A Watery Tale

by Anne Ward 

Legend speaks of strange goings on. Fact or fiction, it’s a compelling story of the day they flooded the village of Dracoe to make a reservoir on the moors.

There had been much protest by the locals, warning of a curse should even one brick be touched.

All to no avail. In came the bulldozers, the gravel grinders and an army of work men in yellow safety jackets and white helmets, they looked like mobile banana splits with ice cream on top (that’s the only humour there is in this account).

The tiny church bell tolled for the last time before it was removed, (or was it?)

With a roar like an unleashed lion the water gushed in raging torrents engulfing house after house, down the once bustling streets when the village had been a market place.

In the background people bewailing the warning that went on deaf ears.

The water reached the required level, a high wall was built round it, the crowd dispersed.

For a while all seemed quiet, the protestations of the villagers appeared unfounded, until...

The environmental health came to take samples for consumer quality, many a test tube and bottle were filled labelled and sent for analysis.

Meanwhile the scientists aware of the stories asked had anything happened regarding the curse (which said those who disturb the sleepers did so at their peril ).

At first no one came forward. Then like a sluice gate had been opened, report after report of ghostly sightings, cries of anguish , the bell tolling and the strange red stain across the water, was it dye, animal blood, or Human?.

It goes back to the name of the village (Dracoe), the disappearance of young girls once they reached eighteen, the bodies found with unexplained bite marks, something which started slowly and came to an abrupt end in mysterious circumstances, as if an agreement had been signed with something evil.

Now no attention had been paid the shadows had returned and they were out for blood.

The wind howled, the water from the natural springs trickled in to the reservoir, the bush grass and the bull rushes swayed nothing looked different to any other manmade lake on the moor except...

Floating on the surface was the body of the publican, the fact he had been missing for two days wasn’t unusual the outcome was not expected.

Once again the crowds gathered as the body was brought ashore. Questions were asked, was he dragged in by forces unknown, or too drunk to realise his plight. Peace is restored, the shadows have been quietened. On certain eerie nights the bell tolls, the water bubbles up and traces of a red stain are left on the edge of the wall...

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Blood on the Track

By Alan Wilkinson

*THE FOLLOWING IS A WORK OF FICTION*

I am afraid I was a sickly child-but it seemed to run in our family- but I made up for that being brainy. Not that I appreciated this at school, I got picked on beat up and chased. I was nerdy and weird, and back then the chase ended quickly because I was slow and awkward.

But I got into Princeton History.so up yours Brad Cooper and gang. I was reading European history and the Romance languages, I guess my interest and adeptness in these subjects was in part hereditary,- my great grandmother fled from Rumania pregnant with Joel , my  granddad –the story goes she came into Ellis island, apparently a poor emigrant, she then  headed into the American heartland –to apparently not be found by her husband. She wound up in Cincinnati and promptly brought the fine detached four bedroom house I was brought up in –she paid for it with jewellery she’d hidden about her person.

I grew up a sickly swot, fascinated with East European history and languages. I was a nerd but I was going to be a multilingual well paid nerd.

At Princeton it was Jane who changed everything.

Jane Hall was one of the brightest stars of our year at Princeton, even cleverer than me, but also attractive and a superb athlete. When I saw her at the track she was everything I wasn’t and, I realised everything I wanted to be.

She filled my daytime reverie and haunted my gothic dreams- I’d been assailed by what I would term Gothic mythic nightmares ever since I could remember. Those monsters now shared my sleep with Jane, where she took the role of heroine and monster slayer.

I tried to run, perchance to gain a lady’s favour.  On one of my painful jogs I cut myself badly and I needed a blood transfusion. It was hard to describe the effect of that transfusion-after it I had so much energy I could run, talk and socialise like never before. But after a few days it had worn off-leaving just a memory of what life could be like.

I wondered what to do, plainly I could not injure myself every week to get a transfusion,

Could I buy a blood transfusion? I could finance it by giving language lessons maybe?  I asked around students on campus and came up with the name of a guy at a nearby Hospital who would sell you blood -the price depended on the rarity of your blood. Mine including transfusion was $500 dollars a pint–boy that would take a few language lessons to afford on a regular basis –and I needed it to be regular.

