Tour, Christmas, New Year, Ideas...

Hello friends. It's been a while since I've blogged. This is the result of three factors

1) The tour with Paul Foot
2) An unprecedented boost in admissions at the museum
3) A self-imposed (and evidently failed) technology boycott

But I'm back.

The tour was a success. Highlights were undoubtedly performing underneath a library in Eastbourne, and perforing in Barton-on-Humber, a town I was hitherto unaware of, but had all the charm of isolated Northern towns that we all know and love. There was joy. There was laughter. There was silence. But most of all, there was much to be learnt, and it was a great privilege to read my poetry to audiences across this great nation

I will be reading more poetry in the near future at various venues - and will keep you abrest of that in due course.

In other news, it is of course Christmas, and will soon be 2012 - the year in which according to some, everything will end. Needless to say, I hope this is not the case. I've got enough on my plate without an apocalypse!!!!

Now... whilst I've been performing a set of my 'classics' on tour ('Knopfler', 'Swimming Pool', 'Fluffballs the Homophobic Cat', 'Hell', and occasionally my poem about pensions - 'Worry Now'), a few new ideas have been brewing. They're yet to materialise, but I thought I might mention a few now...

1) Vorderman - a poem about the pros and cons of Carol Vorderman, a very complicated woman, most probably called 'Vorderman'. On the plus side, she's as articulate a woman as you're likely to meet. And incredible with numbers. On the down side, she has, in my view, dressed inappropriately for a woman of her age later in life. But she is, undoubtedly, a very attractive woman. This poem would explore her ups and downs so to speak, and try to come to some sort of a conclusion as to whether she should be seen in a positive or negative light

2) 'On The Buses' - A written project, but still one I would hope to perform, in which I would listen to and transcribe a large number of conversations had on regional/local buses and London buses, with a view to comparing them. I hope that this project may, in some small way, shed some light on the differences in the nature and personality of 'The Londoner'.

3) 'A List of Wars' - This is not something to be performed, nor anything I particularly need to publish within this blog. It's just a reminder. It's something I've been wanting to do for a while - a list of every War I can think of, chronologically if possible, without encyclopaedic assistance.

4) 'Kent V Sussex' - This is a TV show I've been thinking of for a while. The basic premise is looking at Kent and Sussex, and judging which county is better based on certain criteria, i.e. gardens (Kent), oldest buildings (close but Kent again), number of current, nationally-recognised sports-people (definitely Kent), quality of coastal resorts (too close to call but if I had a gun to my head I'd say Kent) etc...

5) 'Underrated cricketers' - basically a poem about underrated cricketers. We're talking Robert Croft, Alex Tudor, Matthew Maynard, Ian Salisbury, Chris Martin, Arjuna Ranatunga, Mark Ealham and many, many more. It's really an attempt to finally give the voiceless cricketers a voice

6) 'Supermarkets' - A poem about which British supermarkets are the best in Britain and why, taking into account price, value for money, quality, and whether or not it tends to be linked with child labour or not.

7) 'Kilroy' - A poem about Robert Kilroy-Silk. A poetic look at his career, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Yes he is racially inappropriate at times, but he was an excellent TV presenter. Lest we forget that

Have a terrific Christmas and an even better new year!

As Kilroy would say, take care of yourselves... and each other

All the best

M

Tour Dates

Hello my friends. The dates of my tour with Paul Foot are as follows:

SEPTEMBER24th DEAL, Astor Theatre                                  www.theastor.org                                   01304 370 220

OCTOBER

7th READING, South Street                               www.readingarts.com/southstreet       0118 960 60 60

8th LEAMINGTON SPA, Royal Spa Centre          www.warwickdc.gov.uk                        01926 334418

10th SALFORD, The Lowry                                www.thelowry.com                                    0843 208 6000

11th LEICESTER, Curve                         www.curveonline.com                          0116 242 3595

13th BANBURY, Mill Arts Centre             www.themillartscentre.co.uk                                01295 279 002

20th BRIGHTON, Komedia                                 www.komedia.co.uk/brighton                               01273 647 100

21st BIRMINGHAM Glee Club                             www.glee.co.uk                            0871 472 0400

22nd SWINDON, Arts Centre                              www.swindon.gov.uk/artscentre         01793 614 837

23rd NOTTINGHAM Glee Club                            www.glee.co.uk                             0871 472 0400

26th COLCHESTER, Arts Centre             www.colchesterartscentre.com         01206 500 900

