Pub Talk

Happy Bleak New Year!

clare.hayes@archant.co.uk — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 11:48:00 GMT

First things first, I trust you all had a very Merry Christmas, and I wish you all the best for 2009!

If you believe everything you hear on the news (don’t, it’s a killer!), then Christmas 2008 was a miserable affair for all concerned. The international turkey supply fell victim to bird flu, with empty plates and starving children a common sight in houses near you. Father Christmas himself felt the effects of the credit crunch as toy production at his Lapland HQ ground to a halt. Rudolph had no feed, the elves had no wages, and the bank wouldn’t budge. To top it all off, St. Nick caught a very nasty cold and was bed bound over the festive period. He lost a bit of weight though, so swings and roundabouts…

Tragically, 2009 is all set to continue the downward spiral towards national depression, with bad news here, bad news there, and bad news everywhere; culminating in the entire populace joining hands, and jumping off a big cliff in the world’s largest mass suicide.

And if you believe that load of old tosh, you’ll believe anything! There are negative things in this life for sure, a lot of which I have reluctantly accepted, and some that shall always remain wholly unacceptable to anyone with any shred of decency and integrity. There are starving children, there are maniacs with guns and bad intentions, just two of many terrible injustices that I fear shall never be completely eradicated. A credit crunch is bad news, but trifling compared to some of the truly appalling stains on humanity that occur on a daily basis.

Speaking of credit crunches, I’m not sure how a country such as ours has such terrible options to lead us in times of economic peril. I wouldn’t trust any of them to organize a “big party” in a brewery, and I’m quite frankly, sick to death of seeing the same old incompetent faces on TV, offering the same old insincere assurances. But ultimately, man has survived bigger threats to it’s survival than some wallies in expensive suits mis-managing anything they touch.

Fear not my friends, we shall prevail! And the first step towards victory? Turn off the damn news, because there really is no point in spending 2009 more frustrated than you absolutely have too!

Minimalist Christmasn - no thanks!!

clare.hayes@archant.co.uk — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 15:59:00 GMT

I am pleased to report, that far from fretting over the imminent arrival of Christmas - as the media would suggest 99% of us are, I am absolutely relishing the prospect!

Never before in the history of Nathan have I looked forward with this much gusto to the season of goodwill!

But is it just me, or has most talk of Christmas this year been of the negative variety? All I’ve heard so far have been complaints. “Christmas starts in October”, “Credit crunch”, “Not the same as it used to be”, “too commercial” etc.

Some valid, some not so valid. Sure, it’s bright, shiny, and gaudy, but would you rather it was subdued, minimalist, and well, boring? Christmas is the Elton John of bank holidays, an acquired taste for some, but you’ve gotta love the excess!

Shops do kick off way too early, but they have a job to do. In a time of economic peril, they have to go overboard more than ever to get the punters in, keep a nice profit, and more importantly, keep those in retail in employment!

And as for the nostalgia factor, Christmas will always be nostalgic. It would be a hard heart indeed that did not recall the ghosts of Christmases past, as one sits down to open their presents, or share some seasonal cheer. But you can’t be eight years old forever, and inevitably, things change. Tragically, it is a fact of life that the personnel may change too, but that doesn’t mean the experience need differ.

Christmas will always be a time of celebration for being able to enjoy relative luxury with the people you love. Nothing else really matters. It’s silly to be down on the festivities just because certain aspects that are out of your control grate on the nerves. Enjoy it for what is and stop complaining, because before you know it, it will be January! For now, let’s think about Santa, Snow, Turkeys, and Presents.. Ah well, three out of four ain’t bad. Well it’s never going to snow is it?!

All right you lot, take it! Oh I wish it could be Christmas, everyday….

Weston – Santa’s Grottiest Grotto

clare.hayes@archant.co.uk — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 08:52:00 GMT

On Saturday morning, I took a rare stroll through Weston town centre. Generally my only purpose for being in town is to get a fried breakfast, and to well, get a fried breakfast! This time I had an extra objective, preliminary research on the old Christmas shopping. It didn’t go well, principally because I really hate shopping, and probably because the fried breakfast weighed me down a bit. The internet really is the only place I can shop without wanting to kill, but I realise that Weston-super-Mare depends greatly upon trade generated by the Christmas season.

Which leads me to the burning issue….Why oh why with so much revenue to be won or lost, have they decked the proverbial halls with boughs of “holly” that look like they’re about 700 years old! I have never seen more tired and dilapidated Christmas decorations in my entire life! To attract people, you have to be attractive, a principle the decision makers seem to have forgotten, and not just at Yuletide.

