It Ain't Half Hot, Heathcliff!

“No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere”

— No Coward Soul is Mine - Emily Bronte

When I was younger, I used to be a fairly frequent visitor to Haworth in West Yorkshire, home of the Bronte Parsonage, where the three sisters used to sit around the dining table in the mid 1840's and knock out Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. There's something magical about the place and its story of how Anne, Emily and Jane each became - briefly, so briefly - published authors before they died so very young.

Wuthering Heights is my favourite book. It uses and enthuses the dark, featureless moors that predominate around this part of Yorkshire. It's bleak spot and always guaranteed to be cold and rainy. Or so I thought!

Last week I week back to Haworth after a gap of several years. As you can see by the pictures, Haworth was bathing in sunlight, warming itself under clear blue skies. This is not what I wanted! I wanted dark clouds, intermittent rain, howling winds chasing people off the street and into appropriately named cafes cashing in on the Bronte's fame where taciturn waitresses would bring you a tea and bun and tell you the storm outside was 'owt about nowt'...

Well none of that! 

Where's the rain? Costa del Haworth, April 2018

How was the parsonage itself? Well, it seemed somewhat larger than last time I wandered around - was the entrance hall and gift shop there 20 years ago? Dunno, can't remember. The exhibits and memorabilia were all present and correct, from youthful tiny magazines to both the sisters' and Branwell's pretty good artwork. Pride of place goes to the actual table all those great works were written (bought by the Bronte Society a couple of years ago). If, as a writer, this scene doesn't inspire you or fill you will awe, you're probably not a writer - or even a reader.

The dining room table where all the action happened. I wonder if the pub table where I penned Franco's Fiesta in my local Harvester will be similairly immortalised? Should be.

Leaving Haworth - using the 'old' route, i.e. a ridiculously steep hill where you really don't want to do a hill start at the top - I was thinking that I should reread Wuthering Heights. And then the others. So, I am. 

Isn't that the point of muesums? Get you back to the source and renew your energies and passions?

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AC/DC

We know the formula...

- A guitar riff

- Band joins in

- Singer screeches a verse of smutty lyrics

- The big chorus

- Another verse and chorus.

- Angus whacks out a solo, familiar and yet always different

- Double chorus. Fade.

And that powers a great career. Simple but effective. 

Anyone who grew up when I did basically had a choice - for contemporary heavy metal - of Motorhead, Iron Maiden or AC/DC. They dominated teenage boys' lives and denim jackets. Gathered in bedrooms, we'd play these records and discuss their meaning. Well, with AC/DC there only ever was one meaning!

Bon Scott / Brian Johnson. Both great in different ways. Angus and Malcolm powering their way through, a steady beat, a boogie. A great rock n roll band!

I had the opportunity to see AC/DC in 1991 at the Wembley Arena touring The Razor's Edge. They played their new stuff - which was excellent - plus all the greats! I bought a tour poster of ANgus Young and put it up in my bedsit. Hello ladies. It didn't last long!

Top Ten AC/DC moments

- Highway to Hell

- Thunderstruck

- Satellite Blues

- Problem Child

- Back in Black

- Downpayment Blues

- For Those About To Rock - We Salute You

- Whole Lotta Rosie

- Touch Too Much

- Hell's Bells

Anyway, here's a great video...

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Dreadnought

When I was younger (so much younger than today?), I used to collect many things. Old coins, bus tickets, soldiers, Doctor Who novelisations and old battleship postcards. I recently scanned those very cards so that I might share then on this site and save the images for posterity amongst a similarly nerdy community.

I also used to read books about warships but the ones that especially caught my interest were 20th Century battleships, starting with the eponymous HMS Dreadnought (1906).

The arms race between Britain and Germany before the WW1 produced many huge ships - battleships, battlecruisers - as Britain sought to maintain her naval dominance and Germany sought to catch up. This race is classically cited as one of the causes of World War One along with the tinderbox of the Balkans, the Great Power alliance system, colonialism and German military ambitions. 

I've just finished Robert K Massie's book Dreadnought, a history so stately and magisterial you want to salute it as it hoves into view and leaves you bobbing in its wake. This near 1000 page book recounts the road to war told principally, though not exclusively, through the lens of the unfolding naval arms race. Thus we get to know characters such as Tirpitz, Jackie Fisher, a young Winston Churchill, the mercurial Kaiser Wilhelm 2.

The book dwells on the interconnected European royal families - how through marriage the crowned heads of Britain, Germany and Russian were grandmothers, uncles and cousins to each other. Famously, the Kaiser was half British, spoke English without an accent and revered his grandmother Victoria (he was present at her death). He was also an honourary admiral of the British fleet and often used to wear his admiral uniform.

