Grand Union Canal Walks

Yesterday my attractive young ladyfriend and I took a long stroll down the the towpath of the Grand Union Canal, our walk took us from Alperton to Portabello. it was about 8.5 miles in total and the weather was grand.

Our first rest stop was at the Grand Junction Arms, a nice canalside pub with a large beer garden. I drank an ale called Tribute which was exceptionally nice, and my ladyfriend too a pint of cola.

A few miles further on we noticed through a gap in a fence, a wonderful derelict office block.

It must have been a fine place to work in its time, but now most of the windows were smashed and the litter strewn around gave the place a post-apocalyptic feel.

We were too afeared to explore far inside the building, I could hear running water, and the graffiti suggested that local rapscallions frequented the place.

Soon we continued on our way.

The river wild life was interesting, all the birds building their nests, from wee terns bobbing along with their mouths full of twigs, to herons such as this on, regally fussing over their estates.

I couldn't stop thinking about dinner, all the visual cues were whispering to me "roast duck", although I'm not sure that these were the eating kind.

We're from the internet, we're here to help (part 4)

Are they all the same? Are they as bad as each other? Is bad even the right word or is there something in their nature?

Politicians that is.

I'm still playing around with the expenses versus majority spreadsheet, my mind boggles. In lieu of having a job and any other productive thing to do with my time, I'm in the Brioche cafe in West Hampstead, I've had one cappucino, one hot chocolate, a glass of water and some apple and toffee pie and I've got some cool new graphs.

We've previously shown that in the great scheme of things MPs with very safe seats, with huge majorities tend to claim a little more in expenses than average and MPs with unsafe seats and very slim majorities tend to claim less than average.

But there are different types of MPs, some of them are Red and some are Blue, Labour and Tory. Now historically Tory folk have been rich land owning upper class and Labour folk are from the working class, so you'd kind of expect Tory folk to not claim much cos they don't need to and Labour folk to claim everything they can because they don't need to.

I'm not sure what to expect of the LibDems but hey, lets look at the graphs.

The old scatter graph still doesn't show anything clearly, its just a big noisy Jackson Pollock style thing. We've ranked all the MPs expense claims and ranked all the majorities, and plotted it with colours representing the parties.

If you squint, you can see that the orange blobs, representing LibDems, they seem a bit sparse the further you look to the top right. But other than that, I see nothing significant.

So let's do those quartile bar chart things for each of the parties.



Crikey!

I know what you're thinking, and you're right.

The graph for Labour shows some kind correlation. But right now, my head is mush, and I can't work out what it means.

Back again

I've walked for miles and miles. For days I've had this vision in ma heid of a beach at sunset. It could have been Skye or Loch Lomond or countless other places from the past, it was warm, the midges not too bad, An Teallach on the horizon and friends farting. Lost somewhere in the past.

This vision needed to be visualised, verbalisation ain't enough, so I sought photos from which to sketch.

I knew the territory was dangerous, but overestimated my ability to withstand the feelings of jealousy and rejection. It held my insides so tightly, I couldn't breathe.

Before things could get worse, I shut down my computer, unplugged it and sprinkled salt over the threshold.

Outside the sky was blue, children played football, folk trekked home from work and I headed north to the Grand Union Canal, then followed the towpath east towards the city.

In my mind, the same feelings rocked like the maelstrom. Dark storm clouds rose on the horizon, jagged shards of lightning heralded the opening of the heavens. Snow, hail and rain. The weather suited my mood, but sadly not my clothes.

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Eleven miles later, the sky was blue and cloudless, darkening with evening. I rolled into a quiet 13th Noteish bar, Oh Bar, grabbed a pint of Guinness from the barmaid who looked like Cameron Diaz and started forth onto the ether with my mobile phone.