I’m not sure of the facts, but I’m not a proper journalist so I don’t have to be! It could well be the case that some kindly hearted individual has paid for those decorations many years ago, and donated them to our fair town for subsequent festive celebrations. If that is the case, hats off to them, but I don’t think it was their intention that they should be used for eternity, and never be replaced!

If it’s down to a bunch of decent citizens that we have any decorations, then hats off to you. If it’s down to a more powerful organization (mentioning no names, but we pay them a special tax on a monthly basis!), then shame on you!

If Weston wants to get the cash rolling in, and defeat the credit crunch bogeyman, then rejuvenation is the name of the game. The Mall looks nice, The Mall does good business. Weston looks shabby, well, you do the math. And if anyone takes offence at that and says “well, I do very well for myself thank you very much”, you could always do better. That is the nature of business.

It should be the business of anyone who cares a jot for Weston-super-Mare and it’s fading beauty to ensure that next year the high street doesn’t look like Christmas in a zombie film!

Next time you walk through the high street, stop and really take notice. Truly observe the shabbiness, and get yourself worked up about it! If enough people come to the same conclusion then maybe we can do something about it.

Rabbit and Chips

clare.hayes@archant.co.uk — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 14:03:00 GMT

Ok, first things first. I’m back from Spain (did you guess it in the end?), and it’s somewhat colder in merry England. Did I miss the start of an Ice Age whilst I was away? Didn’t think it was the kind of thing you could miss!

Suffice to say, I had a lovely time. It was warm, beautiful, and most importantly, more fun than being on Gladiators! I won’t go into too much detail, wouldn’t want to be the bore that talks everyone to death, or the limpet who refuses to let go.

But one thing I did want to mention was a particular meal I had. After searching the entire resort for the finest restaurant money can buy, we settled on a classy joint situated in the shadow of a medieval castle. Lured by the location, the fact that we needed to get a wiggle on to watch England Vs Belarus, and the lounge lizard proprietor’s proclamation that the cooking was ‘classico’, we duly entered the restaurant.

I chose rabbit on the basis of a guide book recommendation. The whole menu was in Spanish, which somewhat hindered my understanding of it, but I was expecting some gourmet stuff! I’m not a chef, so I don’t know what normally goes with rabbit, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t chips and mushrooms! I thought I was in a cheap, market leading UK pub chain, not a ‘classico’ Spanish restaurant. And all of this whilst watching my companions gorge on a veritable fishy feast.

I have questions for you dear reader. What would you serve with rabbit? Are chips and mushrooms as an accompaniment to rabbit the work of the devil? Are they the philistine’s or am I? I need answers people!

Credit crunch? What credit crunch?

clare.hayes@archant.co.uk — Tue, 14 Oct 2008 08:26:00 GMT

Hello dear readers.

In light of this troubling series of events that have recently befallen us, i.e. e.g. Nights getting darker, the death of Paul Newman, the credit crunch and the embarrassing predicament of my beloved Tottenham Hotspur, I’ve done the sensible thing and booked a nice holiday, starting Tuesday!

£13.50 return to a place so secret that if I told you I’d have to kill you! The perils and pitfalls of the level of notoriety that accompanies writing a blog for Weston’s finest means that my travel plans must remain concealed, but trust me, it’s a good deal.

Nabbing the hotel for £52, 100 meters from the beach was a bit of a steal, too.

Credit crunch? What credit crunch? Maybe if there’s a little less cash to go round, people might start developing a little more ‘savoir faire’!

Well, I say that, but any cash I’ve saved is realistically going to be spent on the Henry VIII diet I’m embarking on for the duration of my stay. Once I’ve safely returned to England, forty pounds heavier, and hundreds of Euros lighter, then I may well confront the financial disasters, and humanitarian crises that blight the world, but until then…

Adios amigos!

(Did that give it away?)

Glass Half Empty?

clare.hayes@archant.co.uk — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 08:31:00 GMT

It is with a slightly melancholic nature that I write this blog, sitting in Clarence Park with a paper and a bacon and egg sandwich, appreciating Saturday afternoon bathed in swathes of September sunshine.

None of that is, in itself, reason to be gloomy; the paper full of promise, the sandwich full of fatty goodness, and my tan slowly improving!

However, the knowledge that the opportunity to enjoy a sunny day narrows as the evenings get darker, and this brief moment of glorious weather will surely decline into terminal grey is sad indeed.

Put bluntly, the dark and rainy season will soon be upon us, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it.

It would take some pretty crazy tinkering with the clocks to give us the weather and daylight we deserve. In fact, we don’t need to waste time with changing the clocks, we need a time machine! Destination? Summer 1967! I hear it was a good one – summer of love and all that. Or, if you want to go one better, summer 1966 – the year of the World Cup.

