September 2013:
THE AYE BATS A SIX
Photographs by
Adam Walker facebook/AdamWalkerPhotography
Impressum
Greetings Reader.
Freeman FenwickSmythe Rebekah Mayne Gerda Dunnes Disko Stu
Here it is, the long anticipated Sixth Aye. Hold it in your hand and regard its wonder. The mind of Bangor clamours between these pages. Local photographer extraordinaire Adam Walker has provided us with more excellent snaps, we’ve got verse from local bards, a whack of reader commentary, reviews of local food, films and happenings plus an interview with a prominent local artist. We have lost old staff and gained new staff and there was a bit of trouble with an office fire...but we’re back now and we’re totally serious! -
Published by MUSK
The Aye Team
The Late Edition September 2013
Editors
Conrad Macintosh Magdalaine Morrow
Design & Layout Ben Caughers Elizabeth Black
Staff Writers Spencer Hollyhock Allan Pritt
Travel Writers Harry Erskine
Sport
James Hullington
Feuilleton
bangoraye@inbox.com Page 2
Lovely Stuff in this Issue Poetry Corner
Bangorocity Michael Bell Bridges & Clouds Paul Daniel Rafferty
06 Talking To Bangorians Conrad Macintosh talks to artist Lee Boyd at the Green Pod
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News Soup Lord Aswell III New Mayor
03 Get It Out O’Ye Extra on G.O.T. L.A.D. Feature Open Letter
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An Elegant Sufficiency
When I Was In India
Spencer Hollyhock enjoys a family meal in
Part VI Airport Meanderings
The Salty Dog
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Feuilleton
Aye on Sports
Paranoiaye, Fillum Review, Toobsphere, Recipe Corner, Cartoon
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RLR on China Super League
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News Soup - New Mayor comment by Alan Pritt - A comment on stuff by Lord Aswell III
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Openly Qualified Man Elected To North Down Mayorship
As Cllr Andrew Muir takes on the office of mayor, the Aye offers a fond farewell to the outgoing Mr. Irvine. No longer will we have the pleasure of Wezzer’s cabbage patch grin beaming at us from every page of the Spec as a reminder of what politics can do for a borough on its toes. North Down won’t be the same without him. His apparent lack of any qualifications relevant to the job made him the Mayor we all remember with such fondness. Congratulations are of course due to Mr. Muir but there have been murmurings in the chamber. He is the first openly qualified man to take the seat in council history. Cllr. Reginald Rhubarb (MAD) had this to say: “I personally have no problem with qualified people. I mean, some of my best friends have qualifications but I don’t want them waved in my face when it’s time for council club.” Mr. Muir has never made any secret of his controversial lifestyle. His web page lays bare an interest in architecture and environmental conservation, predilections that are seen as deviant amongst more
traditionally minded councillors. After news broke of his election the Aye received a crackly phone call from a source close to Town Hall: “I think it’s unnatural, so I do. An interest in serving the community runs contrary to everything the mayorship stands for. What can the cosmopolitan utopia of North Down do with a Peace and Conflict degree anyway? There are no universities in the bible.” It remains to be seen how mayor Muir’s outlandish approach to public representation is going to work but we’ll be sure to keep you posted. AP
The following entry was submitted by Bangorʼs own Lord Aswell III . Beware.. `~ " my dear lady".<><><><> < - LOCAL HOT POT Grass Plot SHOCK X2-> Council clash over growing concerns... whilst a strict protection order remains indupitably on the so called Hot Potato Plot ,@ Withnail Lane .~.fiasco "there may be trouble ahead" a curious Spectator confirmed. Stop Press Go 4 Arnolds post code lottery (exclusive). **** **** **** Later another B.B.C. spokesperson (plus expenses) finally admitted to me at the end of the day " worst case scenario? WE COULD LOSE THE PLOT ALTOGETHER ! " I didn’t get her number as she stormed of into the night
Religion is regarded by the common people as true, by the wise as false, and by the rulers as useful. Seneca the Younger (4BC-65AD)
never looking back,swerving round the traffic cones on her skateboard, glad to see the back of me im sure.. I thought "..Better to have loved. than to lose the plot altogether.. ---------------------------------Later that oid Chestnut and with Abbey in the picture. A tip of re/ illegal gradient scone making factory, resulted in a sensational two thonged operation. only interrupting a crucial c.c.tv fund raising tea break at near by Marquee ; three biscuit tins being accidently removed for cross contamination &`ALL``HE alledged .`. A long standing man who prepared to stay oblivious said “one minuet im dancing there,the next ‘Jumpted up’” entertainment officer Tommy Trinder (83). is appealing for super chill there,;as frenzied reporters some with hens teeth jumped desperately through hoops for scoops Twitter mad Tommy (79) with two followers twatted “dis happened last year Aswell.” .’an im sick of it’.” it’s Arnold H.E. confirmed, fortunately I’d just left the building (unlocked apparently). Yes ARNOLD ASWELL actually ~ chin -chin !