The book describes how the scramble for colonies - a scramble that Germany came late to the party - led the Kaiser to want to protect trade routes which then generated a demand for a navy. Add Admiral Tirpitz into the mix and you have an arms race in the making.

Britain never had much of an army. As an island we always relied on the navy to defend our shores and so any acceleration of building plans would inevitably lead to Britain building more herself. This was - in British minds - not a nice-to-have but existential. First Sea Lord Jackie Fisher - an explosive character - also used this time to design a ship so far advanced of all previous ships, it made the others immediately obsolete. Once Dreadnought was built, the arm race started from zero again. Game on!

However, I left the book feeling somewhat depressed. The road from Sarajavo to the trenches (July / August 1914) is a slowly evolving car crash. How did the assassination of the heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire in the Balkans lead to the slaughter of the Western Front? 

1) Austria wanted to punish Serbia. Humiliate her.

2) Russia would not allow Austria to take over Serbia.

3) Germany would step in if Austria and Russia went to war.

4) France was bound to an alliance with Russia.

5) The German General Staff devised a two front war with Russia and France where the German army went through Belgium and took out France in six weeks (not unlike the previous war 40 years earlier) before starting on the Russians.

6) Britain was bound by treaty to protect Belgium's neutrality. Moreover, Britain did not want a potential hostile power with naval bases just across the channel. The German fleet would not be allow to parade in the English Channel shelling the Northern coast of France.

So there we have it. A shot triggered an escalating series of 'if you do this, I will do that' responses. Reading through the book as it gets to its climax one is left with the sheer inevitability of war and the powerlessness of politicians (Grey and Bethmann-Hollweg for instance) who couldn't prevent the outcome though seemingly they were in charge. A sobering lesson.

So did the big ships cause war? No. No they didn't. Although the one large naval action Jutland was a score draw that favoured Germany on the day, in the end the superiority of the British fleet kept the German High Seas Fleet at port. And then, after the war, the captured High Seas Fleet scuttled themselves at Scapa Flow where some of them still rest to this day - permanent reminders of the pre-war arms race.

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USS Texas a pre-war Dreadnought of course still floats as a permanent museum.

Some Writing Success

It appears that - in terms of competition wins, places etc - 2017 was a horrible year for Tim Robson, the Writer. (Yes, that one. Not the other one.) Basically, although as active on the Apple MacBook keyboard as ever, seemingly nothing tangible came out of 2017.

"It's cause you're shit, Tim."

Maybe, maybe. 

Anyway, if you take a look at my Roll of Honour page, you'll see that 2018 has started with a brace of third places in literary competitions. Yes, if that sounds like some Monopoly £10 second prize in a beauty contest Chance card, you'd be right. But I'd rather be third than fourth, eighteenth rather than thirty-second, praised rather than ignored, rewarded as opposed to not.

All publications are special, but I wanted to shout out Hit and Run Lover. This was a novel I wrote over several years. I spent ages on it; editing, rewriting, printing out, deleting, rewriting again. A real labour of love. And all for nothing. So, I'm particularly glad that the opening chapter is being published by those doyens of style, Grindstone. 

What next?

As I think I've hinted before, I'm back writing another novel. It's contemporary, London-based, and benefits - I think - from lessons I've learnt the hard way about how to pace, add style and characterisation, plot. The more mature Tim Robson.

"What a pompous arse you've become."

Yeah.

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The Brit Awards 2018

Ah the Brits. Oasis behaving badly. Blur winning sack-loads. Jarvis Cocker jumping on St Michael's stage. Madonna falling off the stage.

Well, your correspondent was at the O2 on Wednesday night to get down with the kids and see what they're listening too. Or at least hang out with the corporate people in the good seats on a freebie and go "Who? Who?" every five minutes like some latter-day Duke of Wellington.

So, Tim's review and scores.

Evening, event and company : 10/10

Justin Timberlake - He's got a beard and he's a lumberjack and so, probably, okay. Next.

Rita Ora and that Liam bloke from One Direction - I liked this one as I've downloaded the track from the Fifty Shades of Rip Off movie.

Rag N Bone Man - Okay performance. But he just looks like a walking cliche of everything wrong with contemporary society - big, fat, tatoo'd, and that song 'Human' is just a victim searching for a hood. Still, did use a good West Pier backdrop.

Stormzie - A rapper apparently, your honour. Shit. Political. Yawn.

Kendrick - Another rapper, your honour. Smashed up a car? Why? Who knows? The ways of the rapper are mysterious and unfathomable.