Like it or not, dark evenings are soon going to be a reality.

Things will be colder, wetter and, well, darker. But rather than just letting the inevitable get on top of you, I recommend enjoying what is left of the daylight, and looking forward with optimism

The Winter Gardens – Wasted Resource?

david.spear@archant.co.uk — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 08:26:00 GMT

Is there a more wasted resource in the whole of Weston-super-Mare, neigh North Somerset, than The Winter Gardens? I don’t think so. In the 60’s and 70’s we were talking The Beatles, David Bowie, Pink Floyd, and T Rex; a never ending merry-go-round of events that I would kill to have access to on my doorstep. Whilst never exactly being home to ‘the scene’, Weston-super-Mare and The Winter Gardens could once attract some serious talent.

Whilst I’m sure that kept our Mums and Dads happy, the days of The Fab Four tearing up Weston are but a hazy memory, and the 2008 equivalent of The Beatles in their pomp? Quarterly visits by The British Wrestling Tour, a tea dance or ten, and the occasional “Record Fair”. In fact, it was a chance visit to the “Record Fair” on Saturday that prompted this little tirade! If I was a newcomer to the town and somebody told me that Pink Floyd had once played The Winter Gardens, I think I would have a sudden outbreak of bad manners and laugh in their face!

There was certainly not much in the way of cutting edge music at the “Record Fair”. It dismays me to report that a building, once temporary home to Ziggy Stardust and his Spiders, now found itself at the mercy of “eccentric” types, with dubious fashion tastes, requesting Dennis “write the theme tune” Waterman LP’s! I couldn’t make up my mind whether he specifically wanted LP’s because Dennis Waterman had never been released on CD, or if it was because he’d never actually heard of CD’s!*

I appreciate that Sir Paul McCartney’s touring schedule no longer has room for The Winter Gardens, but it is outrageous that Weston-super-Mare has been allowed to slip completely off of the musical radar, bar the annual T4 event. Although not to my taste, and only because Sir Paul can’t make it, I’d rather have McFly here than an endless succession of the same old non-events. Sadly, I fear it’s too late to rebuild a musical tradition that is frankly in tatters having not held a decent concert for decades.

If the town’s cultural decision makers have to constantly look at the past for direction and inspiration, let’s not allow Dennis Waterman and tea dances to be the sum extent.

* Apparently, for those of you interested in the outcome of The Great Dennis Waterman LP Hunt, the vendor didn’t have any on sale, but had some at home! Even worse, from his own personal collection!

Cultural Deficit

clare.hayes@archant.co.uk — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 12:07:00 GMT

First off the bat this week, heartiest congratulation to Team GB for finishing a stupendous fourth in the Olympic Medal Table. Real achievement is rare these days, so lets enjoy it whilst we can. However, one thing I most certainly did not enjoy was watching in horror as The Feeling and McFly set about destroying “Heroes” by David Bowie, and The Winner Takes It All by Abba respectively at the 2012 handover “celebration”.

Presumably both Bowie and Abba had better things to do than watch a host of ex-Strictly Come Dancing sorts, and some of the most inane music Britain has to offer. Like mowing the lawn, putting out the bins, catching a cold etc. I expect Benny and Bjorn break wind more melodically than McFly! The point is, as a celebration of all that Great Britain has to offer, and in some way as recognition of what our athletes have achieved, is this really the best we can do?

Whilst our athletes flourish, we seem to be going backwards quickly in other areas.

It was great to see Jimmy Page rocking the red bus during the closing ceremony, even though Robert Plant looked strangely like Leona Lewis. It was even better to see Boris Johnson waving the flag in the air like he just don’t care, but comedy asides, there was a real shortage of talent on display when the party switched to London.

19 Golds, 13 Silver, 15 Bronze, a flight time of 10 hours plus, only to be greeted by Claudia Winkleman undermining their achievements with pure babble. And then, the pleasure of being “entertained” by Il Divo. Oh dear! If I won an Olympic Medal by some miracle, or could even run the 100 metres in less than 15 seconds, I would pointedly ignore the inevitable celebrations, and head straight for a different party. Any party. Just not that one.

I am available should the organizers of London 2012 do the right thing and seek advice on what does make a good celebration!

Olympic Attitude

clare.hayes@archant.co.uk — Mon, 18 Aug 2008 07:26:00 GMT

As I sit down to write this blog, Great Britain is currently massively exceeding any expectations, lying a comfortable third in the Beijing Olympics Medal Table. After the heady heights of “super Saturday” when we experienced an unusually successful medal haul, triumph again raises its pretty little face on “even more super Sunday”. Rowing, sailing, cycling, swimming, no question about it, Brittania rules the waves and the velodromes of China!