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Get It Out Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Ye - Jack Armstrong: An Extra on Game of Thrones (p.7) - L.A.D.: You Are Invited to... The Present (p.8) - An Open Letter (p.9)
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Jack Armstrong An Extra on
Game of Thrones
It began with a text. The message was from Extras NI, so I opened it. “If you are available for 23 days (mostly nights) and have either military or rowing experience, then please text back with your availability”. My reply was swift, because I wanted the work and because I was intrigued. The requirements implied battle scenes and action. Standing on a hill one week later, I was only fifty feet away when the explosion occurred. Four to five bodies went flying off the top deck and a few of them were on fire and screaming. I was on the ship when the next explosion happened. Running full pelt in my armour I passed a screaming man with his leg blown off as a burning man fell from the fore-deck. After each explosion the firemen extinguished the flames and the stuntmen were checked for injuries. I spoke to one of the stuntmen between takes and asked him what we (the extras) could do, to be better? He told me “Practice your sword-fighting. Use whatever you have, even a broom stick”. One week later. There we are, two hundred of us, dancing around on some waste ground above a quarry, practicing sword-fighting. The large castle that would be ‘King’s Landing’ was below us and the lake shimmered with a distorted reflection of the quarry walls. Out on the lake, rowers were rehearsing their beach assaults. The weather was horrendous and we watched in sympathy from the shore as they suffered. Two nights later, I’m rowing like mad on another rain soaked night towards that same beach. Several rowers from the previous nights had jumped ship and we were drafted in as replacements. The lack of experience in our boat would be hidden by clever editing and creative use of lighting.
We moved on to the assault stage and they brought in the horses. We would be fighting in front of the castle when the horses charged through the ranks. The idea was for us to create columns for the horses to charge through while creating enough space so that we didn’t get trampled in the process. Professional stunt men rode the horses and several were scattered through our ranks as well. This was a dangerous scene for all involved and it came as no surprise when a man was knocked down and trampled on by one of the horses. The surprise was that it was one of the professionals who was trampled on, and it was the same one who had previously questioned the calibre of extras used in these scenes. He shook off the pain manfully but it did make me think about karma. A recession back in the 1980’s and the one we are mired in now, had led me to that quarry years later. Perhaps fate plays a bigger role in our lives than I previously believed. The first recession led me into the military. The current recession gave me the opportunity to pursue this lark. Rowing coast guard lifeboats at Boy Scout camp gave me knowledge that I never thought would be of any use. Every choice we make changes the course of where we go. Some extras went on to take courses in weapons and fighting and would go onto work in other films. Life as an extra is not easy. If you’re in it for the money, forget it. The hours are long, and traveling to the film locations can be tedious. The conditions can be uncomfortable and the hours unsociable. Saying all that makes it sound horrible, but in reality it was fantastic. I made a lot of new friends and learned new skills that may seem unnecessary now but will prove useful later. The scenes we filmed have all aired by now, and seem an age ago. I’m currently growing my beard in anticipation of being called to act out these fantasies for when they start shooting the third series. I can’t wait!
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loyalistsagainstdemorcracy. blogspot.co.uk
You Are Invited To... The Present This article is an original piece from the L.A.D. Blog
The doors to the 21st century are wide open. They've been open for over a decade now and it seems loyalism is yet to step over the threshold. There's no entrance fee, no guest list, all are welcome. The only chipping happening in this brave new world is of the potato variety. Loyalism has become so entranced with the falsehoods propagated by unionist politicians, fiction is mistaken for fact and worse, the loyalist definition of what it is to be British, has become something completely unrecognisable to those elsewhere in the UK who would consider themselves such. While this is happening across Northern Ireland (or the North if you so prefer) it is specifically focused on parts of Belfast where loyalist communities are convinced everyone is out to get them. Loyalism lurches along, pieces falling off as it goes, ever more delusional, ever more directionless and most importantly, ever more isolated. This has to change. One thing that has been missing up to this point, is a definition of what being British actually is. It's probably easier to define what being British isn't. It isn't flying a flag. It isn't singing God Save the Queen. It isn't marching. It isn't a uniform. It most definitely isn't having a riot and above all, it isn't something that can be chipped away. Loyalists Page 8
@LADFLEG
need reassurance that being British is something which cannot be taken from them, in the same way as those who live here and deem themselves to be Irish, cannot be denied their identity. Then there's culture. How is loyalist culture defined? To those on the outside looking in, it's flegs, bonfires, marching and some more flegs and a bit of rioting. What do loyalists consider as culture though? Anytime we see a loyalist asked in the media, it's in relation to some emotive issue and we don't tend to hear a reasoned response. Culture and nationality are two different things. The problem is that loyalists use the terms 'British' and 'culture' interchangeably, which adds to the overall confusion. While so-called 'community workers' persist in telling us all that there is growing anger and frustration within loyalist communities, they seem to make no attempt to address this. These 'community workers' explain rioting away with the same throw away words and seem happy that restrictions on a tiny percentage of marches, or the flying a single flag on designated days can be described as an erosion of Britishness. Loyalists have been sold a strange vision created by a hard-core of wannabe noncelebrities such as Jamie Bryson, Willie Frazer and the Protestant Coalition (in the case of the Protestant Coalition, borderline mad, given the type of material they post. The Protestant Coalition facebook page shares more in common with the myriad of internet hate pages than with any "anti-politics, politics party"). None hold any mandate and all believe that their desires for a minority take precedent over the majority. Loyalists need to realise that they cannot cling to the past and a society that was so unevenly balanced as to be unsustainable. More moderate unionism, while perhaps not accepting the change wholesale, is moving in the right direction. Most importantly, loyalists need to realise that nobody wants to prevent them from marching, having bonfires or whatever. It just needs to be done in a way that accepts unionist dominance is gone and takes consideration of the fact that not everyone wants to celebrate loyalist culture.
/loyalistsagainstdemokracy
The Aye is happy to publish this open letter from one of our readers to a lost love. Feel free to send us anything and we will print it. Seriously.