The alternative was to rob the bank, the blood bank-ha ha. Trouble is that might end in a blood bath ha ha! So maybe I would have to resign myself to maybe one or two pints a month.

Which would be most beneficial to me, a little every day or splurge the lot when some special event came up? I would need to read up more and test things. I needed to research this vital subject. As I read I came across something athletes used to do to improve performance which was classed as cheating and is banned now. Blood Doping- this requires you to take out a pint of your blood and put it in the freezer, your body replenishes the missing blood, and then you put the other blood back increasing the bloods efficiency.

Doping might be cheaper –but I doubted it would be enough on its own, my blood was weak stuff –on its own -it was not as effective as other peoples donated fresh blood.

So I did both-the same medical guy helped me blood dope every week for £60 dollars on top of monthly transfusions. You might wonder at my standing the cost and inconvenience of all this –but to me it changed my previously grey world to a new multicolour world.

So there was no question, it was my way forward –giving as many lessons as I could–I had the energy and the drive as long as I kept freshening up my blood

And my running was improving

Then a third darker phase came with my blood obsession –a side which chimed with those nightmares dreams I’d had since childhood.

There was an unfortunate incident by the canal one dark night, a guy fell over cut himself called for help, no I didn’t push him over, honest. I went to help. I accidentally got some blood on my lips before I knew it I was sucking his blood, he fought but I knocked him out.

After that things started to change quickly-I was literally becoming a different person; vigorous lively passionate and starting, for the first time in my life to be good at games. Running not jogging.

What with running, studying and starting to chase the lady’s, I needed to keep topping up my blood with fresh blood-from not two but my three sources. Transfusions, doping and now, a drink of the occasional passing vagrant’s blood. Poor souls who would wake up with headaches and feeling tired and listless, ha ha. This way was dangerous but it boosted me as much as the transfusions but cost nothing and was weirdly empowering.

My life was changing Blood doping and the blood of dopes was transforming me

I was running well, I was on the edge of the track team now and nearly, in rubbing shoulders distance of Jane. She was in my dreams and nightmares-I hoped soon she would be in my life. She had a boyfriend, also a track star, Jeff Wiles. I’m sure I could do something about him.

There are always problems in life, but my life was coming to life.

….to be continued

                                                                                                                  Friday 17^th May 2013

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Money, money, money – how did it make so much?

by Anon

Mamma Mia the movie was released in 2008. It went on to become the highest grossing musical of all time internationally. It’s the sixth highest grossing film of all time in the UK behind Skyfall, Avatar, Titanic, Toy Story and Harry Potter. You could say it’s in good company.

Nominated for two golden globes and three BAFTAs, I had high expectations and rightly so I thought as I glanced at the stellar cast list on the back of the DVD case recently, having never seen the film or the musical it was based on.

Set on a Greek island, with songs of Abba, the story revolves around a young bride-to-be, Sophie and her desire to find her father. The film opens with Sophie looking forlorn and out to seas as she sings “I have a dream”. From then on in, the film goes rapidly downhill.

After reading her mum’s diary from around the time she was conceived, Sophie writes to her three possible fathers to invite them to her wedding because obviously the mum had the foresight to write their full postal addresses in her diary and nobody has moved house in the last twenty years.

Regardless Colin Firth, Pierce Brosnan and Dominic Cooper turn up and it would have been better if they hadn’t bothered. Their singing is absolutely terrible and as the film goes on, there is a glint in Firth’s eyes to suggest he too is unconvinced that taking this role was such a good idea for his career.

Meryl Streep jumps around for most of the film singing and dancing under some delusion that she is   captivating and irresistible to these three men that have come back into her life even after Firth’s character, without a clue or hint throughout the film, announces he’s gay - maybe it was practicing all the Abba songs that did it.

The film culminates in the daughter’s wedding that in the end doesn’t take place so after twenty years of not seeing each other Meryl Streep’s character and one of the three fathers decide to get married instead to save wasting the souvlakis.

Not even Abba’s music or the stunning location could save this film from being a Greek tragedy.

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A Female Perspective

By Pamela Winning.

