Amateur Ramblings

Plaques

For some reason, around five years ago, I accidentally started photographing all of the blue plaques in Leeds.

I remember having my interest ignited after spotting my first bright blue disc against the red walls of the Quebec Hotel in the city centre. It marked the building's original use as the Leeds and County Liberal Club. Once I'd captured a few, my slight tendency towards obsession informed me that I had no option but to complete the task I had unwittingly started.

I was of course aware of the concept of the blue plaque scheme, but previously had no idea that there were so many in Leeds. A little research quickly found more than sixty-five, and over the years this has increased to a little short of one hundred and fifty official Leeds Civic Trust, Wetherby Civic Society and Ilkley Civic Society blue plaques, plus a handful of others that fit the bill of being plaques that are blue. Or black. Or even red; to be honest, so long as they mark a building, person or even an event, they are round and they have an LS postcode, they are in my collection.

Or at least they are added to my list; a few are currently inaccessible. A mop-up trip was long overdue, and a week off work afforded the ideal opportunity to get out and bag some of the plaques missing from my collection.

A route was identified to allow me to get about town using only a FirstBus DayRider ticket (Gemma was at work so I was without the car). And in fact most of the day went to plan. Here are the results:

A walk into town the previous weekend allowed me to snap the new plaque at the Irish Centre, so my trip started on a bus. I hopped off at the BBC Studios at St Peter's Square, then headed to Commercial Street before going down to Holy Trinity Church. That was the first disappointment of the day - it was closed (as it had been on Sunday)*.

Never mind; onwards to Park Square. But where was the plaque? Upon checking my itinerary I realised that I'd made an inexplicable mistake - the Odd Fellows plaque was in fact in Queen's Square. What a fool! Never mind; I was able to quickly plan to swing by the correct location later in the day.

I boarded a bus to Pepper Road in Hunslet to pick up the accessible-daytime-only Yorkshire Patent Steam Wagon Company plaque, which is tucked away down an industrial side-street that I've had a look down before. But the plaque is further hidden by being behind some big gates that are normally locked on an evening and at weekends.

A possible lengthy detour on foot to the John Charles Sports Centre (buses go there in the evenings only) was avoided by a trip there in my car earlier in the week. Instead, my iPhone told me my bus to Bramley would arrive in two minutes. I thought if funny, then, when it immediately appeared. Only when I had boarded did I twig that this was the 86, not the 85. But a quick check of the WY Metro area map reassured me that in fact this service might even be quicker as it avoided the city centre.

At Bramley, I took my picture and straight away caught my connection towards Headingley. But as we pulled out of the bus station, I happened to glance to my left. I was shocked to see a blue plaque that had totally kept itself under my radar. What to do? Could I come back in my car one evening. I thought it a shame to have to do so given I was so close now. Back to the iPhone; the Next Bus app told me that I could meet with the bus back to Bramley at Kirkstall. So I did.

Back on the next 91, I had only lost half-an-hour. I had a little trouble finding the William Astbury plaque in Headingley, but that was again my fault for writing down the wrong house number. Then I walked to my location in Burley before having my longest wait for a bus - frustratingly this was for the 56, which supposedly has an eight-minute frequency.

I alighted at the old BBC Studios on Woodhouse Lane, where there were two plaques to be had, before picking up the Queen's Square plaque I missed in the morning. Finally, a quick journey to Roundhay Park to snap the blue plaque on The Mansion, before heading home.

Phew, what a long but successful day.

*Update - since drafting this post I chanced upon Holy Trinity Church being open, and seized the opportunity.

Mid Morning Matters

We've started watching the new episodes of Alan Partridge last night (via Gemma's iPhone, of all things). Busy Steve Coogan (we're also watching The Trip) reprises his role as the eponymous DJ, now working for North Norfolk Digital, with Tim Key as his sidekick. I'm pleased to note Armando Iannucci's involvement in the project.

The first episode seemed pretty solid. Alan is just as cringeworthy as ever, and is found delighting in this zany new 'zoo' format. I was reminded of the infamous and curtailed interview between Les Ross, who as resident breakfast presenter on Birmingham's BRMB I grew up with, and Hardeep Singh Kohli:

Catch Me If You Can

I just listened a wonderful little program broadcast during the week on Radio 4. Fittingly for this weekend, it's about 'ghost trains'.