In the middle of what will be the worst year of your life no doubt, I still fell in love with your beautiful brown eyes, your taste in music and what a great person you are. Apologies for all earlier messages where I didn't seem coherent to you, it was naive and juvenile of me, you just need to know this, because it's equal parts hilarious and even more embarrassing for me Shelly. Hope you get a smile out of this at least, and my rash behavior was shocking! Keeping me up to scratch made be both itchy and unable to sleep. Just to let you know and finally be fully honest, sorry for the drunken ones especially! Hope you're well xx P.S. I'm ok now, you always have been terrible at flirting and stick on Running Romeo, your recommendation while you're chasing rainbows :) I just had to clear this up for me as well as you! Much love, D
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Premium Local Verse - Bangorcity by Michael Bell; Photograph by Adam Walker (p.11) - Bridges&Clouds by Paul Daniel Rafferty (p.12)
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Bangorocity
You can feel its fingers all around Stickin’ in this stinking town, Clutching, sucking up ambition With its headf**king ammunition. Breeding acceptance, Don’t question this shite? Feeding on depression, Altered perceptions of life. Convinced you’re content But you’ve been conned, Your reality bent, Your day never dawns And thick mist like darkness harkens your decline. Its sharp starkness stabs at your mind As you see this monstrosity, This brain washing cacophony, Duped utopia by the sea, F**k you Bangorocity You feel it drag like a chain and ball, It rips to rags and brags as you fall. Never leave or achieve and never ever want. Like Irvine, Bateman and them Snow Patrol cnuts. It destroys self-belief And harvests envy. Recommending self-defeat, Friends become enemies. But pretend you’re okay, the Bangor way, That’s why you stay here day after day In this piss yellow/blue prison cell, Blissfully mellow, below, here in hell. “I must stop this atrocity.” A poet scribbles cautiously, Thin print for all to see, F**k me Bangorocity. Page 11
Bridges and Clouds...
Have you ever lay in a forest peering through the trees.. And watched the clouds drifting by taken by the breeze? Have you ever chased them 'til you're out of breath, head lifted to the sky.. No border guards to block their path, no people asking why?...
Now Bangor it is blooming, with a wealth of humankind.. A euphony of language and culture to help expand the mind... And yet I feel that shallow breath, spitting in my ear.. How dare they come and take our jobs, how dare they travel here?... So if you think you own this place, and your best word is 'why?!'... Look at my Kilcooley face, for this is my reply...
I was born in Newtownards, I'm not gonna slag it off.. Those hard workin nurses brought me into this world, with a slap in the back and a cough...
Should I have wandered down the street to earn myself a bob?.. Or stayed holed up in my estate and searched there for a job...
I grew up in good 'ole Kilcooley, a gem of an estate.. Where we lived and loved and laughed and cried and played footie until late...
If we're lucky we exist, for three score years and ten.. Get out there,open your heart, and make yourself some friends...
I never had to question myself, even with its bad name.. 'Cos we built our own wee bridges, while we were playin' games...
What kind of world would this be, if we are not allowed.. to love the people in our midst, build bridges or chase clouds?...
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Lee Boyd One Man and
His Pod
Interview:
Conrad Mactintosh Photos: Manfred Thomas
Talking To Bangorians Page 13
Something incredible has happened on Queenʼs Parade. Multi-coloured art pods have been installed on the reclaimed waste land of The Gap and in this one ingenious maneuver Bangor has catapulted itself into the future. Townsfolk and local artists have been encouraged to stamp their identity on the new mini village and have taken to the idea like ducks to water, making great use of the pods and the landscaped space around them in wonderfully diverse ways. In recent years Bangor has become a place of great cultural richness and the talent that produces this richness has found a headquarters here on the seafront. Iʼm going to talk to Lee Boyd, an artist who has his studio in the green pod. When in situ, Lee always keeps his door ajar to encourage visitors. My photographer and I receive a warm welcome to a space thatʼs a cross between an alchemistʼs workshop and a high-end art gallery. The work on display is for sale so the studio acts not only as a work place but as an office and a sales floor. I ask Lee how he ended up here. “I came to NI from Middlesborough in 2008. My dad was originally from Limavady and Iʼd been back and forth since birth. I wanted to get into the technical side of ceramics and the University of Ulster is one of the best colleges for that sort of study so off I went. After uni my first job was as a jewelry designer, working in a completely different medium. I get a great deal of enjoyment from learning. Even on the painting and drawing side of things Iʼm still trying to push the medium and better understand the technique. “I got into retail from selling jewelry and I actually left the art world for about fifteen years. I donʼt think that I was ever truly
happy doing that. I was living alone in Luton and my son was in NI so when my dad retired here too I decided to move across. It felt more like home.” Once here, Lee wanted to get back into art. He started working in landscape gardening and as part of that work he was required to take a course in stonemasonry. “As soon as I started carving I thought, ʻThis is what I want to do. I want to create thingsʼ. Luckily Limavady College was looking for a ceramics tutor and soon I was teaching BTEC National Diploma at associated degree level. I did that for three years before I was sadly made redundant. “After that I was on my own for about a year in Bangor and I didnʼt know anyone at all. I was becoming frustrated so I asked if the council could put me in touch with other local artists. A few of us got together, about fifteen at the first meeting in The Rabbit Rooms and out of that, Firsty? was born. Over time more and more people joined and now over five hundred artists make up the group.” Whenever the pods became available Lee was one of the artists to grab the opportunity with both hands, signing a lease for a yearʼs occupation. I ask him how things are running now that the pods have an artist in residence in nearly all of them. “Itʼs been a learning process for all of us. This project is something new and managing artists is like herding cats. Itʼs difficult to impose strictures but really itʼs more about guidelines. Whatever we do, we need to be constantly pushing to engage with the community and bring them to our work and art in general. Especially the artists with longer leases are expected to be here a given number of hours in a week to ensure that we can fulfill that part of the job and keep the place vital.”
“I get a great deal of enjoyment from learning.”