27th MAIDENHEAD, Norden Farm                      www.nordenfarm.org                      01628 788 997

28th CRAWLEY, Hawth                          www.hawth.co.uk - Box Office              01293 553 636

29th WOLVERHAMPTON, Little Civic                  www.wolvescivic.co.uk                    0870 320 7000

NOVEMBER

4th EASTBOURNE, Under Ground Theatre          www.undergroundtheatre.org.uk          0845 680 1926

5th WHITSTABLE, Horsebridge Arts Centre         www. horsebridge-centre.org.uk          01227 281 174

18h BARTON ON HUMBER, Ropewalk               www.the-ropewalk.co.uk                        01652 660380

DECEMBER

16th LONDON, Bloomsbury Theatre                   www.thebloomsbury.com                      020 7388 8822

And before that, on September 22nd, I have a warm-up show booked at The Etcetera Theatre in Camden, London.

http://etceteratheatre.com/index.php?id=2

Of course, the real issue here is how to break all of this to the Police Museum. I will need to take a large part of my annual leave to cover these dates, and October is a notoriously popular month for police museums. The reasons for why are an industry-wide mystery. There is obviously a connection between the onset of cold weather and a desire to learn about the history of the police forces. Strange as it may seem, the stats don't lie. 20% more people in October than any other month (which equates to approximately 37 actual people). Staggering. Anyway, the bottom line is, Ken is not going to be happy...

Best

M

Sci-fi book in development... 'WITHOUT HOPE'

Good day to you friends. Just thought I'd drop in and give you a sneak preview of the dystopian sci-fi thriller I'm currently writing. On the surface, it's a story about an alien invasion of Kent, based at Ashford Retail Outlet Centre ('It's full of aliens already Malc!!!'), but in reality, it's about much much more. It's about life, mortality, love, community, sport, family... it's really about everything.

I hope you enjoy this taster... the full meal should be available for your consumption in the very near future but I'll keep dropping in a few tasty morsels here and there. I may even perform a few chapters over music at my performance at the upcoming smugglers festival (http://www.smugglersrecords.com/smugglers-festival-2011/)

And by the way a few people have been asking my opinion on the big news recently - the apocalyptic scenes of riots across the country that somewhat mirror some of the scenes I've been creating in my book (which is not a coinicidence). All I can say is this... there were no riots in Horsmonden. There was an incident in which a car was on fire - but the village quickly realised it was just a neighbour Fred, who despite his two cataracts and driving ban, still insists on doing a lap of the village at midnight every night. It was, as they say, an accident waiting to happen. But no riots. No riots in Milton Keynes either. Or Norfolk. Or Jersey. Or Guernsey. Or Pembrokeshire. Or Eastbourne. Or Cheddar. Or the majority of Devon. We all know where they were... London, Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham. Or as I like to call those places, the axis of evil...

Anyhow - enough with non-fictional chaos, here's some fictional chaos. Feedback welcome... this is a work in progress...

WITHOUT HOPE (An alien invasion of Kent)

Korg fired lasers from his purple eyes at a number of different targets, not with the intention of hurting anyone, but merely as a demonstration of his awesome power. He annihilated a Co-op supermarket trolley, a black and decker workmate and a citroen ax without breaking sweat…

‘Take note people of Kent’, rasped Korg, in his creepy, alien tone, that made him sound oddly like a rural Australian. ‘For next time it may not just be tools and outdated cars that I destroy’

A man called Brian, who was wearing a UKIP campaign t-shirt, shouted back ‘You won’t get away with this! Not on my watch’

Korg looked at Brian and laughed in a conventionally evil way

‘What is your name?’

‘Brian Francis’

‘And how exactly do you propose that you are going to stop me, Brian Francis?’

‘Same way we stopped the Germans. And the French before that. With courage!’

Several people cheered in support of Brian, and he sensed the atmosphere rising. He climbed on to the roof of a Skoda…

‘This country, and moreover, this county, has never given in to foreign demands. That’s why we haven’t joined the euro, and that’s why we never will’

A tall man, sipping on a can of irn bru screamed encouragement

‘We live in a county that has not yet become just another stop on the way to London, like Surrey is. We are proudly Kentish, and we are proudly British, and Korg, if you want to dictate us – you’ll have to do it over my dead Kentish body’

Every man woman and child in the car park, perhaps as much as a hundred people, roared and applauded wildly, and sensed that as long as there were people like Brian, there was hope.