To put it into context, we have more bling than Germany, Australia (hooray!) and anybody else who aren’t China, USA, or Mr T. When you consider that both China and USA have gigantic squads of athletes and practically unlimited resources at their disposal, and that Mr T is a bad mutha, the achievements of our merry band of winners come sharply into focus.

But of course, there’s more to it than just the fifteen minutes of fame you see on the television, These guys and girls toil away in virtual obscurity for nearly four years at a time preparing for their tilt at Olympic immortality. Their fanbase outside of the Olympics seems to consist of only a small but dedicated following, and the respect of their peers to support them on their journeys. They may pick up World, European, or Commonwealth medals between Olympics, but it seems that wider recognition is only afforded them when they achieve on the greatest stage of them all.

Look at Paula Radcliffe. A first class athlete with a string of accolades to her name, and all people ever talk about is her failure to win the Olympic title. That and using the roadside as a porta-loo! Any rational human being with an appreciation of sport and the effort that goes into it can see that achievement cannot purely be judged by one event every four years.

But that dear readers, is the difference between them and us. They don’t see it like that, and that is why we are currently third in the Medal Table. Certainly, there have been some failures along the way, occasions when The Eye of the Tiger let them down, or simply that the competition was stronger. But they aren’t going to sit there and take it lightly.

They’ll be back, with a stronger determination and superior skills. They’ll toil away in virtual obscurity for the next four years, and they probably will pick up some World, European, and Commonwealth titles along the way.

And then on to London 2012.

Oh, how I could benefit from some Olympic attitude…..

The Perils of Daydreaming

clare.hayes@archant.co.uk — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 12:08:00 GMT

How many of us spend the entire working week wishing it was clocking off time on a Friday?
I suspect that quite a lot is probably the honest truth, and those of you who answered differently only did so because your working week doesn’t end on a Friday.

In a bored moment, at work as it happens, I calculated just how much time one could spend wishing they were somewhere else for that magic 48 hour weekend.

If you’re a serial daydreamer, that works out at 40 hours a week, 2080 hours a year, and if you assume that the average working life is 18-65, we are looking at a staggering total of 97760 hours that you simply want to get rid of.

That total will only increase if you work super crazy 12 hour shifts, or if the Government follows its inevitable course towards making us all work until we die.

So 2 in 7 days are spent in the pursuit of leisure, and what do most people end up doing with them?
Either dull domestic stuff destined to be forgotten, getting painfully drunk rendering you unable to remember the time you so covet, or simply fretting over the impending return to wishing your days away on a Monday.

My point put plainly and simply, is that for all our desperate, national efforts to move time with only our collective mind-power as our weapon, we use the weekend to jolly poor effect.

Seize time whilst you can. Grasp it, embrace it, and use it wisely, because one day it will run out, and if you’re one of those people who has wasted 97760 hours wishing it away….Well that was silly wasn’t it?

As for me, I’m just the guy who worked out the numbers! You won’t catch me wishing it away. I’m using my weekend wisely by the way.

Heavy rain, or no heavy rain, I’m off camping.

Enjoy your weekends!

Black day, bright future

clare.hayes@archant.co.uk — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 08:15:00 GMT

In my last blog, I compared the sight of a roaming pack of asbos, to something straight out of a horror film. I had hoped to follow it up with something a little more positive. Well friends, it is my sad duty to report on an event right out of a disaster movie. I awoke, as I’m sure most of you did, to the news that our Grand Old Pier was ablaze, and to the ominous sight of a column of thick smoke, turning the clouds over Weston a dark shade of black. It didn’t look good when I left for work, and it looked worse when I observed the ruins on my lunch break. An army of emergency services, more press coverage than Weston has ever had, and one day later, it still hasn’t sunk in. And no amount of visits to the seafront to check that it really happened can diminish the shock.

I can’t claim to have been a regular visitor to the Pier, I can’t have set foot on it for five or six years. 2p machines have never really got me going, but the Michael family looked to have so much more planned for it, with the Go Kart track and Climbing Wall sounding like huge steps in the right direction. The kind of re-branding that even gets an old cynic like me ready to give it another chance. Just what Weston needed really, a shift away from some of the dated and poorly maintained buildings that pepper our town. But now no more.

There are many questions hanging over Weston right now. Can the tourist trade recover? Can Weston recover? Can the town’s population come to terms with it?