Foo Fighters. Some plugged in rock n roll at last! But, as I only know, Times Like These, an air of the B side hung over their performance.

Dua Lipa - A self appointed feminist who wandered around wearing a G string showing her arse. That was the most memorable thing I remember about her. Probably mimed. My kids say New Rules are popular.

When I think Sam Smith was one of the best acts of the night, you know the music ain't to my taste. He held his tune though and - through constant car reptition - I know Too Good at Goodbyes.

Ed Sheeran -  As I was in the loo when he started, my memories of the first half of his song are very satisfying. Why didn't he do Shape of You? Apparently 2017's best selling single. No, that would be like, obvious, man.

And then, we had the God-like genius of Mr Manchester himself, Liam of the Gallagher, Oasis Revisted! Yes, Liam was there to pay tribute to the victims of the Manchester bomber in 2017. Ariana Grande couldn't make it so up stepped Liam, with cello, beard and parka doing Live Forever. At last! A proper rock star singing a good song in a good cause. Sang his song and walked off. No bollocks about Liam tonight.

Yes of course he isn't like he was in 1994 but, there again, who is?

And then to the afterparty looking suave in my blue suit, white shirt, pocket hanky, looking every inch the new Justin Timberlake. And yes, I hit the dance floor. I'm already a legend and, like Caesar, I write my own PR.

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Read Tim Robson's Second Thoughts!

I've posted my short story 'Second Thoughts' up on the Random Writing page.

It was published late 2016 having come 2nd in - now defunct - publisher Artificium's 2016 short story competition. I've written about the experience, and the genesis of this story before.

I hope you like it, and if you like stories of dating confusion, prejudice and second chances, it's for you. I'll publish more of my winning stories in the following weeks.

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Top Mick Taylor Studio Tracks

“Ye shall know them by their fruits”

— Matthew 7:16 (KJV)

We all know that in the Mick Taylor Years (1969 / 74) the Rolling Stones were at their live peak. He added a real lead guitar muscle to complement their riff heavy catalogue. They went from being great to being the best. Watching the Stones in this period ranks - with me anyway - alongside watching Elvis 1969-72.  Yeah, two great acts at their peak at the same time. Saw neither. Thank goodness for YouTube.

Apparently Keith Richards once told Mick Taylor he was great live but shit in the studio. There's a ring of truth to this - even if it was overstated. Taylor certainly was less dominant in the Stones albums he played on. Maybe he knew he was being shafted for song writing credits. Maybe Mick and Keef overshadowed MT when it came to controlling who did what and when. They certainly bossed the mixing desk. Playing live they didn't have the same control.

But dig (not too deep) and you have some classic Mick Taylor performances committed to vinyl. 

I've tried to filter out songs where he was just 'one of the band' and purposefully pick songs where it's absolutely all about Mick Taylor. Agree? Disagree? Tell me in the comments.

Mick Taylor appeared on Stones albums between 1969 and 1973*. They are Let It Bleed (just a little) and then Sticky Fingers, Exile on Main Street, Goat's Head Soup and It's Only Rock n Roll plus the live album Get Yer Ya Ya's Out. 

To me, I'd probably rank them Sticky Fingers, Goat's Head Soup, Exile on Main Street, It's Only Rock n Roll. Which is strange as my favourite MT tracks appear on It's Only Rock n Roll. 

Sway - Sticky Fingers (1971)

Keith was absent and so the two Micks fooled around in the studio together, coming up with this gem. A real guitar-heavy rocker, taken at a stately pace, it's one of those Stone tracks that should be better known but it's cult like obscurity makes me feel good I'm in the know. As does my possession of an original Andy Warhol designed jeans zip cover (framed and on my wall next to 8/9 others of similar vintage). This was, for a while, my fav Stones track. Jagger sings exceptionally on this - as demonstrated by his later, pitiful, attempt on the 2013 tour. MT's guitars are hard, the solos fluid - slide and then full on rock solo as the track ends. One to look up if you don't know it.

Winter - Goats Head Soup (1973)

Winter is one of those epic ballads the Stones seemed to just knock off in their sleep in the mid 70's (Angie, Memory Motel, Fool to Cry, Coming Down Again). Just like Sway, it features no Keith Richards. What separates this from the others is the Mick Taylor guitar solo which is both powerful and incendiary. Taylor had a way of complementing Jagger's vocal lines, adding fillers and runs throughout the song. Like he would do when the Stones played live. Many people rate this his best solo. I enjoy it but, no, it would be bettered the following year.