I think I must have missed a vital point somewhere. I thought we had gender equality in the UK. I was shocked to the core when the Church of England’s General Synod voted against women bishops. It made me angry that the Synod could get away with it. Personally, I’m not so close to church or religion to feel affected apart from what I see to be blatant discrimination. Women can be ordained priests but not allowed to progress. Why not (for God’s sake)?  It’s like telling women teachers they can’t apply for a headship. At least, that’s how it looks to me and this must be the point I’m missing.  So the Church of England is a law unto itself, living in the dark ages yet concerned about dwindling congregation.  How sad to be seemingly lacking in any forward thinking.

My generation has grown up with equal opportunity. Thanks to Mrs Pankhurst, I cast my first vote at the age of eighteen. I passed my driving test in 1973 and I was already earning a wage in 1975 when the Equal Pay Act 1970 came into force.  Discrimination against women, however subtle, is still there in various forms and we’re still fighting it.

Women in so called ‘men’s’ jobs often have a hard time. Women drivers come under a       constant barrage. We handle it all because we have to and luckily, most of us can. Strangely, it seems acceptable to have topless models but breastfeeding in public can still raise disapproving eyebrows and requires specific legislation.

A quote from Unicef:  “The Equality Act 2010 gave explicit protection to breastfeeding mothers, requiring that they should not be discriminated against because they are breastfeeding.”

Sometime in the future, there will be women bishops; strong minded women who will fight for their right to be where they belong. It’s how it has to be.

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Sell by Dates

 By Anne Ward

 Has the world gone mad? If a product hasn’t got a date on it, even if it doesn’t need one, some consumers have become so obsessed by them they just won’t buy the item!

There are care lines printed on the back of margarine tubs. What’s it going to do? Shout “help” when it’s empty?

A sell by date is there as an advisory aid – more for the shop than for the purchaser. It’s to tell them how long to display the item before it has to be removed from the shelf. The sell by date doesn’t mean the product is no good once that date has passed.

This is where the confusion lies. This is why perfectly edible food is being needlessly thrown away.

It seems common sense has been forgotten.

If you’re unsure about using or eating something : smell it. Check to see if it’s gone from liquid to solid. Or maybe grown a fungus. If any of these things have occurred then don’t use the item. An advisory date will not tell you that.

There are some instances when the date is of no use at all. Milk is a good example. On the carton it may have a sell by date but at certain times of milking, milk can turn very quickly. Milk may even go off before it’s put on the shelf. It pays to look carefully at the product - not to rely on the date.

Eggs – always open the container to make sure none are cracked.

In my opinion, by putting sell by dates on products, supermarkets have (metaphorically speaking) shot themselves in the foot. By the end of the trading day some goods will have to be reduced in order that as many are sold as possible, otherwise they will end up as waste and be deposited in land fill. The public are aware of this and many plan their shopping times to coincide with the shop’s actions thus grabbing groceries at a knock down price.

It’s good to know that someone is profiting from this madness.

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Cameron No More

 By Alan Wilkinson

You may have heard they are going to vote north of the Border about whether they’d be better off without the rest of the UK.

So? If it wasn’t for the oil who’d care?

That’s the only trouble. They’re swimming in oil. So they think they can go it alone.

But it’s the UK’s oil really, it just so happens they’re the nearest part of the UK to it.  The Scots didn’t make the stuff for Pete’s sake. It’s always been there-all the time we were in charge of Scotland - oil was there- waiting to be used when someone invented engines. If it had been 300 years ago there would be no argument it would have belonged to our King.

But now they have us over a barrel, an oil barrel.

Ok let’s look on the bright side just think what we could get rid of.

Scots get £12 MILLION extra from the exchequer. Why? It’s called bribery for staying in the UK, but they wouldn’t get that anymore.

And think what else we can get rid of…

Glasgow no more…

Midges no more…

Deep fried Mars bars no more…

Nessy no more…

Bagpipes no more…

No I can’t wait for Scotland to vote to separate itself from us

The Edinburgh Festival you say? That’s easy, the BBC can do our version, ‘The Edinburgh Festival in the Park’ with Matt Baker, Alex Jones and lots of UK comedians who daren’t offend the Beeb.

And the border, would be a real border. Border Controls just north of Hadrian’s Wall.  With a vast toll gate. Every Scot who entered England would be charged. No the Scots would not get off scot free

Hold on, I can hear you say. Hold on a wee Scottish minute. If we did that, they could do the same. Yes but more would be trying to come out than would want to be going into Scotland, wouldn’t they?