Then Korg smiled, fired a laser at Brian which killed him instantly, and spat on his ashes

Children's stories... The Lonely Toad

I have recently been writing a number of children's stories. Typically, they are based around animals. Disney has taught us, without any doubt whatsoever, that children are more interested in taking lessons from animals than from human beings. Here is an example of one such story…

The Toad and The Rabbit:

A large toad called Darren looked at his reflection in a lake

‘I’m so ugly. Why do I have to be so ugly?’ he cried

Unbeknown to him, a rabbit called Denzel had perched beside him

‘You’re not ugly’, said Denzel

Darren was alarmed and embarrassed, and thought about hopping away

‘I didn’t realise anyone was listening. I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone’

‘You don’t need to leave me alone. I came to see you. I think toad’s are cool’, said Denzel

‘No you don’t. No one likes toads. Look at me. I’m fat, I’m greasy. Everyone hates toads’

‘Not me’, said Denzel. ‘I think toads are wicked. And I mean wicked in a good way’

‘Oh’ said Darren cautiously. ‘Really?’

‘You bet.’

Just then, three rabbits, Ryan, Brad and Taylor, approached Denzel and Darren

‘Whoah!’ said Ryan, ‘Get a load of the stinky toad!’

‘Who’s your friend Denzel? You might want to tell him to have a shower!’ said Ryan

‘Shut up!’ Said Denzel, ‘Shut up now! This toad is cooler than all three of you chumps put together!’

‘He’s a big fat loser’, said Taylor

Darren went to leave but Denzel stopped him

‘Come on Denz’, said Ryan… ‘We’re going for a run’

‘Good for you. I’m staying with my friend Darren. He wouldn’t be seen dead with you squares’

‘Suit yourself. I hope you and captain greaseball have fun together!’

Denzel looked at Darren, and nodded slowly...

‘Jump Darren. High as you can’

Darren paused, looked up at the sky, and closed his eyes. He then jumped, high into the air, and the three rabbits, who are expert hoppers themselves, looked on in awe

‘Holy smokes. That must have been 20-30 times the length of his body. That’s insane’, said Ryan

‘That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen’ said Brad. ‘Do you wanna hang out with us Darren?’

‘No you losers carry on’, said Denzel. ‘Me and Darren are gonna hang here’

‘Thanks Denzel’, said Darren

‘Don’t thank me. It was you that did that cool jump’

Darren smiled, and made a loud ribbit sound involuntarily

‘It just occurred to me’ said Darren, ‘That sound we toads make… it sounds a lot like rabbit’

The pair laughed together and became great friends, despite the obvious differences in lifestyles and habitats. The end

Names...

I met someone for the first time recently, and his name was Stephen. And he didn’t look like a Stephen. So I said to Stephen ‘you don’t really seem like a Stephen’. Stephen was clearly annoyed about my suggestion, which I meant no offense by. And no amount of snooker-related chat managed to ease tensions between us. Anyway, that's by the by, and to be honest I'm not that sure about Stephen anyway, he said he DJ's in Ibiza and in that moment I knew we'd never be friends

The point is, it got me thinking, isn’t it funny how we associate names with certain types of people, personality traits and characteristics? In fact, I would argue, that from a name alone it is quite easy to build an entire picture of what that person may be like.

So I thought it might be an interesting and worthwhile exercise for me to gradually go through all the names I can think of, and write down what immediately comes to mind in association with each name.

This is merely my interpretation of a series of names, so please do not be offended if your own name comes up and you believe that the characteristics I raise do not match your own. It’s just a bit of fun that might be an interesting look into the human psyche. Enjoy comrades…

Names:

Lucy – Caring, talkative, bubbly, although there is a thin line between bubbly and overly-familiar, a line which Lucy will often cross

Graham – Family man. Man’s man (As in masculine, not homosexual). Good with his hands. If the car breaks down he’ll fix it himself. Not afraid to discipline his children
Sebastian – Thoughtful and contemplative. Rarely loses his temper. Spends slightly too much time indoors

Harriet – Polite, well-mannered and well-educated. Confident if slightly arrogant. Dismissive towards the working-classes

Wayne – Salt of the earth. A friend to all. A man who knows how to enjoy himself. Occasionally prone to domestic violence 

John – Reliable, hard-working, efficient. Well-trusted by all who know him. Some people consider him dull but those who know him well know that not to be the case

