjoyed their music so much. I once wrote about REM at Ipswich football ground, and Michael Stipe never bothered to get in touch. Meanwhile Colchester United have gone five games, with only two draws and three defeats - hardly promotion form. It is believed that the players are still earning small fortunes every week.

And talking about fortunes, today I hear that the Independent newspaper has been sold for £1 to a Russian. The last time I bought a copy it costed me over a pound for a single copy, and he's bought the whole company for less. Surely they might have got a bit more on e-bay?

I have been very busy at work, promoting national Walk to Work Week in Colchester. I'm trying to use newer media, and have been busy with another blog http://www.colchesterwalktowork.blogspot.com/ with 28 postings recently, so at the moment I don't have as much appetite to spend even more time here. Pop in and have a look at what I've been scheming, and do please join our facebook group "colchester walk to work". It's all about reducing traffic congestion, achieving smaller carbon footprints, and tackling the obesity epidemic (blush!).

We have picnics, a new map, talks, lots of different walking events and a photography competition. If any of you are Bench Monday participants (example above), send me your pictures and I'll use them on my walking site. Stroll on. Thanks.

Dead Rat Orchestra v Brighton and Hove Albion

I don't get out much, of an evening. And this week I had two choices. On Monday night Colchester United v Brighton and Hove Albion at the Cuckoo Farm Community Stadium, and on Tuesday Dead Rat Orchestra, Eric Chenaux, Reverend Simpkins and Dim Goddess performing music at St Peter's Church on North Hill.

So what to do? The football costs about £17 to sit in a a freezing windy stand, and watch professional footballers earning £1000+/week, charging around for 90 minutes and hoofing the ball up in the air. I've been to hundreds of matches, and studies I've made at the University of Life show that 19% of games are excellent or good, 43% are average, and 38% are poor or appalling. I have no connection with Colchester United, except that I've supported them for 44 years.

The music tickets were £5, for a pew in a freezing cold church, for four acts, giving two and a half hours entertainment. I knew little about the artists, but it sounded interesting. My live music experiences are that 35% are excellent or good, 47% are average and 17% are poor to appalling. I have a slight connection in that I had met one of the Dead Rat Orchestra nearly four years ago at an ante-natal class, and his wife is a facebook pal who writes funny stuff about family life, takes great pictures, and is always friendly to me when our paths cross.

I plumped for the live music. The football turned out to be 0-0, and from what I've read Colchester were lucky to get nil. Less than 4,000 turned out on a cold night, even though the U's are fourth in the league.

So how was my evening? All the clues suggested a concert of "interesting" music, and I feared some cacophony of random noise, especially from DRO. First up was Dim Goddess, pictured above, a woman accompanied by harp. Now I can only take so much harp, but I was enchanted by her playing and singing - a wonderful set. It was so cold she had to stop on occasions to rub her hands and restore feeling, before resuming playing. The church was heated, in the sense that horizontal pipes ran along the aisle, giving heat only to passing mice, with no warmth reaching our willing musicians. She finished with her interpretation of W B Yeats' poem, The Stolen Child, which she dedicated to Alexander McQueen. I knew this piece as my least favourite track on one of absolute favourite albums, The Waterboys' Fisherman's Blues. She stripped out the fiddle-dee-dee Irishness and delivered an earthy elemental interpretation. Marvellous.

Next up was Reverend Simpkins, playing the mighty church organ from the loft. He started with some Bach, which I adored, and this led into his interpretation of the Velvet Underground's Jesus, a simple and very powerful song I know well. Running through some originals which I enjoyed, he then played the Beach Boys' God Only Knows, my absolute favourite BB track. Using the colour of the church organ, and a fair stab with his single voice, at the harmonies of the BB's composition, it was so uplifting. By this time I was wondering if the whole evening was tailored to my personal musical taste. More originals, including a song about Helena of Colchester. Hurrah for celebrating our town in song - you don't have to sing about Wichita or San Francisco for romance.

Eric Chenaux was on next, shuffling up to the front, wearing a flat cap, scarf and overcoat, looking slightly like Bill Bryson. He immediately went into a very fast bit of jazz-style acoustic guitar, and I feared a set of Derek Bailey-type improvisations. But I think he literally was warming-up, and Eric soon settled down into a series of melodic songs, using folk, jazz and blues styles. With some beautiful pauses, unaccompanied singing and very creative instrumental breaks, I was absolutely spellbound by Eric's music's content and performance. Despite the cold I was enchanted by the tales he was telling, his beautiful soft voice and delivery.