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Collaborative efforts between the artists have already born impressive fruit. As an example, “Lenka [Davidikova] was working in graphite, Michael [Geddis] was working with the same material in another pod and when Sarah [OʼNeill] turned out to be doing the same we decided to have a mono medium exhibition simply called Graphite. It was great. Weʼre here to develop our practice in this way, itʼs what itʼs all about.” The artists of Project 24 also welcome cross-disciplinary collaboration with the
Bangor; you can go out any night of the week and hear great music.” I notice a pencil drawing of a horse that reminds me of a Stubbs; very well observed. “That was done on Ballyholme beach a couple of years ago. Itʼs all observation; seeing whatʼs really in front of you. When I work on a portrait I never draw a face; I draw shadows and abstract marks that coalesce into a face. You need to properly understand what youʼre seeing, then you can deconstruct it and make it expressive
music world. A tryptic portrait of The Farriers hangs in Leeʼs studio, lit by the sunshine pouring through the floor to ceiling window. Three profiles rendered precisely in pencil. “Those were inspired by a rehearsal I went to. I was able to get an idea of how they communicated as a band. There was no sense of anyone saying, ʻOkay, weʼre going to play such and suchʼ, they would just hit a chord and then crack straight into a tune. A really strong professionalism. I mean itʼs not just great visual artists in
or abstract or whatever. Thatʼs drawing.” While Lee makes a coffee for my photographer, I examine an eccentric self portrait. “Thatʼs done in silverpoint. I primed the paper with gesso and sketched the drawing with silver. The silver oxidises to produce the lines. Itʼs how Leonardo Da Vinci used to draw.” There has been some competitive success including a television appearance on Show Me The Money in 2011.
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“The picture made it to the final even though I had thought it standard. I realised that the judgement of art is always subjective and, most importantly, never personal.” This kind of thinking makes it easier to compete for larger awards where only one person out of the many candidates can succeed. “We have a bit of fun with commiseration parties, all the entrants celebrating success and failure alike. The more competition the better. It makes sure that the bar is always being raised.” What really catches the attention in Leeʼs current work is a series he calls Manimals. Meticulously pencilled portraits of various humans with animal heads that are difficult to take your eye off once itʼs there. “I was studying wild animals in the zoo, just sketching. Thereʼs a viewing platform full of people in front of the monkey enclosure and if you look long enough it becomes hard to tell whoʼs who. In portraiture the public are often critical of a human face but they seem to engage very naturally with animals. Iʼm interested by how we tend to use animals to describe humans all the time [foxy/mousey/ bullish] and that many Greek and Roman myths involve gods visiting earth in animal form. If I see even a simple encounter in a bar I think, ʻThis has to be a manimal pictureʼ” A small boy with the head of a dog is pictured playing on the gun opposite the cenotaph in Ward Park.
“Thatʼs called Dog of War. Itʼs Ethan my son. He was ill when he was young and when I came to drawing him here, it made sense that he should be a scrappy war dog. It also reminds me of that scene in Dr. Strangelove with the guy riding the nuclear bomb.” Lee is already planning his next move, envisaging a studio with space enough to let to other artists. He is very good at conveying enthusiasm for his art and could be of great help to young artists starting out in a harsh business. “I feel that the tertiary educational system for artists is so dependent on face-to-face teaching. The limited number of tutors canʼt provide this and students are often paying for a course of self-education without realising it. Who is teaching you to paint; to mix colours? And of course there is a lot of politics in an educational setting.” Any advice for struggling creatives out there? “Draw what you love, what you feel a passion for. If your work falls short, ask how it can be improved. I have numerous sketch books filled with sketches and ideas written down. Things like, ʻdemonic pig driving a small sports carʼ and often that random thought will lead to a piece of real value.” ʻNuff said. CM
www. leeboyd artist .com Page 17
An Elegant Sufficiency Spencer Hollyhock reviews The Salty Dog
saltydogbangor.com Page 18
Top Dog Two plaques on The Salty Dog’s red brick facade proclaim it to be not only a Best Loved hotel but also a winner of the Taste of Ulster award. It is obvious before even sampling the food that these accolades are not misplaced. The quiet, stately building that has long been a prominent jewel in Bangor’s architectural crown commands panoramic views of Belfast Lough and the aromas emanating from the interior have been promising good grub to passersby since the restaurant’s re-establishment a few years ago. The Better Half and I take a moment to soak in the Autumn glow before entering the cool interior. The Dog is decorated in a palette of deep purple and magnolia with rustic red brick motifs. A roaring fire to our right is surrounded by sofas you could get lost in and to our left the
dark wood tables of the main restaurant ooze culinary seriousness from every knot. Attentive staff gather us up and ferry us to our table where we are met with open arms by my aged parents and my itinerant elder brother. He rarely stays in one country for more than 24 hours at a time so we refer to him affectionately as The Prodigal Son. After a bit of mucking about with seating arrangements the extensive wine list is passed his way. The man knows wine and is gratified to speak in some detail about grape varietals with our waiter who talks like a sommelier about smokey aromas and nice finishes. We decide to share three starters between the five of us from a menu that jumps off the page and straight to the salivary glands. A predictably well chosen white wine perfectly compliments smoked eels as firm as steak, pliant fried squid and a mind blowing hay-smoked arrangement of beetroot and goat’s cheese foam that tastes like forests smell; of earth and
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fragrant air with the goaty foam lending a complex animal whiff. Our plates are removed and another bottle of vino is chosen, this time an excellent golden amber number that carries in its aftertaste the embryo of the elegant brandy it might have been in another life. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the sort of wine that demands all your attention and only after a ponderous interval does the Prodigal break the zen-like silence. Seeing as he gets about a bit and can spin a good yarn, the spacetime at the table soon warps itself around the singularity of his worldly patter. He speaks of perilous adventures on camels in exotic far off lands before casually announcing that Land Rovers let in water on purpose. They have leaking designed in. Who knew? The spell is broken as our mains arrive. My old Dad is presented with expertly cooked scallops on a bed of delicately spiced lentils.