 As the situation escalated the Scots would commandeer Hadrian’s Wall which would take on a new sinister modern purpose. Keeping out the English and keeping in the Scots.

Give it ten years and it’ll be like North Korea and South Korea, those poor scots will be living in a desolate half-starved environment, living off haggis and whisky, swimming and washing in oil. That would teach them. Petrol, petrol everywhere: but not any proper food to eat. Just like Scotland now really.

While on our side of the wall there would be Free Nessy protestors walking up and down for the TV. And a land flowing with milk and honey.

So think on Scotland think hard before you vote for freedom from England

If you do goodbye to …to…

Cameron, no more,

Expensive student loans no more,

Greedy bankers no more

Wonga no more

The One show no more

Liberal Democrats no more

Hang on a minute I just have an urgent appointment …in Scotland… before the wall goes up …and I hate milk and honey too!

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A Ghost Tour of the Grand Theatre

By Pamela Winning

My friend and I had visited the Grand Theatre many times. We’d laughed and cried and sung our way through lots of productions over the years. We didn’t know what to expect when we booked our places on a Ghost Tour, but we were ‘up for it’ and arrived dressed for warmth, carrying torches and giggling like nervous schoolgirls.

We were part of a small group, taken round by an informative guide. He fascinated us with his knowledge of the theatre’s history and renovation. He took us backstage, where, in one of the dressing-rooms, I had a feeling of being unwelcome. We went on to the stage where my friend and I sensed different things. She became lightheaded; I experienced a sudden, sharp headache. Both of us were perfectly fine when we stepped down from the stage.

After the guided tour, we were left in the semidarkness to wander around or sit in the theatre. At the back of the stalls, my friend was aware of a strong smell of cigar smoke. I have no sense of smell, so could only take her word for it. There was no explanation for the wafting of a curtain across a closed doorway. We watched our shadows on the wall. There was the shadow of a third person: but there was nobody else anywhere near us. We stood slightly apart and the third person was between us. We were sure that the man watching us from the dress-circle was not from our group.

Later, the group sat together at the front of the stalls. The guide listened to our reports and told us things he’d been keeping to himself until this point in the evening. Years ago, someone had an accident on stage which included a head injury. A past manager of the theatre used to stand at the back of the stalls smoking a cigar. Someone had fallen to their death from the gallery to the stalls. A particular seat in the circle gave the occupant the sensation of being shaken … this was something that happened to my friend when she’d gone to see a show. There was an area in the centre stalls where people felt someone tap their shoulder or grab their arm. This had happened to me sometime previously when I’d been to see a play and I knew it hadn’t been my imagination. The guide had no explanation to offer; he just said that many people at different times had mentioned it.

It was an interesting way to spend an evening. My friend and I were enlightened, but not scared. Fear came another time, on a Ghost Tour of the Spanish Hall. But that’s another story.

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Lest we forget

 by Anne Ward

The Cenotaph (from the Greek for Empty Tomb) designed and built in 1923 by Ernest Prestwick, is of white granite ashlar, it stands 100ft high and is dedicated to the courageous soldiers who gave their lives for freedom.

It stands on Blackpool’s Promenade, positioned between the North Pier and the Metropole Hotel. On each of its four corners are sculptures of fighting men representing the armed forces. Amongst the host of other figures captured in action on two sides of the monument is a tiny figure of the artist Gilbert Ledward’s cat.

Surrounding the Cenotaph are many short pillars depicting the heads of lions as if on century duty. In recent years a choir stall has been added containing the words: “Sing Softly, Be Still, Cease.”

Throughout the year there are many battles to commemorate which means, regularly visible on the steps, are wreaths of red poppies made by the Royal British Legion.

Set in a well of green lawns it is a place of tranquillity were we can pause reflect and be thankful; where for a moment in this busy seaside town, buzzing with excitement and laughter, time can stand still. 

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Come and Have a Laugh on the Prom

by Pam Winning

What can be constructed from the printed version of hundreds of catchphrases and one-liners?  Designer Gordon Young had the imagination and inspiration to use the idea and the result is one of Blackpool’s newest attractions, the ‘Comedy Carpet’ on the Promenade.

