Monday, August 26, 2002

Another article on punk, specifically the Sex Pistols, who have never been favourites of mine to be honest. Oddly this was found on the Dr Martens site, by none other than Ragamuffin. There is plenty else on that site for the discerning surfer.

Down at Cardiff Bay yesterday there was a little festival on, very good it was too. There was a French street theatre troupe on who were very weird. All the little tots sat cross legged and full of anticipation at the front, expecting something like punch and judy. There then appeared a very loud and (apparently) pissed off Frenchman bellowing through a megaphone. It was clearly a joke, but not what the nippers expected. The first "act" was a 3 legged man, who was introduced thus: Now we have a man with 3 FUCKING legs. The man appeared, did nothing, went off. We were told, that was the man with 3 FUCKING legs .
Well I thought it was a bit off in the context but didn't mind too much, it was delivered in a fairly impenetrable French accent. There were more righteous, upright citizens about though. One of them picked his way drunkenly through the crowd in very close proximity to the nippers, waving a very lage bottle of Stella about. He then started pushing the guy around, very drunkenly and told him to stop swearing as there were kids about. He was very aggressive. Some people applauded. So there was the Sunday lesson for the nippers, don't swear but it's ok to behave like a violent drunken thug. Only in Britain.
Cardiff Bay Webcam
Norwegian Church

So the long weekend is over, thank Christ. I hate bank holidays. All manner of moron seems to think they have carte blanche to behave like pricks. Aside from that everywhere you would consider going is packed, so it's best to stay at home. Where I live, we have social housing one side where the ritual is for everyone to get their cheap, nasty, Aldi music centres out and play their cheap nasty music as loud as they can. Of course this means they cannot hear themselves think so they have to SHOUT very loudly, they have to laugh, raucously and aggressively, their nippers have to squeal and shriek, endlessly. The other side is a bit posh, so its just a bewildering array of power tools that contribute to the general ambience.
Nevertheless, staying put is the best option. Out is crowded and full of drunks, and for some reason, gangs. People do not seem able to socialise in groups of less than ten, not round here anyway. Today, I broke my rule. The nippers were getting fractious, despite the efforts of the entire neighborhood to entertain so we went out. My plan was Goytre Wharf, LLanbaddoc Island a couple of hours in a pub at Monkswood where there is usually a cricket match on, then home.
We go to Goytre Wharf a lot. It's a nice place, nothing special but there are usually only a handful of people around and there are woods and stuff that the kids can run around in without disturbing anyone else. Some amazing fish reside there too. Today you couldn't get near the place. So we hotfooted it to Llanbadoc island. Its very rare to see anyone there despite it being extremely beautiful. When we arrived there were 3 old geezers looking at the river, lost in their memories, and a youngish extended family, apart from one guy excavating his nose at length, it was ok. Then a red van arrived.
At least a dozen good and stolid citizens tumbled out of this thing, clearly pissed. They were accompanied by a boisterous rottweiller and a bull mastiff, off the lead of course. They set down a blanket and unloaded some food and much beer, all the while making a lot of racket. They kindly entertained everyone else with their music. We left. We didnt bother with the pub, it was time to go home.
Home was good, knocked up some nosh and got stuck into some decent white. 2 youngest soon fell asleep so enjoyed some quality time with the seven year old. Ended up sitting out till dark like 2 old dudes, watching the bats flit about and the stars appear until he drifted off.
3 things spoilt it, though not much, really. I trod on something large and slimy lighting a candle at the bottom of the garden. A bottle was corked. The Clampitts from 4 doors down arrived back from whatever shithole they had spent the day in and decamped noisily into the garden. The miserable fuckers are still there, still shouting, swearing and laughing in that obnoxious way peculiar to the self obsessed. But I'm happy.

I feel a bit bad now about suggesting the Notting Hill carnival would end in tears, the police clearly knew better than to clampdown. In the event there were only in excess of 100 arrests and only 2 of them were for firearms offences. Peace Love and 'Appiness, man!

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