May 2007 Archives

THIS exotic and sumptuously decorated bar is now open to the public for business.
Above are some shots I took of people giving Tallulah’s a test run over the past week or so.
There have been the usual teething problems for this glamorous new venue, however, not least a nasty campaign of objections by some curtain-twitching cretins who live in the vicinity of the bar.

FOOTBALL has always aroused great passion – ever since medieval times when each match was a bloody ruck and almost a substitute for war.
Men (and particularly poorly educated men), it was reasoned, had a deep need to compete against each other in a brutal manner.
And when local pride and tribal hatred of “the other lot� were added to the game, that just spiced things up a bit more.
It was thought that the ancient game of football would keep the common people from turning their anger and violent inclinations against their oppressors, the landed gentry and the aristocracy.
In some ways, football hasn’t changed very much over the centuries. It is still, by and large, played by men who are not very well educated and rarely eloquent.
It has always amazed me, having heard countless top flight footballers interviewed on TV over the years, that certain young men can be both (a) brilliant, intuitive athletes and (b) as thick as a plank. C’mon. think of Gazza.

EACH Thursday I drive from my workplace in the middle of rural Cheshire to Liverpool to record a poem for BBC Radio Merseyside.
I usually park in Pall Mall or by the Walker and the Central Library and then walk through the city centre to Hanover Street where the Beeb has its new studios.
Without fail each Thursday night, as I walk, tired and bedraggled, between my car and the BBC, I am hassled by beggars, sometimes three or four times per journey, and by various nefarious gaggles of cadgers.
Sometimes, the beggar will give me the sob story about a sudden misfortune that has befallen him / her and if only I could contribute a quid or so for their bus fare home all would be OK.
Honestly. They must think I’ve just floated down the Mersey on a punnet of strawberries.

SO as I was saying ... Marion Thompson (pictured above) is 'Tallulah Swells', the famous glamourpuss barmaid from the pub I call Hell’s Waiting Room.
And Marion will soon be opening her own bar in the resort - named after her alter ego Tallulah.
Tallulah’s bar is going to be quite an opulent wine bar sort of thingie. Believe me, I've had a sneak preview.
Marion is a superb barmaid with exactly the right sort of personality for that noble profession.
Her smile alone can light up a room and she is most elegant and stylish.
There is considerable excitement and eager anticipation about her new Tallulah's bar, which will be on the junction of Victoria Road and Rowson Street in the heart of New Brighton.
It should be open for business from Sat May 26.

AH, WELL, enough of sexual politics and heavy issues … for a while.
I expect you're all dying to know the latest goings on at my local pub, Hell’s Waiting Room in New Brighton.
I was in there last night, as it goes, and encountered a brilliant new music talent visiting us from his home in the swamps of Seacombe.
The young man, a poet and a songwriter called Al, performed some of his breathtakingly beautiful, self-penned love ballads.
He made quite an impression on the people assembled in the Waiting Room last night – myself, Popstar Paul, Big Jack, Quiet Jack, Annette Kalms and her rock chick daughter Felina.

WE live in strange times for sexual behaviour, do we not?
The sexual drive is a strong and wilful one. It is also, by turns, frustrating, immensely pleasurable and hugely distracting.
Our meddling New Labour Government is far too keen to limit and proscribe what men and women may or may not do by way of sexual behaviour.
This new Puritanism, which chiefly sees women as victims and men as predators, is backed by force of law and the eager cooperation of a politically correct police force.

JUST look at what passes for entertainment on the telly these days …
* Poncey cookery shows
* Dismal how-to-do-up property abroad strands
* Rubbish about young people ‘marooned’ on a desert island
* Elimination shows based on so-called singers auditioning for parts in worthless, derivative, musical theatre
* Hollyoaks – so bland they had to set it in Chester

OK, life’s mainly a grim struggle and I’m not exactly the sort of bloke who brims with optimism at the best of times.
But it just so happens I recently wrote a very uplifting ditty, called Happy Days, which I think works both as a poem and a song lyric.
I’m going to read it at the next meeting of The Bards of New Brighton, which will take place on Bank Holiday Monday (May 7), at the Little Brighton pub (The Ginny), Rowson Street, New Brighton, 8.30pm onwards.
Anyone who writes creatively, or who is interested in writing, is welcome to attend the Bards. We meet on the first Monday of each month and the group is very friendly and supportive of writers and poets.