It’s much more than a visitor attraction.  Situated on the new headland in front of the Tower, this 1880 square metre cross-shape is a unique monument capturing the history of Blackpool’s comedy entertainment.  Over 850 artistes and writers are featured on the ‘carpet’, from the music hall stars of yesteryear to modern day ‘stand-up’ comedians and more than 80 per cent of them have performed in the resort.

The artwork is in the style of newspaper columns and consists of assorted fonts, colours and sizes, separating the jokes so each item carries its own merit. The best view of the whole ‘carpet’ is from the top of the Tower, but to enjoy it properly, read it at ground level.

Laughter is said to be the best medicine, so come on down to Blackpool’s Comedy Carpet and have a good giggle in the fresh air.  And, just like the best things in life, it’s free.

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A Seaside Belle Once More

by anon

Once the ugly sister of the UK’s coastal spots, Blackpool has recently had a makeover. Well actually it’s more of a surgical facelift with a multi-million pound investment into its promenade, tram system, town centre and other tourist attractions.

Over the last seven years, Blackpool has been buffed, polished, nipped and tucked to reveal a seaside town almost unrecognisable from its dark and depressing recent past when it was cruelly nicknamed Cess-Pool by its more sophisticated seaside siblings.

But it’s Blackpool who’s having the last laugh as visitor numbers continue to grow whilst other UK holiday spots struggle and it’s not hard to see why.

Blackpool is a town that doesn’t take its self too seriously and therein lies its beauty, a juxtaposition of tacky and tradition, it’s a place that wants you to enjoy yourself and with so many things on offer, you’d be hard pushed not to.

Highlights include a trip to the top of the tower where the views on a good day allow you see as far as the Lake District. On a bad day you’d probably be lucky so see as far as the beach below but the recent addition of the Walk of Faith, whereby you’re dared to walk over a reinforced glass walkway, is pretty thrilling in itself.

A walk along the Golden Mile starts at south pier and ends at north pier and shows Blackpool at its finest with stunning views out to sea, three piers, the newly created Comedy Carpet, the tower and many amusement arcades. No walk along the promenade is complete without a Mr Whippy ice cream, it's a tradition (albeit one I may have created myself).

The new tram system runs the length of the promenade from Star Gate in the south to Fleetwood in the north and is certainly well worth hopping on especially if you can time it that you jump off again before the conductor has got to you to take your money.

The Pleasure Beach caters to the dare devil tourist with its various ghost trains and rollercoaster rides including the not so creatively named Big One which was the tallest and steepest rollercoaster in the world when it first opened in May 1994.

Town planners and tourist bosses alike have been working hard to make Blackpool relevant again and their hard work appears to be paying off. Has the tide finally turned for Blackpool?

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Shakespeare

by Dorothy Gibbons

Tuesday 23rd April 2013 - Birthday Celebrations of William Shakespeare

Why is Shakespeare so famous?

Shakespeare lived more than 400 years ago. Yet people still go to see his plays. Student's of every level learn about him!

 Every year on 23rd of April we celebrate the work and life of William Shakesphere.

 One of the best writers ever: William Shakespeare. He was born –supposedly, I know- on April 23 1563 in Strafford-upon-Avon. He wrote many of the best plays ever written for theatre. Hamlet, Othello, Henry V, King Lear, Macbeth… Today, we would like to celebrate his birthday for the glory of words, theatre and literature.

Two of my favourite works are Romeo and Juilet, and Twelfth Night.

A quote of Shakespeare :" Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them."

William Shakespeare

He grew up in Tudor England in the time of Queen Elizabeth I.

He lived in exciting times. Francis Drake sailed around the world (1577-1580). Shakespeare was probably in London when the Spanish Armada sailed to attack England in 1588. He saw the coronation of King James I in 1603. 1605 was the year of the Gunpowder Plot and Guy Fawkes. Shakespeare died in 1616.

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Grundy Art Gallery

(Blackpool’s’ premier place of Culture)

By Alan Wilkinson

Blackpool’s own art gallery sits quietly next to Central Library. It is a welcoming place-but you have to make the initial choice to cross its threshold. I suspect many people walk past it without either knowing what it is, or even noticing it.