Last of all came the Dead Rat Orchestra, a three-piece using classical musical instruments, found objects, electronics and an array of percussion. Two very bearded guys, heaps of kit and a beardless one on amplified violin. Having listened for decades to Edgar Varese, Captain Beefheart, Can, Sigur Ros, The Velvet Underground, Frank Zappa, Faust and Charles Ives, I was quite prepared for any noise they wanted to throw at me. The DRO's sonic journeys were easy enough for my ears, with some wonderful lyrical violin, at times almost English pastoral in style. The pieces included some slow paced vocal sounds building up layers, and some fascinating sounds of metal pieces falling on the church's stone floor. The audience was enraptured by the exploration of noise, music and silences from the Dead Rat Orchestra.

An excellent evening's entertainment, the art keeping me warm in the freezing building. The audience hugely appreciated the show, the only shame being the low attendance. With around fifty in the crowd it doesn't take Stephen Hawking to work out that these talented musical people were earning something rather less than the footballers that were paid to kick the ball up in the air, on a pitch three miles north of the church. I guess the musicians are the same as the footballers; they love their game. I hope the musicians at least get some satisaction that they had a very appreciative audience; more than can be said of the football crowd, from what I've read.

Essex historical land and seascapes

Kat has challenged bloggers to post a photo of a place they like, depicting spring or summer. My first thought was to check through my files and post a spectacular and atmospheric scene, maybe from Scotland, Germany or Arizona. A photo with a wow factor. Then I thought I'd do something different and show some very local Essex land and seascapes; a couple of plain scenes that make superficially dull photograhs, but with great tales from history to bring them to life. Let's be honest, it's not the spectacle of the Grand Canyon sunrise round here, or the Champs Elysees in the spring. It's Colchester, and some of it's very flat; but there's plenty to inspire, and lift the heart.

The top picture was taken at the Gosbecks archaeology park, so it's not your average flat Essex field. Look carefully and you can see some diagonal marks in the grass. These show the outline of the vomitory of a Roman-celtic theatre that stood on this spot. (Note: this is an alternative meaning to the word vomitory, not to be confused with the vocabulary associated with contemporary late night excessive drinking events.) All that's left to see of this 270 feet diameter Roman theatre is a D-shaped mound. All the stone and timber has disappeared.

Imagine this scene nearly 2000 years ago. Hundreds of Romans and Britons milling around, waiting for the show. We walk a few paces forwards and we enter between the pillars of the gate, and pass under the upper tiers of the several thousand seats. The feint horizontal lines show where the rows of seats were. Ahead of us is the plain stage, (in the middle distance of the photograph), probably walled at the back. Around the theatre, a range of buildings, including a massive temple. Nearby maybe a horsefair and marketplace. Just to our right, the palace of King Cunobelin, now unmarked above ground.

And here is the River Blackwater estuary taken from the Monkey Beach at West Mersea. The low land on the horizon is the Dengie peninsular; even now, remote and sparsely populated. In the centre of our horizon are a few trees, and the site of Othona. This was a Roman fort of the Saxon Shore, only a short low section of wall now being visible, and most of the site eroded away by the sea over the last 1800 years. In AD 653 St Cedd arived by boat from the north east of England, and founded Britain's oldest surviving church, now known as St Peter's on the Wall, Bradwell on Sea. http://www.bradwellchapel.org/ He built his Christian church on the foundations of a ruined Roman fort gateway. I challenge even the staunchest atheist not to be moved on entering this ancient building, in a silent corner of the Essex marshes.

Essex may be flat in parts, but it certainly isn't boring. A pair of walking shoes, and an imagination, and it becomes a time machine. Hope you enjoyed our journey.

Big Swifty meets top politician, and other aspects of the free market economy

It's not often I meet people from the top of the league. Last night, in my capacity as a small, nay micro, businessman (see http://www.bigswiftycompany.blogspot.com/) I attended a Question Time session where a panel mainly of local politicians and prospective MPs answered questions from the floor. After the session North Essex MP Bernard Jenkin came over to me, shook my hand, and said "hello again Andrew, how are you?". In my earlier working life as a local Transport Policy person I had met the Honourable Mr Jenkin a couple of times, a good few years ago; he was Shadow Secretary of State for Transport at the time. I was surprised he recognised and remembered me, but I suspect it was because earlier that evening he read my lapel badge or saw me on the guest list, and was exercising a good schmoozing technique.

And why is he the top of the league politician? In October 2009, as a result of the initial recommendations of Sir Thomas Legg's audit following the disclosure of expenses, Legg recommended that Jenkin pay back over £63,000 - the highest amount to have been requested from any Member of Parliament. Mr Jenkin has made representations to Sir Thomas Legg's inquiry and his repayment has recently been halved, knocking him off the top of the expenses repayment league.

I'm very angry about this whole issue, and I apologise to any of my followers in that I didn't take the opportunity to give him, our (the public's) views on his personal use of public money. As always, Jenkin was totally charming, and urged me to cycle home carefully as the roads were icy.