Mum digs into a fish pie stuffed with chunky cod and dark pink slabs of salmon, a host of molluscs, crustaceans and other delectable denizens adding richness. The BH is more than pleased with a whole sea bream and buttered samphire, combining to conjure fresh ocean spray and the crunch of kelp. The Prodigal tucks into a well-butchered fist of rare, bloody fillet steak that looks ready to surrender to even the dullest blade without negotiation. With a blare of trumpets my duck materialises. A good confit of duck requires a great deal of faffing about and takes two days to prepare. Before me lies a minimalist masterpiece. Two plump legs with bones like swords crossed on a field of pure white, the plate refreshingly devoid of any balsamic streaks or spots. The faculties are free to plumb a thousand fathoms of taste.
â&#x20AC;&#x153;Before me lies a minimalist masterpiece.â&#x20AC;?
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For what might be hours we sit like cows ruminating and going “Mmm”, washing everything down with that sunset wine. When the knives stop scraping we all fight the urge to lick our plates and soon the inevitable subject of dessert arises. Despite a serious risk of explosion we order a communal creme brulée and a cheese plate which arrive as perfectly pitched as the rest of the meal and are duly inhaled. Here one minute, gone the next. Hunger now sated and inspired by elegant handwriting on the large blackboard opposite our table, we wrap up the evening with a chat about fonts which turns out not to be half as dull as you might expect. The Salty Dog is a restaurant of an internationally high standard in a setting that’s hard to beat. Our bill came in at about fifty quid per head including two bottles of wine and a pint of craft beer. Not a penny was wasted. The experience certainly left its mark on my brother. He’s out there somewhere now with a tale to tell in famous foreign climbs; the tale of a funny wee town called Bangor where a little Salty Dog performs big culinary tricks.
Food: ★★★★☆ Atmosphere: ★★★★☆ Service: ★★★★★ Aye? 100% Aye
★★★★★: Alpha Dog; ★★★★☆: Top Dog; ★★★☆☆: Good Dog; ★★☆☆☆: Bad Dog; ★☆☆☆☆: Dog Do; ☆☆☆☆☆: Dead Dog. Page 21
When I Was in India... Harry Erskine
Part VIAirport Meanderings
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Before
boarding the plane at Bombay I had approached a chemist to prescribe me with a cure for a nasty infected throat that had been festering since I had left the ship. I inquired of the chemist if the tablets were quite strong and he had replied, “O no! They are VERY strong. You will have no worries when you take this medicine. But be careful you do not over dose.” I asked what would be the effect of an over dose. “You will have no worries ever again,” and he chuckled enthusiastically at his little joke. I took my seat on the plane feeling very light and faraway. I think I was grinning a lot. I was flying down south to the Nilgiris Hills to a tea plantation where I would live and work for the next three years. My occupation on my passport had been changed from ‘student’ to ‘tea planter’. At this time, the early 1960s, Air India not only gave out sweeties as comforts before take off but also offered mangos. While I knew what mangos looked like this was the first time I had met the fruit in a one to one situation, so to speak. As I pondered upon the problem as how I might gain access to the flesh the gentleman in the seat beside me enquired kindly, “You are, I think, a stranger to mangos” and lifting the fruit, deftly sliced it open and scooped out the large stone at its centre. I took a cautious nibble and was completely taken aback by the gloriously lush, cool, sweet taste o f t h e fl e s h . I t w a s a d e l i c i o u s gastronomic experience, which like so many first impressions was never quite equalled again. The stone hard fruit that is sold under the name of mango in supermarkets today bears no relationship to the warm fresh fruit.
My mango cutter was in early middle age with a glistening bald head above a narrow gently eager face like that of a conscientious teacher. “My name is Chadha, I am from Punjab.,” he said as he introduced himself and proceeded to strike up a conversation with me which developed into a polite, but insistently interrogatory series of increasingly difficult questions. “You are, I think, a stranger to India? Where is your home? Ireland. Where is Ireland? An island to the west of England. How large is the island?” Flying above India in the jostling premonsoon air waves can be an exhilarating experience so long as you remain convinced that the pilot is not some drunken joker who is throwing the plane all over the place just for the hell of it. We were coming in to land somewhere and the plane was dancing above a field of dried mud, at least that was all I could see from my aisle seat. As my interrogator was unconcerned I assumed that this was a scheduled landing and to my relief, in spite of our erratic approach, the pilot put the plane down gently. I had no idea where we were and in my pleasantly drugged condition I did not really care, but I was aware that I was not at my destination of Coimbatore and I surmised that we were to be transferred to another plane. Mr Chadha graciously guided me to a veranda on the front of a small wooden building that resembled a modest cricket club house where we joined other passengers sitting in a row staring out at the hot and dusty landscape. Waiting for connecting transport can be a frustrating hiatus for travellers who cope with the enforced idleness in different ways. Some dive into books, others sink into mental turpitude while others become agitated and fidget.