Otherwise know as parliamentary trains, these are infrequent and inconvenient services operated by train companies to avoid the difficulty and expense of officially closing a route.

'Most bizarre is the case of Newhaven Marine, a station which is technically open, and is served by one train a day. But the station is behind a locked fence and passengers are forbidden to get on the train, which does not appear on any timetable. The company offers to provide a taxi service to any passenger "in possession of a valid ticket". But it is impossible to buy a ticket.'

You've still got a couple of days to listen again.

Disappearing City

I heard an interview with James Griffioen on Americana recently. He worked as a lawyer in San Francisco, until he decided to move to Detroit with his family to document the depopulation of the city. It immediately made me want to check out his work. Here is some of it:

 

 

 

Famous Notorious Talented Glamorous Turbulent Unpredictable Celebrated Infamous Rebellious Colourful & Idiosyncratic

Coincidentally, Friday 10th September's episode of Woman's Hour was taken up entirely with an interview with Deborah Mitford, a.k.a. Deborah Vivien Cavendish, Dowager Duchess of Devonshire.

If you've never heard of the Mitfords, my suggestion to you is to immediately stop what you are doing (which, in all likelihood, is lazily browsing the Internet) and read about their extraordinary lives.

You can still listen again to the program, via the BBC's excellent iPlayer feature.

 

Trust In The Trust

Yaaay!

I totally thought it was all over for BBC 6 Music. But my favourite music station has been given a reprive.

No Big Mistake

You should be listening to Adam Buxton's new Sunday lunchtime show on the apparently doomed 6 Music. I listened to the Podcast of the first episode, which had as a guest Julian Barratt of The Might Boosh fame.

The show is, as the title suggests, a music show which plays songs and sounds centered around a weekly theme. Saturday's broadcast, which can be listened to again here for the next couple of days, was constructed around mainstream experimentalism and featured a wonderful tracklist.

I am intrigued by the title of next weeks show: Toddler Tunes.

Six Offender

As I walked through town today, I saw a police car draw up alongside a busker who was mid-tune (High and Dry by Radiohead). The policeman got out and I overheard him explaining to our song-smith that they has received a complaint from members of the nearby Leeds Library.

I didn't realise that this was a kind of metaphor, albeit a pretty weak one. For the TV screens in Barclays Bank minutes later were confirming news that had been expected for a week or so; the BBC are closing 6Music.

This is my joint-favourite radio station (along-side No-Fun FM), and the decision seems both wrong and against the principles of the BBC. How can it be in the interests of 'Inspiring knowledge, music and culture to be closing down a station almost entirely staffed by knowledgeable music-lovers? As is so often the case in such matters, Andrew Collins analyses the situation well. I think this is a clear case of the BBC pre-empting enforced cuts that it perceives will be forced upon it by the next government, whatever its colour.  

So, if you care about saving a really good little radio station (one that could reach a much larger audience if it wasn't restricted to digital broadcasts), tell the BBC your views here.

Heading back towards the office, I noticed the busker was still playing, sans police accompaniment. Another metaphor? I hope so.

The Balky Mule

I got word via Facebook last night that my good friend Sam Jones (who was my housemate and a fellow band-member of The Insects of Greece from my period living Bristol) was in session as The Balky Mule on Marc Riley's 6Music show yesterday evening, . Unfortunately the notice was not sufficient to allow me to listen live, but I intend to listen again sometime within the next week. 

Three week catch-up

Gosh, I don't know where to start. It's been a while; it seems like an age since I last posted, but in reality it was only a fortnight or so. I'm like some kind of blogging bulimic - I seem to post regularly and with increasing frequency, even daily for a while, then neglect things for a couple of weeks.

'Hey daddio', I hear you ask, 'You been frisking your whiskers, or are you just whipped?' Well, I guess a little of both. Let me tell you...

Firstly, and mainly, Olive. She's growing fast these days, and I like to spend as much of the short amount of weekday time between coming home from work and her bedtime with her as I can. I actually think I'll post separately about her recent progress. Likewise, our increasingly distant trip to Madeira will still benefit from a post of it's very own (which I think might take the form of a photo-journal). So what else has occupied my time?