Grundy Art Gallery organizes programmes of contemporary visual art exhibitions. Featuring both established and emerging artists. It also has its own collection. The Grundy draws on its Blackpool heritage while embracing contemporary culture. Blackpool provides a unique platform to work upon which is challenging and exciting for artists. They can develop ideas and take risks in a stimulating environment.

The Grundy Gallery opened in 1911. It was built by Blackpool Council -as a place to house an important bequest of artworks and partly financed from a gift from John and Cuthbert Grundy Both were artists. The Grundy collection, itself, is not on permanent display, but items from it are featured as part of the temporary exhibition programme throughout the year.

The Grundy Gallery is part of Blackpool’s Arts Service-which delivers art projects which engage Blackpool residents, visitors, students and artists. It is a prized, key part of the town’s unique and cultural heritage and latter-day environment.

The current featured exhibition is: “All that comes between us, until 11^th May. It is a solo exhibition by Andrew McDonald and includes a number of new sculptures and hand drawn animations.

“McDonald's drawings are an alternate world where darkness is riven with flashes of light illuminating absurd and horrifying scenes. “

“Just as all good horror films draw on the watcher's expectations of what will unfold to build suspense so McDonald's intersperses scenes of seemingly unobtrusive rooms amongst images of giant fingers ,a pair of lifeless legs or a knife piercing a table. He  arranges ordinary scenes in themselves not threatening , but disturbing in their juxtaposition."

There’s more to the Grundy…You can join a learning group. Community adult and youth groups can visit the Grundy independently or book on a tour and workshop. The tour is an interactive talk about the exhibition currently in the gallery space, followed by a creative workshop enabling the group to explore an element from the exhibition.

You can attend annual art courses to discover contemporary art, for instance on May 1st, at 12.30, Andrew McDonald will talk about his practice and current exhibition. There is an ongoing programme of events, talks, workshops, and of course exhibitions visit the website regularly.

Visit the Grundy: Blackpool's place of culture.

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Talk of the Town

 by Anne Ward

“Blackpool! What  attractions  has  Blackpool  got,  huh?”

"Aren’t  I  attractive?  Me?,   after  all   I’m  the  town  they  are  talking  about! If  I  wasn’t  here  and  as  wonderful  as  I  am, they  wouldn’t  have  anywhere  to  put  their attractions.

“No  it’s about time they gave me some credit, because  of my position on the map I provide  my  own  microclimate, which  means  my  weather  is  just  that  bit  different  to  the human  forecast.

"Here  it's ruled  by the  Irish  Sea,  very  unpredictable,  can  be  calm,  rough  or  stormy,   sometimes  all  in  the  same day. My  sandy  beaches  are  inviting. Watch  out  for the tide. It  creeps  in  when  you  aren’t   looking. Keeps  you  on  your  toes.

"I  have  eleven   miles  of  coast line  and  my  very  own smart  new  tram. It runs smoothly up and  down  its  track  there and  back. It’s  such  fun,  of course.  I  have  a train  as well. Oh  yes! Mine  is  an  end  of  line  station,  all the best  trains  come to see me!

"To  the  south  I  have  an  airport  with  planes  going  to  destinations  were they  speak  foreign languages,  it’s  all  Greek  to  me. 

"I  hear  some  dreadful  news  reports  about  Blackpool. Those  humans get  drunk,  fall  down, come  dressed  in odd clothing, doing  strange  things.   They say, 'Blackpool this and Blackpool that...' but it’s not  me. It’s  the  humans that  are  to  blame,  they  give  me  a  bad  name  and  that  hurts!

"I  have  a   friend called  Stanley. He’s  a  park,   a  haven  of  green with  trees,  flowers, birds, squirrels, a lake  and  a bandstand. A  place  were humans can  play, rest  and walk  around  in safety. Even  he  has  problems. It  seems  that  some  of  those  humans  want to cause mischief and spoil what  he has to offer.

"However, not  all  humans  are  alike. Some  do care  how  I  look  and  want  to  keep  me  well maintained,   so  I  strike  a  balance  between  good  and  not   so  considerate. To  survive  I  have to  be  everyone’s  friend. It’s  hard  when  they  keep  digging  me  up,  removing  this  and  not  replacing  that.   Stanley  is  upset. They’ve  even  taken his lions away  now  for fear they would be damaged.  I comforted him, saying they would  be safer with their  friends  in Stroud.