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Often those with children become irritated or embarrassed by their behaviour which may be quite harmless play that actually provides interest to the other passengers by diverting their attention from the tedium of the wait. There is very little talking and those that do so converse in subdued voices. Perhaps it was because we were not in a confined space that none of the p a s s e n ge r s d i s p l aye d a ny o f t h e behavioural symptoms I have just described, but instead sat placidly gazing at the view as though that was their purpose in coming here. All the women were dressed in brightly coloured saris or pyjamas with long tops and while most of the men wore jackets and slacks there was one clad in jodhpurs and another elderly man dressed in a spotlessly white dhoti and carrying an umbrella. Mr. Chadha continued to ask questions about my home and just as he inquired, “Is Ireland part of England, then, politically?” a woman’s voice came over the loud speakers and everyone rose in preparation for embarking. It was one of those misfortunes that happen for no reason whatsoever that my friend and I were the first of the passengers to leave the pavilion and the others trustingly fell in behind us to form a column resembling a school crocodile. “You say part of Ireland is part of England. How can this be?” We had arrived at the boarding steps to a plane when a mechanic appeared from behind a wheel waving an oily rag directing us to another plane to the left of us. “So, the part of Ireland which is part of England has its own government. Why is this?”
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The voice from the speakers was agitated and had risen an octave. “You say the government of the part of Ireland that is part of England is subordinate to the English government?” “Yes. It’s called home rule.” “Home rule. What is that?” We had just climbed to the top of the boarding steps of the next plane when an alarmed official shot out of the cabin and talking very fast and gesticulating excitedly pointed to yet another plane which neither Mr Chadha nor I had noticed. The members of the column turned about awkwardly and, no longer placid, shuffled back down the steps muttering. Those who had been at the rear were now in the van and led us confidently and with authority giving the impression that they had known all along that this was the proper plane. It had the appearance of a mutiny neatly executed. The voice from the speakers was now strident with frustration and, I thought, even abusive. “Mr Chadha,” I said “I thought you understood the directions from the speakers.” “Not a word. I don’t speak the language. I am Punjabi” “Then why did you lead every one to the plane?” “I did not lead anyone. They chose to follow me.” A hostess at the top of the steps was carefully putting a tick on an empty page as each passenger passed and after we had entered she totted up the ticks and closed the door behind us. I may have been over sensitive but I thought I felt an air of animosity within the plane. Once settled in his seat with his safety belt secured Mr Chadha turned to me. “Now tell me this, what is home rule?”
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AYE ON SPORTS - The Random League Report with James Hullington (p. 27)
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Chinese Super League (Top Tier League, China) – Shanghai Shenhua F.C. vs Guangzhou R&F F.C. - Hongkou Stadium (Shanghai) (30/06/13)
Well, most sports journalists today are in Brazil covering the Confederations Cup Final (Brazil v Spain) happening later this evening but not this one who instead is in China to cover this CSL (Chinese Super League) match between Shanghai Shenhua F.C. and Guangzhou R&F F.C. This looked to be a good match up pregame as Shanghai Shenhua F.C are underperforming in the table this season sitting in 13th and looking to improve on their bad form. Guangzhou R&F F.C. find themselves in a similar position sitting 9th in the table. It’s also worth mentioning that Guangzhou R&F F.C. coach is one Mr. Sven-Göran Eriksson if anyone remembers him (Ex England Manager, Ulrika Johnston etc). I know what you are all asking though, “But James, how many Brazilians have they got??” and surprisingly a total of 3 play for Guangzhou R&F F.C. and none for Shanghai Shenhua F.C. So the Hullington Theory favours Guangzhou R&F F.C. on this occasion. Both teams started the half well and looked very energetic creating a lot of pacey counters on the wings. In the 19th minute Brazilian Rafael Coelho picked up a loose ball just outside the box and beautifully chipped it past the keeper making it 0 – 1 to Guangzhou R&F F.C. Nigerian International and former Everton F.C. star Yakubu (now @ Guangzhou R&F F.C.) nearly made it 2 with a lovely hit free kick that hit of the bar in the 33rd minute. Shanghai Shenhua F.C player’s refused to go down without a fight and a fantastic corner kick from Chinese International Wang Changqing whistled agonizingly over the bar in the 39th minute. Then in the 42nd minute Syrian Firas Al-Khatib was brought down inside the penalty area and the referee pointed at the spot. Firas Al-Khatib did not disappoint sending Guangzhou R&F F.C.
Goalkeeper Cheng Yuelei the wrong way and making it 1 – 1. Despite the Hullington Theory Shanghai Shenhua was still looking good as the half time whistle blew. No changes made at half time for either team as the second half got underway. But Shanghai Shenhua kept the pressure on resulting in several chances on goal but none hitting the back of the net. Guangzhou R&F F.C. Goalkeeper Cheng Yuelei also kept his team level with a series of impressive saves as Guangzhou R&F F.C. attempted to weather the storm. This was clearly frustrating the Guangzhou R&F F.C. player’s as several yellow cards were handed out as result of bad challenges. However, Guangzhou R&F F.C. would hit back in the 67th minute as Syrian forward Firas Al-Khatib sent the ball skyward just in front of the Shanghai Shenhua net. Guangzhou R&F F.C. did hit back in the 74th minute with Yakubu hitting a volley wide from inside the Shanghai Shenhua box to try to rally the Guangzhou R&F F.C. attack, but the defensive efforts of Shanghai Shenhua kept the score 1-1 as the game moved into injury time. Three minutes of stoppage time to be played with Shanghai Shenhua looking like the more impressive side. But clearly Guangzhou R&F F.C. were not done just yet as Rafael Coelho was just wide for Guangzhou R&F F.C. as the final whistle blew. Final Score: Shanghai Shenhua 1 - 1 Guangzhou R&F F.C Looks like my Hullington Theory (Brazilians in a team = Football success) is again thrown into question. Only one thing for it: More RLRs to better test it! With that in mind we are going to run another poll for next issue so you will get the chance to decide what random league you would like me to review. Please keep an “Aye” on our Facebook page for more information on the next poll. Get in contact bangoraye@inbox.com with Sports Desk (RLR) as the subject. Page 27