 Can't you Hear Me Knocking - Sticky Fingers (1971)

It starts with a Keef riff and then, according to MT, when everyone was putting their instruments down at the end of the song, the groove just continued - first Bobby Keyes on sax and then, the Master Mick, the God of guitar (virtuosity be his name) started soloing. One take. Not rehearsed. As live as you can get and this is the result. The Stones should have employed this method on their recordings 69-73; just turn Mick Taylor loose. What you get is a classic and a classic because he turns the songs around and pushes it into new directions. That's one of Taylor's strength - his ability to effortlessly improvise.

All Down the Line - Exile on Main Street (1972)

Rock and rolling Stones kicking it back in the South of France, noses in bags of narcotics, dodging tax and playing some of their best music ever! Exile on Main Street was a groove, a feel, the sound of  - to steal a phrase from Sir Paul - a Band on The Run. Mick Taylor adds some sharp, rocking slide guitar, taking the solo. To see how hard MT worked on this track - watch the video below.

Til the Next Goodbye - It's Only Rock n Roll (1974)

Another acoustic ballad, another slide solo. Beautiful song and for some reason completely overlooked. Why?

Honky Tonk Women - Let it Bleed (1969) / Brown Sugar - Sticky Fingers (1971)

Two songs from 1969 (Though Brown Sugar lay in the vaults over a year). Mick Taylor's introduction to the band. Honky Tonk Women - apparently MT made a small but telling contribution. He rocked up the song from the country ballad (Country Honk) to the rock classic we know now. Brown Sugar, is another group ensemble song where MT adds to mix but doesn't stand out. Recording on the sly in 1969 in Muscles Shoals, it was Mick Taylor's suggestion that they play this unreleased song at Altamont when all was falling on the Stones' heads/ Didn't make the film Gimme Shelter but the audio of this first ever version is the Stones against the wall, punching back.

Time Waits for No Man - It's Only Rock n Roll (1974)

The boss. The winner. The best track Mick Taylor and the Stones studio track. So beautiful. So wistful. And that solo at the end! A fucking artist at the top of his game in a band at throwing in a good performance. In the late 80's I wrote a shot song called 'It's Raining Again' and the only good thing about it was that I grafted a sausage fingered version of this MT's solo in the middle. The song is perfect in every way -Jagger's lyrics, Keef's spine tingling riff, Wyman, Watts, Nicky Hopkins and Ray Cooper all adding to the mix. And then Mick Taylor solos like a bastard for two / three full minutes of magic. he employs Latin influenced runs up and down the fretboard. Wow! This is what the Stones could have been. This is the Stones, timeless, standing out of time, looking at us and beckoning mere mortals forward. 

I'm done.

To read my other Mick Taylor pieces, click here...

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* Yeah - Waiting on A Friend was reused in the 80's.

Oasis Maine Road 1996 Flyer

A good gig. Watch it on YouTube! 

Oasis gigs Tim never went to, part 2.

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Oasis Knebworth Flyer

Digging around my scrapbooks - a real Sunday thing to do - found this flyer for Oasis' massive Knebworth gig in 1996. Don't know why I kept it, didn't go, but it's quite historical. 

More 90's memories to follow.

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Misogynist Rant : Dating Profiles

What's wrong with women? Specifically, what's wrong with women's profiles on online dating sites? So very much. I’m offended whenever I dip my toe into this crocodile infested swamp. I know men are worse; that as long as a picture has a pair of tits, they don’t bother with the nuances of grammar or the finer points of the pictures. But still, just because we know this doesn’t mean the bar has to be lowered to the ground.

Rant away Tim!

- A profile that begins with "I don't know what to say..." Yawn. Delete.

- A picture that's been doctored so that it now includes cartoon ears and a dog's nose. Or has cartoon birds or love hearts spinning around their gurning face. Delete

- "a profile that rambles with no attempt at punctuation I like dogs and going out dancing no time for players weirdos not into hook ups and love my family important message me if you wanna know more" Seriously, the ability to form a coherent sentence, to express oneself with precision, seems to be lost. Do we blame the teachers? Probably. Absent fathers? The internet? Mobile phones? Donald Trump?

- Short women who only date tall guys. What's that about?

- Women who end sentences with lol. Any sentence, lol. Lol is the new full stop. Lol. No-one can punctuate anymore. But sentences abhor a vacuum and so 'lol' has been co-opted to fulfil the task. If I see a lol I pass by. Delete. Gone.

- Women sticking their tongues out. Why? So many post pictures of them doing so I must be missing something, some comedic or sexual reference that's beyond me. Maybe. But it's tacky and childish and seems to scream, "I"m mad, me!" Avoid. Delete.