Dave – Very funny and great company of an evening, but not someone you want to have a long term friendship with because he will inevitably let you down

Carol – Warm, generous, selfless. Woman of the church. Volunteers within the local community. A penchant for cakes that has contributed to her problems with high-blood pressure, which in truth has only endeared her even more within the village. A real gem

Paul – Quiet but dependable. Man of simple pleasures

Tina – The life and soul. Humour can be a little close to the bone, but is never ill-intentioned. Clothes tend to be revealing and risqué, which some say is admirable, but others say is inappropriate for a woman of her age

Colin – Friendly, easy-going, a good guy to have around. Talks a lot about how much he likes his job

Mandy – Working mum. Strong, independent woman. Has made mistakes with men in the past but doesn’t dwell on them. Potentially aggressive, but rarely without justification

Tyler – American. Very confident, brash even. Lack of awareness of or respect towards the role the United Kingdom has played in making America the nation it now is. Also greedy, with a terrible diet

Vince – Cheeky but harmless. Tells terrific anecdotes. Always late for appointments but manages to charm his way out of trouble. Has serious financial problems

Darren – Shy, and overcompensates for this by drinking too much and embarrassing himself as a result. Plays football at a semi-professional level

Jim – An outdoorsy man. Self-sufficient. Deeply sceptical about computers

Ron – Very popular and well-known in the county. A man who can get things done. Great orator and motivator. Has been outspoken in the past about his views on immigration

Brenda – Motherly. Tender. A great listener and always there for friends and family. Paranoid about her neighbours and as a result rarely leaves the house

Keith – A handyman, and will do anything for anyone, which has led to some taking advantage of his good nature. Following a mid-life crisis and subsequent nervous breakdown, wears an earring and a leather jacket, and often uses nicknames for himself like ‘Big K’ or ‘The wolfman’. His wife has left him but he still sees his children

Brad – Australian. Surfer. When he talks, his sentences lack cohesion or structure which can be frustrating. Very popular with women.

Lionel – Well-liked but known as a buffoon. Has become infamous for making a fool out of himself. Publicly laughs off this perception but privately resents it.

More to follow... and a note to all... I am compering an evening of comedy and music on June 11th in London at The Dalston Vic. This is in aid of Kent Police Museum; needless to say, a thoroughly worthy cause:

http://www.thedalstonvic.co.uk/kentpolice.htm

Best

Malc

           

An easy red - Malcolm Head’s Top 10 World Snooker Championship 2011 talking points part 1 of 2…

1 - Judd Trump

‘Fella with a haircut like that has no place at the snooker table’ said a colleague of mine at the police museum. And at first I had to agree. I was concerned. Trump appeared to represent the future – and an uncertain future at that. ‘They reckon he’s into indie music. There’s no place for indie at the snooker table’ said the same colleague. By this point Graham was starting to irritate me, but regardless of that, I can’t deny that I was worried. Who was this upstart? Was snooker in safe hands?

Well… I’m pleased to say that I think it is. Trump, as with the Ronnie O’Sullivan’s of this world, needs a little bit of work on his attitude. You can’t be Peter Ebdon overnight, and it doesn’t matter if you’re bloody Brian May, you still need to be humble; in life, humility goes a long, long way. However, Trump played some undeniably entertaining snooker, and will bring a much-needed younger audience to our great game. And he was very gracious in his defeat, in one of the best finals of recent years. Graham still isn’t convinced though; ‘He’s too skinny to be a snooker player. I’ve seen more meat on a butcher’s overcoat’. Some people just don’t like change…

 Judd Trump. Straighten that bow-tie sunshine!

2 – Steve Davis

I have it from the most trustworthy of sources that ‘Romford Slim’, Steve Davis, surely one of Britain’s most celebrated sports personalities, is in the initial stages of dementia. The person who informed me said that, at present, it is not serious, and that Davis is privately seeking out the most advanced treatment available that we all hope will help to keep this condition at arms length. The BBC is apparently aware, although they’re confident that his condition will not worsen. However, as my source pointed out, there were a couple of worrying occurrences during the tournament. Davis made constant reference to the idea of comparing snooker players to breeds of dog, which despite being an excellent idea and one which I’ll visit later, perhaps in this very blog, is not characteristic of Davis. And he consistently raised this idea in conversation, to the extent that it did seem as though he was forgetting that he’d ever mentioned it before. It is also rumoured that during the BBC’s coverage of the final, Davis, off-camera, put John Parrott in a headlock that although apparently ‘playful’ at first, became dangerous when Davis’ arms had to be pried away from Parrott’s neck. Parrott was apparently ‘distraught’, and needles to say, deserves great credit for managing to recompose himself for the remaining coverage. I’m confident Davis can get through this, and my thoughts are with him…