These are all vital issues to be addressed, and all will be answered in time. I happen to think that the future of this well-loved, but slightly shabby hometown of mine will not only see it fully recovering, but given time to get itself back on its feet, restore its place as a genuine jewel in the crown of British tourist attractions.

Instead of indulging in this fine nation’s favourite past time of out and out pessimism, we should instead consider all of the positive things that could in time result from this.

The Michaels have pledged their commitment to rebuilding a Pier on the site. I say a pier, because who knows what it may end up looking like? It could be a brick by brick recreation of what once was, which is fine but slightly retrospective, or a glorious celebration of Weston’s past, present, and future, which is my preferred option.

Just as it came back from the fire of 1930 in a contemporary, and dare I say, grander, fashion, the old model will re-emerge as a shiny, beacon of fun. This may take some time, but in the meanwhile, it gives North Somerset Council plenty of time to realise the great, big, gaping hole at our town’s heart, leaving attractive destinations perilously thin on the ground. Councillors can desperately expound on the virtues of the sand sculptures, but as good as they are, soon they will be gone, but the void will remain.

So lets take this ‘opportunity’ to not only get the Pier back where it belongs, but to ensure that when it does return, it is supported by a thriving, exciting, and credible, tourist infrastructure, capable of cementing Weston as the West Country resort to be in the 21^st century.

Come on Weston, let’s show ‘em the meaning of community spirit!

Report from the frontline

clare.hayes@archant.co.uk — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 15:53:00 GMT

Watching the news these days is increasingly akin to watching a horror film. You know that feeling when you desperately want to tear your eyes away, but something compels you to keep watching in spite of yourself? But the horror doesn’t end in some pat Hollywood conclusion, and nor does it vanish after its daily report from the stricken families of a new victim of the plague of crime, pathetically dubbed ‘anti-social behaviour’. The horror is real, the threat genuine, the menace on-going. And worst of all? It’s right outside our doorsteps.

Last night, it was right outside of mine. Fortunately, my nightly downer of stabbings, muggings and the like, all beamed directly into my living room from across the UK, convinced me that it was not in my best interests to confront the teenage boy jumping on my fiancée’s car, or his 15 or so mates baying for more destruction to be introduced into the game. As I write this, I can see the perpetrators clearly across the road. And as if that wasn’t enough, I can hear them almost as if they were in the same house. Last night, they resembled a group of howler monkeys, who had somehow got their hands on some drugs, and had developed a penchant for robbery.

These are not the words of a sensationalist rabble rouser, but as an eyewitness to an evening’s rampage a mere 8 feet from where I now sit. Their topics of conversation, or I should say topic of argument since their every waking breath appears to be aggressive, principally revolved around an accusation against their ringleader. He is a teenage boy famous locally for causing trouble since the age of eight and only recently returned from serving half his sentence in a young offenders home. He stood accused by a girl in his immediate circle of friends of commiting a burglary on her home, a charge he not only loudly confessed too, but threatened to repeat in no uncertain terms. The comment from her that he would experience profound difficulties obtaining any drugs from her if this was the case left me firstly reeling, and secondly hoping that this represented the end of the evening’s drama. Instead of acting as a deterrent, it merely encouraged him to proclaim his desire to “peg out the first person that comes f***ing near me”. The implication that this could just as well be someone walking their dog as one of his friends rang loud and clear. And they hadn’t even started jumping on the car yet.

For the record, I called the Police, whom after displaying limited interest, promised to send an officer to “have a word”. Two hours passed without the whir of a siren or the trample of a size 12 on the pavement. Perhaps they made it to my street, perhaps they “had a word”, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

When attempting to find out whether they ever made it to my street the next day, I was greeted with a phone that rang for two minutes without answer. That is not to say with any certainty that they never made it, but one thing is for sure, and that is that if they did, all momentum was lost, the car was still abused, the offenders went unpunished, and this will all happen again. If not here, then somewhere else. And you know what? It will keep happening, and for the unfortunate, it won’t be the car that gets stood on.

The details are stark and worst of all, I get the feeling that it hasn’t even peaked yet. I long for the day that I switch on the news and instead of being greeted with pain and suffering, a ridiculous proposal to “hug a hoody”, or some attention seeking new tough on crime stance, that someone would genuinely get tough on crime. Actions speak louder than words, Politicians words ring hollow, their actions noticeable by their absence. That is not to suggest that vigilante justice is the answer. If Charles Bronsan stood up against this lot, he’d probably get a knife in the stomach for his troubles and hit over the head to make sure. But something has to give, and it has to give soon because I don’t see things getting any better. Make no mistake, parts of the UK are at war and the frontline is our streets. Most worrying of all, who is on our side?