Man of Steel (2013) Directed by Zach Snyder With Henry Cavill, Amy Adams, Michael Shannon
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As
we reel from the revelation surrounding the identity of the actor to play the new Batman, I felt it would be apropos to review one of Holywood’s recent forays into the realm of the comic book hero, namely Superman, or as he has been christened for this outing, “Man of Steel”. Before beginning, I must first admit that I did not come to this film unburdened by pre-conceptions, as I have previously seen and hated 2006’s “Superman Returns”. In my view this film took the analogy of Superman and Christ and pushed it to the very limits of the bleeding obvious. Also, Superman is not my personal superhero of choice, as I much prefer the tortured psyche of the Batman. It is with both these caveats that I present to you my take on the newest Superman, Zach Snyder’s “Man of Steel”. The eponymous role is taken by, at least to me, the virtual unknown Henry Cavill. It would be hard to argue that he does not fill the role, almost to bursting. Before the film has really begun we are left in no doubt as to his physical attributes as he emerges from the ocean stripped to the waist and shaking his head like a model in an aftershave advert. However, there is more to Mr Cavill than sheer physical presence and he handles the role well. It is not his fault that Superman the comic hero is, in fact, a complete wimp. Not for him the internal, eternal battle of good over evil as he fights to convince himself that he is a sane and rational person. Not for him the fear that he may be as insane as his worst enemy. No, Superman is Good and as such he has no need to fight internal demons, as he has none. This does, I am sure, present a challenge to the best of actors, as there is little to work with. “What is my motivation?” he may cry. “To Be Good,” is the eternal answer. But wait, and here I must warn, comes a SPOILER ALERT. How good can he be when he destroys an entire, fully populated city, when, it eventually transpires, he could have simply broken the neck of the baddy right from the start? Obviously “Man of Steel” is not alone in having its final scene as one of utter devastation, “Avengers Assemble”, I’m talking to you…However, at least in Avengers they had a hard time getting rid of the baddies, in “Man of Steel” the baddy is finally dispatched with ease, leaving me to wonder why Superman didn’t just do that in the beginning.
Of-course, Superman was not created out of nothing, he had parents, one of whom was Russell Crowe. Unlike Marlon Brando’s brief role in the 1978 “Superman”, Mr Crowe does not just place his only child in a baby spaceship and wish him well. Oh no, he fights baddies, flies on dinosaurs (or something) and then appears throughout the film to dispense advice and help his son and obligatory female journalist to save the day. As if having Kevin Costner (I know, I thought he was dead too!) as your earth Daddy wouldn’t be enough of a guiding hand, as soon as he is gone, (in a tawdry little scene that stretches the limits of acceptable self sacrifice) in jumps Mr Crowe to take up the reins of guiding the hero. I may have found this less tiresome if Mr Crowe hadn’t looked as if he was wearing a movement hindering corset under his alien dressing gown. (This may have been a ceremonial robe of some ilk.) None the less, I was impressed by how much help a hologram can be in close quarters fighting and escape scenarios and he does add something, although what it is I’m still not sure. Heavyweight supporting cast aside, Mr Cavill makes a good fist of the role and Mr Snyder returns to form to present a watchable film. It could be argued that flashbacks were used somewhat too liberally, to the extent that when I thought we were going to get another one I nearly walked out, but maybe that is because I know Superman’s back story and found the retelling a bit tedious. There are some clever plot devices that help to move the story along and the baddies are lovely and bad. And the Chirst analogy? Well, its still there, Mr Crowe sends his son to save us all and show us a better way, but it is only alluded to a few times, as opposed to forced down our throats, so I was able to turn a blind eye for the most part. This film is not re inventing the wheel, which is fine, we have wheels and they work jolly well for the most part, as do most of the comic hero films made. Mr Cavill looks good in the suit and just about pulls off being the goodest boy in the world without it becoming too tedious. But will I still be singing his praises when he is paired with Batman, a man so riddled with self doubt it is hard to see how he gets out of bed in the morning? A man who takes his lead from bats and darkness rather than the good old patriotic red, white and blue of the ‘Murican flag? Played by Ben Affleck? I’m sorry…I have to go now…*sob. See “Man of Steel”, before Affleck ruins it all…. Page 29
Toobsphere Adventures in Television with
Freeman Fenwick-Smythe
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Throughout
Spring and Summer, for reasons that I canʼt be bothered to investigate, I was given a welcome respite from my work at the Aye. Without the slightest thought of television to bother my serene environ crops rose and ripened, lambs and calfs were born and my vegetable patch burst into petulant life, threatening to breach its railway sleeper levies. As Autumn comes Hill Farm is a joy, especially after getting outside a few measures of my own Old Widower Brandy but alas, all things must pass and this morning the Aye Editorship broke the peace by phoning me in an agitated state and demanding a dispatch from the Toobsphere by tomorrow AM. I need the money so as the sun goes down behind the Hill and the starlings flow like quicksilver to their roosts I light a torch and prepare for a night expedition. Tiptoe with me past snoring behemoths that will rise again come morning when we must be good and gone. Hereʼs Boss (C4), a gritty procedural starring a genuinely scary Kelsey Grammer as crooked Chicago mayor Thomas Kane. Any resemblance to Frasier disappears when Kane shows himself to be a violent bully, prone to physically and mentally abusing anyone who attempts to usurp the smallest iota of his power. To add heat, Mayor Kane is the victim of a terminal disease that is gradually destroying his nervous system with symptoms that include delusions, psychosis and intermittent paralysis. Very watchable telly. A snort compels us to swing our torchlight towards a small pack of Current Affairs programs, fast asleep and dreaming of satire. In its waking hours, Question Time (BBC) is still rumbling around Britain making sure people can shout at politicians in lots of different accents and thatʼs all for the good even if it is a bit like the Colosseum sometimes. There was even an