3 – Risqué female referee

Just a quick note here about the female referee Michaela Tabb. I’ve been extremely vocal in my support and admiration for how she has fought for the rights of women to be snooker and pool referees. The fact that there are still relatively few female snooker and pool referees in no way diminishes the monumental efforts she’s made. However… on several occasions during this tournament Ms Tabb blew kisses at television cameras provocatively. With all due respect, in the words of my colleague Graham ‘that has no place at a snooker table’. She’s a great referee, but that sort of nonsense has to stop. Snooker is a safe-haven from the outside world; a world full of sexual promiscuity and deviance thrown at us from all angles. Let’s keep it a safe-haven please…

4 – The Asian Invasion!

Wattana, Fu, Ding… it’s fair to say that a new dawn is rising in snooker, and that the sun of that dawn is rising from the Far-East. This year, the Chinaman Ding reached the semi-final, and judging by the way he carried himself it won’t be his last. He has an unnerving calmness about him that is helping him to claim some mighty scalps in closely-fought matches, and I don’t think it will be long before China has its first world snooker champion. And what’s good for Chinese snooker is good for snooker. I would however hope that the Chinese government exercises caution in developing the game in China. With the utmost respect, China is known for pursuing goals slightly too eagerly. Snooker players are like fine wines. They get better with age, and you must let them breathe

5 – The Theme Tune Intro

Maybe, just maybe, BBC bosses, not everything has to be changed to appeal to teenagers. For crying out loud… imagine, you’re sitting on without a doubt the greatest sporting TV theme tune of all time, and some moronic buffoon decides to give it a modern twist. And I don’t know what it is anymore. Before it was a beautiful piece of classic guitar rock, and now it’s just a bastardised pile of dance-music nonsense. Unforgivable. I’m considering starting a petition to change it back to the original version as performed by the Doug Wood Band. If anyone is willing to support me in this, please do get in touch. Unforgivable. I’ll refuse to pay my license fee if necessary (if anyone from TV licensing is reading this, I have recently paid my TV license, which covers me until April 2012 so no need to raise the proverbial alarm… this is just hyperbole)

Part 2 to follow soon, including the controversial John Higgins, the issue of crowd volume, and a section where I’ll look at what breed of dog certain snooker players remind me of and why…

M

Poetry of my Youth - Big Break

Apologies for the hiatus. I took a well-earned break in Jersey, spending some time with my cousin Phil, who is a keen gardener. No prizes for guessing what two keen gardeners do when they get together!!!!!

I was also slightly jet-lagged upon my return so have been lying low for a while. But it did give me a chance to go up into the attic and uncover some more poetry from the past…

I unearthed this - an impassioned and frantically written poem - which I penned around a decade ago. I wrote it immediately after the iconic and unimprovable light-entertainment game show Big break was inexplicably cancelled. I was of course furious, and decided to vent my fury. I performed this the very same day at Lamberhurst working men's club, to a small and drunken crowd who were mostly in support of my take on the situation. See what you think...

(NB: Be aware that this was written some time before allegations about Davidson’s supposed racism, sexism and homophobia etc. were made. I have no comment to make about these allegations)

           

Broken (By Malcolm Head)

Well done Virgo. Thanks so much...

You combine God-given snooker ability with effortless charm

Your banter with Jim Davidson is top notch

Your humour is edgy, but never offensive

But now it's over. Foul and a miss...

Big Break is broken…

The TV bosses have spoken…

We’re not joking…

Cheers Jim. We’re so grateful

Your comedy is peerless. Your ability to improvise, infinite

You’re the entertainer of a generation.

You mock Virgo consistently but it never comes off as aggressive, even when you suggest he’s a moron simply because he’s northern

You're close to the bone, but the only bone you ever touch is the funny-bone

But we're pulling the chord. It's dead. End of frame

Big Break is broken…

The TV bosses have spoken

We’re not joking…

Many Thanks viewing public. You’ve made this programme an indisputable hit

You’ve tuned in in your millions

Your support has never waned

You’ve proved that a snooker-based game show not only has potential but is probably the best TV format ever conceived

We can see that you much prefer this to Casualty; a miserable, unnecessary and unrealistic portrayal of hospital life
But guess what? Casualty is all you’re getting now. No more fun...