"This  is me  Blackpool  a  coastal town  in Lancashire and now  I  have  revealed  my  feelings.

"Whilst I welcome visitors openly perhaps they may spare a  thought  for me and treat me with the respect I deserve. Remember if I wasn’t  here  they  couldn’t  be!”

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World Book Night

 by Alan Wilkinson

 World book Night is tonight on 23/04/2013 On the 07/04/2013 we had World Book Day and as night follows day we now have World Book Night

World Book Night  is tonight so everyone can queue up at their library for a designated book and a cup of Horlicks-or hot chocolate-strictly no booze, you buy that yourself-it impairs  reading pleasure ,who can read Gone Girl  while lying in a ditch in a drunken stupor?

Seriously World Book Night  is a celebration of reading and books when thousands of passionate volunteers gift specially chosen and printed books in their communities to share their love of reading with the unread.

The website says “it’s about people, communities  reaching out to others and touching lives in the simplest of ways, through the sharing of stories.”

Or is it middle class intellectuals foisting their pretensions and prejudices on the largely uninterested!

  To be fair it has worthwhile purpose in spreading the reading of books-even if in twenty years’ time such an endeavour may seem relevant,in the way its relevant  keeping steam trains working

What happens? Each year 20,000 volunteers hand out 20 copies of their favourite from 20 books chosen by an independent editorial committee. Oh no

Members of the public sign up, giving  away their chosen book with information on where, to whom and why they want to give their books. They inscribe the first page with their name,  the bookshop or library name and a unique identifying number so  each book can be tracked

In addition the mysterious World Book Knight distributes 100,000 books through the schemes partners ,libraries and bookshops; to the hardest to reach potential readers in prisons, care homes, hospitals, sheltered and the homeless and through partner charities  throughout the UK.

Hundreds of events take place across the country on April 23 to celebrate books and reading.To actually place books into the hands of those who don’t read is incredibly personal, peer to peer encouragement of potential readers

April 23 is a symbolic date for world literature. It is both the birth and death day of Shakespeare, as well as the death day of Cervantes. In their honour UNESCO appointed it the international day of the book and that is why it was chosen as World Book Night. April 23rd also marks the city of Barcelona's celebration of St George's Day. St George is the patron saint of Catalonia as well as England and traditionally, to celebrate this day, Spanish gentlemen gave their ladies roses and the ladies returned the favour with a book. If you can think of any other reason why April 23^rd is a good day for World Book Night, please email the committee, they seem to want as many reasons as possible no matter how tenuous to celebrate on this day

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Past & Present

by Pamela Winning

It’s been a weekend to celebrate the lives and work of two great British writers. Saturday marked the 60^th birthday of Sebastian Faulks. He has a compelling style of complex story telling that evolves slowly and demands attention. I wondered what had hit me when I started to read Birdsong. I couldn’t put it down, yet I couldn’t take it all in. His brilliant characterisation never fails. I will never forgive him for the ending of On Green Dolphin Street, but I will always have an affinity with his female lead, Mary van der Linden. I wonder if he ever read Charlotte Bronte?

Charlotte Bronte was born 197 years ago on Sunday. Her stories reflected the harsh, difficult times of her childhood and the unquestionable acceptance of it all. There was sacrifice and sorrow in abundance, but no bitterness.  Jane Eyre was rewarded with the happiness her eventual marriage brought her. Charlotte declined the first proposal from curate Arthur Nicholls. Later, she accepted him and settled into a comfortable, though short marriage. 

Two authors, a century and a half apart, share similarities. Both were compelled to write from an early age, both were teachers and both wrote articles before they became novelists.

The world of literature is forever blessed by the wealth of their contributions.

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Smart Phone – Twit of a user

 by anon

An expectant father-to-be risked the wrath of his wife as his passion for social media led him to spontaneously tweet the birth of their child live from hospital - complete with pictures.

Mum certainly wasn’t the word this week when Aidan McManus from Crosby Merseyside decided to tweet about the birth of his second child live from the delivery suite complete with stylised photographs.