Meanwhile, I was enjoying the spectacle of the business community requesting reduced business rates and less regulations, whilst requesting restrictive practices and special concessions to give local businesses council contracts even if it costs us taxpayers more, which is a funny kind of "get-the-government-off-our-backs free-market economy".

I felt like I'd slipped back thirty years some of the time, with the floor's clamour for colleges to produce less hairdressers, comments about foreigners, the poor quality of the young people wanting jobs today, the benefits culture, and the FSB host addressing the audience collectively as "gentlemen", even though there were, gasp, about 15% women there.

With my liberal attitudes, I felt like the ugly duckling amidst these swans of industry.

Bread and shoes

Strolling into Colchester yesterday we were surprised to see a Flour Power bakers stall in Culver Street, ON A SUNDAY! After a few years of limited public support for Sunday trading, it seems to be taking off. Many years ago I was a supporter of the Keep Sunday Special campaign, but accept that times have changed. But what about this wonderful bread stall? We bought a large sourdough loaf costing £3.50, lugged it home and cut it in half, one for the freezer, the other for this morning. And today we enjoyed the crunchiest noisiest tastiest toast one can imagine.

We were speculating on what people think about paying £3.50 for a loaf of the finest bread. After all you can buy Mother's Blotting Paper, thin sliced, for 25p in AlNetLid. Alternatively you can get squares of cardboard free, and improve your nutrition. It's a bit of a class thing I suppose. I'm quite happy to pay £3.50 for something tasty, others pay £80-120 for the latest leisure shoes, and throw them away if they get a mark on them.

But I'm not complaining; it's my usual Big Swifty response that it's different strokes for different folks. And I benefit from the fashion industry's demand for a new shoe range every season. I get last year's £80 Nike Air Pegasus running trainer for about half price, and I save a fortune on walking boots. I bought a pair of Karrimor walking boots last week reduced from £72 to £16, and mighty fine they are too. They are modelled above, and the photo is also a "Bench Monday" picture, for those who follow such things.

As part of my work I am promoting walking as transport; any Facebookers out there are welcome to join my "Colchester walk to work" facebook group. It was a bit icy for cycling this morning so I walked into town, following a wonderful route across a string of public open spaces, local nature reserves, ancient monuments and rights of way. My favourite section was the Lexden Dyke, part of the Romano/British network of dykes that protect Colchester from the west. (This was in the old days, 2000 years ago, when people from Bishop's Stortford were unfriendly to the people of Colchester. We get on fine now our football teams are in entirely different leagues.) Even now, the bank and ditch are about five metres high in places. Can you see me waving at my shadow in the ditch, photographing from the top of the bank?

Look at me with my cheap boots and belly full of sourdough. (Currently listening to Frank Zappa's Sinister Footwear.)

Bizarre gifts and a mystery sign

The Stockwell Strollers went for their last-Saturday-of-the-month walk this morning, and I joined them. The leader is my pal Alan Hardy, above photographed in May 2007, when we were separately backpacking in the Scottish Highlands, when our paths crossed near Alltbeith, Glen Affric. It was a short hike today, benefiting from the overnight frost giving a firm crust over the saturated Essex mud.

Before the start I found a raffle ticket on the ground, turned it over, and its number was 666. I wondered what the day had in store. It was a bright sunny morning, and I got a little suntan, after too many weeks indoors or under grey skies. A splendid morning's 10-mile hike. But the devil's raffle ticket was troubling me. What surprise was in store?

Arriving home I had two articles of post. For myself there was an envelope of newspaper clippings from my pal Rod. He kindly saves bits and pieces that he thinks might interest me, and this batch includes a report from the Telegraph on 28 November 2009, with the headline "Mild winter ahead", describing the Met Office's prediction for the then forthcoming winter. It's easy enough for us to laugh in retrospect isn't it?

And Frank had a parcel from friends in Germany. Their daughter had put together a parcel consisting of a tub of Haribo jelly bears, and a colouring book sponsored by Haribo, full with pictures of sweets. We whisked the colourful jelly bears out of sight, and wondered if we could think of a less appropriate gift for a little boy with diabetes? We know it wasn't intentionally wrong, but it got us thinking about other inappropriate gifts. Snickers for someone with a peanut allergy? Pork pies for Muslims? A ticket for a multi-cultural event for a Klansman?

The portent of the 666 ticket has been nagging me this evening. I've just been up to check Frank, and his blood-sugar level is (unusually) perfect. Only an hour to go today, and nothing can go wrong..... Good night all.

Zed and two noughts

No, not the Peter Greenaway film Zoo. Frank and I went to to Colchester Zoo this morning, and it's all about numbers. Last week Frank matter-of-factly informed me "I know all the numbers in the world". And numbers are something we're struggling with at the moment.