Well, for one thing, the recent mini-heatwave. If you live almost anywhere in the UK, you can't have failed to notice that last week saw temperatures reaching the high eighties. Of course, the country moaned and groaned as it mainly failed to cope with this altogether predicable weather event. For our part, we helplessly oversaw the temperature in Olive's room reach 29°C on Thursday. It's still only down to 23°C today. Olive didn't seem to mind the heatwave. I guess she must have inherited some kind of tolerance from me - I was born into the summer of 1976.

Another thing that has occupied my time recently has been the task of uploading a six-month backlog of pictures onto my Flickr pages. And I'm pleased to report that I am now mainly up-to-date. You can therefore see my recent efforts here.

The weekend after we got back saw us calling into Venture, a national chain of photography studios that specialise in expensive and contemporary-styled portrait work. Gemma's mum had won a free session and picture, and a significant minority of her family turned up to take advantage of this. The poor photographer was certainly tested, but managed to capture some pretty good shots (which we saw at a viewing session a week later).

After the posing, I dropped Gemma at a pub near Pugneys in Wakefield for an afternoon reunion with some of her university friends (who, due to Gemma's continued maternity leave, have overtaken her and are now qualified as nurses). Olive and I went on to Crofton to meet up with Andrew and Michelle at a 'carnival'. To be honest it was barely a fete, and we stayed only a short while before heading back to the Davies', where we were joined by Gemma  for takeaway tea. We slept over and had every intention of going back to Crofton in time for day two of the carnival. A car boot sale was also promised by the posters, but by the time we arrived late morning there was no sign of the carnival and the last couple of cars were packing up. We bussed over to Sandal, where another car boot was happening, but here too the event was packing away as we rounded the corner. You can read more about the weekend over on Michelle and Scarlett's blog.

The last Saturday of the month of June saw Gemma and her sister Neeley heading over to the Old Trafford cricket ground in Manchester, where the popular group Take That were performing. I understand that they enjoyed the show, although Lady Gaga, one of the supports, failed to show, and the crowd received a soaking from a pre-show shower of rain. My weekend was mostly taken up with listening to and watching the BBC's fine Glastonbury coverage. I've never actually been to the Glastonbury Festival; I reckon it's just too big for my liking. But via the excellent broadcasts over the weekend, I was able to catch sets by Neil Young, Franz Ferdinand, Crosby, Stills and Nash, Blur, Fleet Foxes, and The Specials. Over on 6 Music, Adam and Joe were presenting a number of shows. I'm not sure I really left the house at all.

I'm having continued troubles with our car, and Evans Halshaw, the garage from where I bought it as new less than eighteen months ago, are not showing any signs of being able to fix things to our satisfaction. Since last year there has been a leak in the driver's door, whereby heavy rain flows in through the speaker. The car has been into the garage at least five times previously, but the problem has not been resolved (despite promises). Hopefully, following two further days on the ramp, the leak has now been fixed. We'll see. Also, some paint underneath the driver's door as started to flake off. I don't think the two are related, but this second problem requires yet another visit to the bodyshop. I think I'll write to Vauxhall once all the lemon tendencies have been put right.

To Liverpool, for Deb's birthday. For the first time, we stopped with John and Christina, who have a lovely city centre flat, just two minutes walk from the new Liverpool One shopping centre. The weekend was to have featured a picnic. Sadly, the beautiful weather didn't last and unpredictably heavy showers forced us to seek an indoor venue. A lovely little pub called The Railway near to Deb's flat in town was deemed fit for purpose, and there we commandeered a couple of snugs. Olive's bedtime informed an early finishing time for Gemma and me, but we were able to meet up with everyone the next morning for breakfast, before we headed over to the Anglican Cathedral for a look round (we discovered a wonderful graveyard below the cathedral, in the vast pit from which the sandstone that was used to construct this massive house of God was quarried). After the inevitable coffee, we packed up the car and drove back to God's own county.

There now, all up to date. And don't we all feel better for it, as if we've all had a blog enema. A blenema.