Posts

Image
After the Second World War, apocryphal bands of Japanese soldiers were supposedly hidden so far in the jungle that they’d never heard the conflict had come to an end. For all we know, some of the Emperor’s aged legions may still be kicking around in a makeshift camp they constructed before the mushroom cloud went up. A similar phenomenon can be observed at the railway station in Weston-Super-Mare, where the proprietors of the platform refreshment stop seem unaware that old-style British Rail buffets surrendered in the 1980s. As a result, they continue to serve unappetising, unbranded sandwiches from an unknown supplier and have kitted the place out with fruit machines that flash so fast that there should be a warning to epileptics on the door. Toddlers with earrings, left unsupervised by their tattooed and pierced parents, mess about with grubby machines selling ‘toy capsules’ and bouncing rubber balls. It could easily get depressing, but the clientele is having none of it. Patrons si
Post a Comment
Read more

It's not just the expenses that need to change. It's the MPs.

When I was first selected as a Labour parliamentary candidate at the age of 26, I won’t deny that an MP’s salary would have seemed a pretty attractive proposition. Even hard-done-by Parliamentarians tend to earn more than middle-ranking copywriters in ad agencies. I guess you’ll have to take my word for it that the cash wasn’t my primary motivation for thrusting myself into the political limelight. My opponent was a gent called Sir Archie Hamilton – the then Chairman of the Conservative 1922 Committee of backbench MPs. He had a rock-solid seat in Epsom, south-west of London, and wasn’t likely to be troubled by my challenge as young Labour pretender. (I did actually manage a swing of 12.4% against him in 1997, which wasn’t too bad. To the consternation of the local Liberal Democrats, I also managed to come second. But second, as we all know, don’t mean diddly squat. I didn’t give up the day job.) The reason I’m dusting off this ancient and parochial piece of political history is that th
Post a Comment
Read more

Going to the seaside? Don't forget your tie.

No one knows Eastbourne quite like Chris Mannion. Every night, the popular veteran entertainer makes his way between seafront hotels, plugs in his double-deck electric organ and entices the elderly residents to the dancefloor. For an hour or two, the clock is wound back as they tango their way around the room to tunes like O Sole Milo – popularised in the 1980s Cornetto ads. Mannion dresses to impress his clientele in the elaborate garb of an old-style variety performer. But his schedule doesn’t allow for a trip to the London Palladium. Just a half-mile drive down the coast and another of his regular evening appointments. Predictability and tradition are important to most of the holiday-makers who make their annual pilgrimage to the south coast. At one particular three-star hotel, gentlemen are politely requested, out of courtesy to the ladies, to remember their tie for dinner. Most male guests seem happy to comply with this quaint regulation, but there are a few unchallenged re
Post a Comment
Read more

Eastbourne captured on a Canon A95 Powershot

Image
Let the party begin... the stage is set for another evening of entertainment from Eastbourne's very own Chris Mannion. And that's a long way if you've left your mobility vehicle at the bandstand. Dance the night away. With senoritas who don't mind swaying 40ft above the sea. Don't do it! A friendly warning for local residents.
Post a Comment
Read more