We're gathering lots of diabetes data under Frank's new testing and administering regime, and trying to make sense of it all. We're now weighing his food, calculating the carbohydrate content, and working out insulin doses. Plus we've got data from fingerprick blood testing to measure where his blood-sugar levels are at that instant. Calculating insulin doses based on what he's going to eat, and factoring in a bit more to correct for the (most likely) over-high blood sugar levels.

Meanwhile Frank's doing his own calculations. We're looking at the lions, and one has died since our last visit. "There used to be two, but now there's one", Frank tells me. In the next cage is a swarm of Persian mice. There's usually around a dozen in there, but today there's heaps all over the floor of the cage, on the rocks, and up at the high level platforms and ropes. A quick estimate and I'd clocked around two hundred meeces, suggesting they'd been busy amusing themselves over Christmas, or the snakes had lost their appetites. I asked Frank how many mice were in the cage, and he had a good look round, muttered a string of numbers under his breath, and pronounced after his deliberations "there are eight mice".

A quick scoot round the apes and tortoises, and it's back home for lunch, where we discover he has a high of 24 (when we should be between 4 and 8), so it's another big injection of insulin, to correct his high and to allow for his soon-to-be-eaten lunch, but he isn't that hungry which leaves him potentially overdosed on insulin. And sure enough, two hours later he crashes into a hypo episode at 2.8.

We know what to do, but it's back to Peter Greenaway films again, and this time it's Drowning by Numbers.

Big Swifty ignores person in wheelchair

I was sitting in the Bull on Tuesday (note: I was not Chief Sitting Bull) after work, to meet some friends before the single showing of the "No distance left to run" film at the Odeon. This was a local performance that had been secured by a Facebook group, the cinema previously having decided not to show it here despite Blur coming from Colchester.

In the Bull was a woman in a wheelchair who looked familiar, and I soon worked out that it was someone I had met recently in connection with my work and the Walk Colchester project. I would have liked to pop over and say hello, but I was only 95% certain it was her. With these odds I would usually take a chance and say "hi", but I had this fear that it wasn't her, and this stranger would say "so you think us people in wheelchairs all look the same do you?". I enjoy Ricky Gervais' comedy challenging our attitudes, and his wheelchair and disability themes in "The Office" and "Extras", I find very thought provoking. But the net result of my shyness and sensibilities was that I treated this person differently because they were in a wheelchair, though I don't suppose they were robbed of anything by me lacking the confidence to say hello. Ah the modern dilemma.

Anyway, I looked her up on Facebook, and said hi that way, and she confirmed it was indeed her in the pub, and apologised for blanking me!

What about the film? I had expectations that it would be an arty film, but it had a linear narrative, covering their recent reunion tour, interspersed with interviews and a potted history from Damon's appearance in The Stanway School play, through the britpop years, the arguments, and the getting back together. Maybe too many close-ups of their faces, some good old slo-mo film effects, and all one big love-in for the band and their fans. Very enjoyable it was too.

Earlier that evening the press had caught on to the idea that Blur fans were going to meet at the Bull before their hero-worship at the cinema. The camera man got all of us in the Bull to pose as excited Blur fans, and the following morning our picture was in the paper. In the front row a woman in a wheelchair, and in the back row a baldy middle aged man wondering if he should say hi. All the drama and angst captured on page 12 of The Colchester Gazette.

first bike ride of the year - Big Swifty seen in peloton

The first bike ride of the year, as always an uplifting experience. The combination of grey/ icy/ rainy weather, and lots of other things to do, had delayed my first fun ride until 17 January - the bike commute to work doesn't really count. From the back of the garage I pulled out my Peccary, a mongrel bike I assembled years ago from scrap bikes, including the frame that I found lying next to the road. It's the nearest bike I have to a mountain bike; I once did a 500 mile ride through the Scottish Highlands on it, including the Corrieyairick Pass, and a route across country from Glen Feshie to Braemar. But this time it was a short ride with Severine to Friday Woods, along the new and old cycle paths in south Colchester. It was a warm sunny day, with a very light wind, and mainly dry enough paths. The landscape was fresh and green after the snow melt, and the lack of spring growth better revealed the contours of the land, including my favourite stretch where we ride along the top of the 2000-year old Berechurch Dyke.

It has been suggested that Big Swifty is not a real person, and merely a figment of the imagination of some old bloke with no friends, who spends too long on the internet. How wrong can you be? Here's a picture of me and my mates out cycling this morning in Friday Woods. And finally, just because I get very few comments on my blogs, it doesn't mean people don't read them. Real life friends say to my face and by e-mail, how they "enjoy" my postings, hearing what I get up to, and grateful they don't have to suffer my "humour" too often. Indeed, following yesterday's posting about our new toilet seat, I've had requests that can be counted on the fingers of, well one finger, about what it now looks like. So here it is. And if Frank starts sticking coloured squares on it, we won't even notice will we?