“I made sure she didn’t feel neglected throughout and whilst we didn’t discuss it beforehand, Tracy is used to having a camera pointed in her face since I got into photography,” Aidan said.

If Tracy hasn’t killed him already somebody needs to tell Aidan there’s a slight difference between taking a few happy snaps of your wife pottering around the back garden in her sun dress and the excruciating pain of childbirth and the indignity of wearing a hospital gown with your legs akimbo.

“Given Tracy was busy with the birth, she left it to my discretion to take the photos and share them with my hundreds of followers.”

Poor Aidan, I suppose it must be quite annoying when your wife is ‘busy’ giving birth and you’re just standing around in the delivery room with nothing to do. Thank goodness he found something to keep him occupied. But in Aidan’s bid to share one of life’s most precious moments with the world, whether they were interested or not, how much of it did he actually miss because he was too busy choosing a filter on Instagram or editing his thoughts down to 40 characters?

The introduction of Smartphones has had a profound effect on social media and our ability to share information instantly with anyone who will follow, poke or bookmark us. The problem is we’re so busy crafting the perfect post, tweet or update and applying a photo effect we’re actually in danger of missing the real joy and emotion of the very same moment we’re trying to capture.

Asked if he planned to use his iPhone for other special occasions, Aidan replied that he will do a special montage of the Christening. I will be watching paint dry that day and tweeting about the process if anybody’s interested. 

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London Marathon

by Anne Ward

21st April 2013

It’s The London Marathon

I'm trying to catch up with Ron

He's running for British Red Cross

Wearing a mourning suit from Moss Bros

Me? I'm running scared,

Only entered for a dare

Wish I hadn't bothered now

Feel a fool dressed as a jersey cow

Moooving on, there's Eminem

teamed up with Mo Molem

rapping along to a great rhythm.

Looking through these sad cow eyes

It does my heart good to see all these girls and guys

Give up their time and spend their energy

Running for charity to help one and all

Thirty-three years this event has been going

So come on join in

You will have a ball.

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Dog Show

by Anne Ward

Do you have beady eyes, a cold wet nose and alert ears?

Can you strike a pose on your four paws and hold your tail up high?

If so put on your lead and bring your owner to enter you in The Dog Show at Stanley Park,

Blackpool. It starts at 2:00pm Saturday 20th April 2013.

Show how well you can strut your stuff

If you are good enough.

You may walk off with the winning trophy.

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East - etymology

by Anne Ward

E A S T

Is a noun, a descriptive word for a Compass point or a type of wind, which is normally cold, strong and searching.

The direction of the Sun rising and the area many religions face in order to pray to the sun itself, or as the

Ancient Egyptians did to pray to ( Ra ) the God Of The Sun.

The Far East refers to Oriental Regions, China, Japan, Vietnam.

The word is derived for the Godess (`Eostre), Godess Of The Dawn.

Also known as the Lavante wind causing high seas, clouds and rain.

However, the East Wind does sometimes bring good weather and in this event it is called The Lavante Blanc

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Gooseberry - etymology

by Anne Ward

MEET  THE OLD ROUGH  RED AND HAIRY  AMBER OTHERWISE  KNOWN  AS  THE  GOOSEBERRY

Taken  from  the  Dutch (Kruisbes)  German (Karausbeire)  Latin (Grossularia)

Known in the  (Specipic epithet) as Uva Crispa  meaning Curved Grape

 

This  hard skinned, hairy green or red sour fruit has been growing in our hedgerows for hundreds of years, growing between 3 to 10 feet tall, people have used it to make jams, wine, crumbles and fools.

  It was used as medicine in the middle ages for cooling  raging fevers, hence the English name  (Fea berry) ,  also in Scotland as the (Grozit)  and in Norway as  (Stikkelsbaer or prickly  berry).

       In  the  18^th  century it  became  a cottage garden plant, popular in Lancashire, grown and developed in to the larger rounder fruit we recognise today by the cotton spinners, who prized it for it’s vitamin C content.

            The  phrase (Found  under  a   Gooseberry  Bush )

Was  a 19^th century slang  term  for (Pubic Hair),  so when as a child we asked our  parents were we came from and the answer was (Under the Gooseberry Bush)   we were given a true reply

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