Big Break is broken…

The TV bosses have spoken

We’re not joking…

Thanks so much several professional snooker players

It was a privilege to see your skills displayed outside of professional snooker tournaments

You were never short of a joke either, and with the exception of Ken Doherty, seemed very comfortable in front of the camera

And it has not gone unnoticed that your involvement has been a great advert for the game of snooker, introducing a new audience to this majestic and unsung sport
But you can all go home now

Big Break is broken

The TV bosses have spoken

We’re not joking…

We never joke…

Because we are stupid, humourless TV bosses. And we wouldn't know good entertainment if it hit us over the head with a snooker cue

Above: Ken Doherty, the only player ever to have been world amateur and world professional snooker champion. In my opinion, the best positional player ever to draw breath


Best

M

Do me a favour, write one verse without a curse...

Following my last post I received several complaints about my so-called ‘assumptions’ about rap music. The general consensus of these complaints is that I am unfairly dismissing the genre without giving it the time of day.

My underlying principle in this blog is to be as fair as I can possibly be. And if I wish to stay true to that mantra I simply have to take heed of these criticisms.

So – I decided that I should listen to and review a variety of rap and R& B music. I searched for rap on the internet indiscriminately, and picked a short selection at random...

So here we go… and I'm trying as hard as I can to be reasonable here, but bear in mind that today I've been listening to Jeff Wayne's Musical Version of The War of the Worlds. Aka, the greatest concept album ever made... so it's going to be tough...

1) NWA – Straight Outta Compton:

      

Stopped at 50 seconds. Deeply upsetting. Unable to comment any further

2) Sean Kingston – Fire Burning:

Vast improvement, though still problematic. Got through the full song, but it left me confused and unsatisfied. What is the message this song is trying to convey? I could make out the lyrics to what I believe was the chorus: "Somebody call 911… Shorty’s burning fire on the dance floor". Now then, all I can think is that this is a depiction of a peculiar episode in which either a dwarf or midget has unfortunately caught fire in a disco. In response, Sean is suggesting that the emergency services need to be contacted. Which I would argue is not the main concern in this situation. The emergency services, one would assume, will take at best several minutes to arrive. The priority it would seem is to put these flames out immediately, as the poor individual will surely suffer fatal burns imminently. It’s unlikely he’ll be wearing many layers, as discotheques are notoriously humid, so there’s no protection there. It’s a public venue and thus, I would hope, will fulfil its legal duty as such to provide suitable means for fire safety.

Of course the emergency services will likely be required at some stage, so by all means contact them. But first and foremost let’s help, as Sean crassly describes him or her, shorty. Get a fire blanket round shorty, pronto. That’s what they’re there for.

Overall, not something I would choose to listen to but certainly tolerable. Haven’t thrown out my Wet, Wet, Wet collection just yet though! (I never will)

3) Snoop Dogg – Gin and Juice:

Shameful. Swear words thrown out like confetti at a wedding. Ironic that music with such little dignity is presented by a rapper named after an animal with such immense dignity. Never again

4) Jay Z – 99 Problems:

Gordon Bennett. I am at the very, very end of my tether. What an absolute pig of a man. 99 problems but the… I’ll tell you what Mr Z I’ve got 99 problems with this song. Probably more than that even. I’ve got 199 problems with this song. I haven’t got the time or the patience to list them all. I don’t know who this Jay Z is but I’m going to stick my neck out and say that I’d be shocked if he’s had any kind of commercial success whatsoever

5) Ludacris – Area Codes:

When I first listened, I thought, Christ, he really is ludicrous, if he’s "got hoe’s in different area codes"! He’s absolutely stark-raving mad the plonker! However, as the song progressed, I realised that probably this was a euphemism for something far more sordid than a garden instrument. And after some hasty research I was unpleasantly confronted with what he was really referring to; ladies of the night. Well Ludacris, I can tell you one post code you won’t have those sorts of contacts: TN12. Because there aren’t any "hoe’s" in Horsmonden, Kent, thank you very much. Abhorrent

6) Will Smith – Just the two of us:

A diamond in the rough. A beacon of light at the end of an eerie tunnel of darkness. A beautiful examination of a father’s unconditional love for his son. This is rap; and this is utterly charming: "From the hospital that first night, took an hour just to get the car seat in right". First-class. It's funny, it's relevant, it's truthful and it's inoffensive.