63336 Any Question Answered says "The London Bowlie kids are going to see 'Hayman, Watkins, Trout and Lee' perform downstairs at The Kings Head, Crouch End. Last Harbour are also playing". Folk in Glasgow are going to The Flying Duck and I fell asleep reading Atlas Shrugged.

It was a mindboggling combination of trains and buses that got me to 2 Crouch End Hill.

£9 in and missed the support act. The room was dark and full. Jona present and Gina near the bar, 63336 was right.

I settle at the back with my notebook. A beautiful girl with her hair in ringlets sits not far away.

On stage, the familiar drawl starts. Whilst for years I was just vaguely aware of Hefner, it wasn't until the joyful days of 2006 that I was taken along and warmly embraced the songs and the music.

This carried on through the dark days and into the sunshine of 2007 with countless more shows caught.

I still find myself aching, what am I doing here? What do I hope to find? The answers are not in the music.

Its a bit bluegrassy, as advertised, warmer and more embracing than the usual awkward pleading. The between song banter seeks to undo this step change.

I had the fear that for this gig, there would be no photies at all, not even the usual blurred, badly taken ones as style. From where I'm sat I can't see the stage, neither can the beautiful ringlet girl. Luckily some folk sat nearby invite me to stand in front of them where I can get a perfect view of the stage.

Tears of gratitude well up in my eyes, blurring my vision as I try to return to my seat, I knock over their table and eliminate about six drinks.

Bruce Springsteen - Hungry Heart

Its a mostly seated kind of place, chairs arranged irregularly to take account of the structural pillars in the building, some architect's comedy.

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The crowd has thinned markedly when Last Harbour reach the stage. Probly folk wisely seeking a way home from this middle of nowhere corner of London. If I lived here, would the turmoil of the first few paragraphs have occurred? Who's to know?

I have a hella long way home tonight, but as your thankless reviewer I stay to scribbled and glance up, looking for signs of life amongst the zombies.

The mob on stage started off sounding a little like Arab Strap. You know how The Just Joans' re-recording of 'Lookin' Like Rain' sounds a little like Arab Strap, well, if The Just Joans and Last Harbour merged, it would be a complete Arab Strap.

The set progresses and they start to sound like Butcher Boy.

Halfway through the set something incredible happens, they have the keyboard player sing. From where I was sat, I couldn't see the keyboard player until she stepped up to the microphone, it was Gina.

The last time I remember seeing her was eight months ago, when I first arrived in London, she was doing the door at The Social, she looked up at me and said "Do I know you?"

We first met in 2002, in Glasgow, B&S at the QMU, having chatted for months previously on the internet, our communicae has been intermittent or incidental ever since. But after six years, I finally see her on stage, hear her band, hear her play.

It was amazing.

The room crystalises. I start seeing things, noticing stuff that I wouldn't have earlier despite 63336's best efforts. Right there in front of me.

My heart swells.

I am Canal People

The sun shines brightly here, truly this is the crotch of the gods.

In the morning I was in Hyde Park, surrounded by fountains, to my right was a long lake, the way its shaped like a snake, I shall call it Loch Snakeish.

I was going to get my car serviced today, but that can wait, for today is a day for doing the work of ants, gazing at cute tourists's legs.

Just saw Shaun of the Dead's mum, Coul be two London Comedy bonus points. Simon Pegg and Ricky Gervais are worth four points, but supporting characters only half that. I was going to text Jax about it but wasn't sure how to spell Sean.

Time passes, the sun is still blistering, blobs of tar bubble through the pavement. I'm in The Elgin in Ladbrooke Grove with a cool pint of Carlsberg, wondering if the old Rough Trade shop has closed down and will they have directions to the new shop.

Loneliness strikes me despite text messages rom Nat, she's so far away. There's that invisible force stopping me from texting any of my Londonish friends. I'll feel more comfortable getting them on Facebook first.

Shed 7 on the pub stereo, if I could each back to 1995...

Walked home for two hours down the Grand Union Canal, collecting raspberrys on the way. I am canal people.