example close to home when Jr. got the thumbs down from Dimbelby and sure it was prapper brutal to watch the unholy lions do their work. Have I Got News For You (BBC), the alpha of the group, twitches its nose in a deep slumber. It is recovering from a tough day feeding on politicians, its most recent outing doing a far better job of making the news funny than The 10 0ʻclock Show (C4). This young pup has all the parts of a good satirical program but somewhere falls far short of its true potential. Laura Laverne reads everything she says from a teleprompter but still manages to fluff her lines an average of six times per episode with Jimmy Carr coming in a respectable second with about three gaffs in any given seven minute skit. “But itʼs live”, they cry. “Well it shouldnʼt be,” I say as another light rig explodes in the forlorn hope of relieving the drudgery. I can hear laboured breathing up ahead. My beam alights on a wretched bag of bones that cringes and tries to crawl away on broken limbs. Itʼs Kevin (BBC) is a hideous malformed thing, a freak from good stock. Kevin Eldon has played hilarious bit parts in nearly every British comedy of the past five years and yet whenever he was put in charge of his own project, he hired a room and painted it white and therein brought forth an aberration less spoken of the better. Let us proceed. Quietly. A concrete wall looms from the darkness. This is the cell block where the rogue programs are held during the hours of darkness. They say Revenge (C4) never sleeps, not since the Incident anyway. This previously entertaining animal completely lost its already tenuous plot somewhere near the beginning of season two and started hurting itself and the channel that fed it. Frothing about 9/11 and insisting that it was Twin Peaks, there was no other option than to lock it up and throw away the key. Page 31
Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean people aren’t trying to kill you.
+Mark ‘Chopper’ Reid+ Psst...Over here...Are you sure you werenʼt followed? Shh...All right, listen carefully. This is a brand new section dedicated to blowing the top off the whole stinkinʼ Thing. The Troot is out there and itʼs knocking on my office door. Come with me, Chris Holdt on a journey to the rotten core of Stuff. Convinced of a Rothschild/Rockefeller plot to control our money and so our lives? Certain the New World Order and its minions intend to erode our liberties and turn us all into human batteries? If the answer to either of these questions is Yes then this is the place to air your thoughts. Send all your most mental conspiracy theories in a black envelope to bangoraye@inbox.com and finally see the Troot in print!
Here are some of the people old and new that are/were on the Committee of 300 headed by our very own Queen Lizzy, Vol, 2. See how many you know. 00-05: Illuminumpty 06-15: Illuminearly 16-25: Illuminati Anne, Princess Royal+ Berlusconi, Silvio+ Charles, Prince of Wales+ Darling, Alistair+ Edward, Duke of Kent+ Ernst August, Prince of Hanover+ Gates, Bill+ Gore, Al+ Hague, William+ Kerry, John+ Kissinger, Henry+ Mandelson, Peter+ Manning, Sir David+ Miliband, David+ Miliband, Ed+ Murdoch, Rupert+ Oppenheimer, Nicky+ Osborne, George+ Sarkozy, Nicolas+ Thompson, Mark+ von Habsburg, Otto+ Warburg, Max+ William Prince of Wales+ Williams, Dr Rowan+ Woolf, Harry,+
According to NWO conspiracy theories who is to be Crowned Master of All The World in June 2015? a) b) c) d) Page 32
Jeremy Clarkson Prince William The Lizard King Steven Spielberg Answer: B)
To book a workshop or CrafTea Party e-mail: info@crafteaparties.co.uk or text: 07598018855
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Recipe Corner with
Gerda Dunnes Fluffy Sponge for Anything Ingredients 125gr / 4.4oz Flour 125gr / 4.4oz Margarine 125gr / 4.4oz Sugar 3 Eggs 1flat tsp Baking Powder
Bowl Electric Mixer 26∅ Springform 1Pk Stabiliser for whipping cream
Pre-heat the oven to 180ºC Fan/ Conventional. 2. Put the margarine and sugar into a mixing bowl and mix until fluffy. 3. Add the eggs and mix until bubbly. 4. Add the flour and the baking powder and mix for ages. You want a nice creamy consistency almost like pancake mix or thick paint. The creamier the mix the fluffier the sponge will be. 5. Grease the form properly(!). 6. Put the mixture into the bowl. Be very careful not to press out all the air that you just spent ages getting in there. 7. Bake for ca. 20mins. Check with a very pointy object if the cake is ready. If any dough sticks to the object it’s not quite ready yet. Tip: When I bake a cake I always leave it in for an extra 3-4mins. after it’s completely finished. It’s 1.
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a bit of a risk but the cakes have always been that bit better. 8. Leave cake to cool in the form. 9. Before decorating spread a packet of stabiliser for whipping cream (you can find it in most continental shops) to avoid seeping from any decorations into the sponge. Decorate with whatever you want. Here’s what I do: - Canned or fresh fruit topped with gelatin to hold the fruit together. Served with whipped cream. - Tip: If you live near a continental shop try to get “Tortenguß.” It is like gelatin but better. You simply mix the content with 2 TBS of sugar in a pot, add 250ml of water/ fruit-juice/ syrup from canned fruit and stir continuously while heating until bubbles appear, immediately spread over the cake from the centre to the outside with a spoon.
Cartoon by Disco Stu
Wit &Whimsy 'It's now very common to hear people say, "I'm rather offended by that", as if that gives them certain rights. It's no more than a whine. It has no meaning, it has no purpose, it has no reason to be respected as a phrase. "I'm offended by that." Well, so f*@ÂŁ#g what?' Stephen Fry (1957 - )
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