But the song is not afraid to make important comments about child-discipline either: "I want to kiss you all the time, but I will test that butt if you step out of line". Controversial – you bet, but he’s got a point. Sometimes, perhaps, an old-fashioned approach to child-discipline can work.

I then listed to several other Will Smith songs, and can honestly say that I thoroughly enjoyed them.

I listened to ‘Freakin’ it’, and particularly enjoyed the line in which he targets other rappers: "do me a favour, right one verse without a curse". My thoughts precisely Will.

He has a warmth and a charm that makes rap accessible for the likes of me. I wish him every success, and have even decided to purchase an album of his – Willenium. If the content of the album is as good as the word play in its title, I’m in for a rare treat

 Will Smith with his son. I assume

So that’s it. I’ve tried to be fair. I’ve listened to the complaints. I’ve listened to the rap. And these are my conclusions. I would have said, before listening to Will Smith, that rap music belongs in the deepest caverns of Hell. However, Will Smith has taught me a valuable lesson. Music genres are broad. Yes, the majority of rap probably isn’t for me, but that doesn’t mean I hate all rap. After all, just because I adore Dire Straits doesn’t mean that I adore all rock. Because I most certainly don’t. Just read Metallica’s on-line guestbook. They didn’t know what had hit them!

Best

Malc

Lessons from Crawley...

You know me. The last thing I want to do is jump on this bandwagon that takes pleasure in stereotyping British teenagers. I’ve known many teenagers in my life (I used to be one for Christ sake so I knew a fair few then!), and the vast majority have been pleasant and humble, going about their daily business just like the rest of us. But unfortunately, there’s always one. Or in this case, two…

As most of you will know, I live in Horsmonden; a small village in South-West Kent where the signature dish is countryside served with a side of rich medieval history. I make no secret of my love for the place, and why should I? There is a sense of community here that is scarce in the majority of towns across the UK. People leave their doors unlocked. When it snows, snow is removed not simply from one’s driveway but from the pavement beyond it that is used by fellow-villagers. When a pensioner falls over on ice, they’re not filmed on a mobile phone; they’re helped to their feet and if necessary escorted to the nearest General Practitioner.

But this harmony has recently been pushed to its very limits by a pair of teenage hoodlums who call themselves ‘Ez’ and ‘Smeg’. I do not know if they are real names or chosen aliases. They ride around on very small bikes, often cycling directly across front gardens. Just yesterday, they thought nothing of cycling over an elderly woman’s prized-patch of fuscias. Fuscias are notoriously difficult to cultivate. And that’s without bicycle tyres screeching across them. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that BMX tyres are not an ideal part of horticultural processes. Then they stop, often at the War memorial (a place which is naturally of great significance to the village) and start rapping aggressively. I have nothing against the rappers, but stand by what I’ve always said about them; given their offensive and potentially dangerous tone, they ought to keep their rap music to themselves, and out of the often innocent or naive earshot of the general public.

- Various Rappers. Note the Parental Advisory label at the top. As if that's somehow a selling-ponit!

And that’s just the beginning. They litter flippantly. They stick chewing gum on commemorative benches willy-nilly. They spit in the direction of wild animals. They chase birds. They shout at cats. A neighbour told me he even saw Smeg at a supermarket in Pembury harassing a disabled trolley-collector who works there. Can they get any lower than that?

Yes they can. They recently drew what I will describe for reasons of decency as parts of the female anatomy on to a Mini Metro, whilst the 85-year-old owner, who has Parkinsons, sat helplessly inside after falling asleep upon his return from the local shop. And that, in my opinion, is as low as mankind can get. 6000 years of civilisation, and then that….

Working at the Police Museum I have of course not only become familiar with the methods and techniques of detectives but have also acquired some fairly high-profile acquaintances. I have therefore decided to take a short-break from work during a forthcoming school holiday. During that holiday I will, within the parameters of English and Kentish Law, monitor and report on the activities of Ez and Smeg over a continuous period of time. I shall then forward my findings to my acquaintances in order to find a lawful solution to this problem. Because, quite frankly, I want my village back. This is how it begins. Firstly, it’s a couple of trouble-makers, then it’s ten. Then twenty. Then a hundred. Then a thousand. And before you know it, you’re Crawley, and you’re overrun with yobs. As hard as it is to believe, Crawley was once as peaceful as Horsmonden. I’m learning lessons from Crawley…

Best

M

NB: Crawley is a nice town, but just happens to be the perfect example of a town overwhelmed by misbehaviour. I do not mean to cause any offence to a town with a genuinely rich history, which has been inhabited since the Stone Age, was a centre for ironworking in Roman times, and more importantly, has recently had a terrific FA cup run!

The poetry of my youth – Part 2:

I’ve managed to dig out some more poems from yesteryear. And it’s fascinating looking back. Francis Rossi OBE from the musical phenomenon that is Status Quo (often referred to as The Quo or simply, Quo) says in his fantastic book that listening back to the things he wrote in his youth is ‘like looking, for the first time, at the engine of a car you’ve driven for 50 years’. Well, as I’ve said many times before in different contexts, if it’s good enough for Francis Rossi OBE, it’s good enough for me

This I think was again the result of a skipped meal. It’s genuinely startling to look back and imagine what was going through my head at this point. It’s the closest thing to a ‘trip’ I’ve ever had. Never again. I’ve got toad in the hole in the oven as I type. I simply do not miss meals… I can’t emphasise that enough.  But then isn’t art a worthy cause for this kind of sacrifice? It’s a good question. This poem did, after all, help me to win South-West Kent New Poet of the Year in 1997. So to some extent, the proof is in the pudding in this case. Although obviously I didn’t eat any pudding either!

Time (By Malcolm Head)

Time….

Time is up. Time to leave…

Time at the bar please…

It’s time for you to move on, move out…

Time is ticking away; the time has come…

Time of death – 8:45

Tea-time? Or supper-time? Dinner-time will do!

What is the time?

Time you bought a watch!

Time to get up. Time for school…

Time for work, time and a half…

Is time running out?

Only time will tell…

TIME… TIME… TIME…

Incidentally, I originally wrote the third time in such large letters that there was no room for the ‘e’, so it actually read ‘Tim’. One of the other members of Poetic justice was called Tim so I’m not sure whether or not this was anything to do with him. My memory of this period is so hazy. I did consider contacting Tim but he’s in the army now, so I imagine he’s got enough on his plate as it is

Best

M

Types of Poetry - Part 1

You know me by now. I like my poetry to be accessible; that’s why the style and format is generally broad. I want it to be enjoyed by everyone. However, a few of my usual critics in the South-West Kent area (haven’t you got anything better to do Ian?) have recently suggested that this deliberate style of mine is in fact merely due to my apparently limited knowledge and understanding of poetry. Well now…

By all means, tell Malcolm Head that his poetry isn’t your cup of tea. By all means, tell Malcolm Head that his poetry sometimes drives a little too close to the hard shoulder of truth for your tastes. But please, for God sake, don’t tell him that his knowledge and understanding of poetry is limited. There’s only one thing I know more about than poetry, and that’s the History of Kent Police from it’s incarnation in 1857 to the current day and everything else in between (http://www.kent-police-museum.co.uk/core_pages/history.shtml)

Anyway, I thought I’d begin writing examples of different types of poetry. Not just to prove a point - frankly I don’t want to stoop to the level of these brainless doubters – but because it seems like a worthwhile exercise anyway.

I’ll run examples throughout various blogs, and will conduct the entire exercise in alphabetical order…

ACROSTIC:

The first letters of each line are aligned vertically to form a word…

Example…

Entertainer of the highest order

Dedicated to his work to the point of near-breakdown

Money is not the main motivation for him, it’s just a bonus

Obsessed with trying to bring joy into people’s lives

Never swears

Deal or no deal put him back on the map, although for my money he never left the map

Superb

ALPHABET:

Each line begins with the letters of the alphabet in order…

Example…

An elderly man shivered inexplicably as a raven flew by him

But he regained his composure to take a bite out of a Ginster’s steak slice, and it tasted odd

Could Mr Patel have forgotten to rotate his stock again?

Did this mean the slice was out of date?

Eventually he realised that the date was fine, so he carried on eating

Finishing the slice off with a small bottle of Yazoo

Good thing too, because his health was fragile enough without a dose of food poisoning

He walked home, stopping occasionally to look at traffic

It always amazed him to see how many people drove with improperly inflated tyres

Just imagine how many accidents must be caused by such basic incompetence

Ok… alphabet poems can run the full course of the alphabet but I think this is enough. More to follow soon.

M