- Negativity. So many women seem to think that an online dating profile is a very good place to opine about the short-comings of males, how we're all arseholes and deviants and after just one thing, that thing our online princesses won't give up easily. Lol. Some ladies also think their headline should be along the lines of "Don't contact me if you're after a one night stand". I'm not but who likes bad energy? Delete.

- Women who want to be taken seriously, who want someone to make them laugh, who can use punctuation, who won't treat them badly, who are solvent, educated and liberal. Not met one.

Should I just copy paste this article onto my profile? Bizarrely, the law of unintended consequences, of not giving a fuck being attractive, might apply. Okay then, bollocks to it!

COPY

PASTE

Hello ladies! lol !!!!

- 

Brighton to Manchester Train

I didn't own a car until 1997. Before that time I either walked, rode my bike or, for longer journeys, hired a car but, most probably, took the train. It seemed a better, fitter existence, though maybe I was just younger and leaner and reaping the benefits of living in a city.

In those days (roughly 1986 to 1997) in order to get between Brighton and Rochdale, I used to take a marvellous direct train that snaked slowly but surely between Brighton and Manchester Piccadilly. I checked National Rail Enquiries this morning, this route doesn't exist any more and one is encouraged to take the commuter train to London, hop on the underground to Euston and then speed up to Manchester from there. It's a quicker journey end-to-end no doubt, but more bitty, and less leisurely.

I remember the Brighton to Manchester journey (and its reverse) being around eight hours but time may be playing tricks on me. Perhaps it only felt that long! There were plenty of stops, from memory - a selection - Gatwick, Kensington Olympia, Banbury, Birmingham New Street, Birmingham International, Stoke, Crewe, Wythenshaw etc etc. Back in those days there were smoking cars and non smoking cars. I sat in either depending on whether I was smoking at the time. Buffet cars existed of course. I actually liked and looked forward to my British Rail cheese and tomato sandwich on white bread. In those days I typically didn't drink alcohol on trains. I was corrupted by a friend one time who brought a four pack with him for the journey. After that...

The interesting thing about the train was that - with so many stops - people were forever getting on and off and the landscape of interaction constantly changed. You might strike up a conversation with someone between say Coventry and Stoke, flirt with a girl between Gatwick and Milton Keynes. Sometimes it was busy, sometimes empty, and this changed depending on the day and the station.

In those pre mobile phone days, what did one do for all these hours? Well, one read, of course. Books and broadsheet newspapers. One could write letters. Yes, people used to write letters to each other! As my journeying was usually prefaced by a leaving - either an end of term or the start of term, letters were what we did. I remember one time writing a letter to a friend on this very journey and stopping in Kensington Olympia, and briefly looking up to see Princess Diana strolling by my window. She was walking along the platform and passed right by me. She got on our train - I believe in a special carriage - though I may be wrong about this - and hitched a ride somewhere (not Brighton, I think). There was no phone to take a snap of her and so I only have my memory of her being so close, separated from me by just a pane of glass.

I do remember the eagerness one got, impatience even, as the last hour of the journey approached. For me, arriving in Manchester Piccadilly, if my parents weren't picking me up, was the start of another journey: a cross town bus to Manchester Victoria, slow train to Rochdale, and parents or taxi for the last leg. 

I wish I'd have taken more pictures of these journeys. I look at the stock photos on the internet and they seem so old, so quaint, that one mixes memories with fiction, imagining white linen clad restaurant cars and Belgian detectives, efficiently run trains and brass buttoned ticket collectors with stamps and strange hats. Like all memories one edits - either consciously or though age and declining brain cells - what is recalled. Probably there was lateness, smoky carriages, boredom, inconsiderate passengers but then also there were no inappropriate phone calls either and although many had Walkmans (if the batteries lasted!) not everyone had white trailing ear phones attached to phones. So people did talk to each other and, given the era, there was more of a sense of homogeneity about the passengers - a shared story, culture, prejudices. Gone now. But so has BR, the route itself, my hair, the careless use of time, being out of contact for long periods of time. Yes, the past is a very different place, how strange it seems sometimes.

Train to London: Nov 1994. The jumper years.

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The idea for this blogpost came from Peter Hitchens and his - far superior - memories of trains in Europe both now and then.from his Sunday Express column 21/01/18.

Top 10 Britpop Songs

MId 90’s Britain - Cool Britannia, Blur v Oasis, 60’s revival, mad for it!

Firstly, let me narrow down exactly which period I’m talking about as things could get muddled and – as someone who used to alphabetise his vinyl collection and order his CDs across two 180cm Ikea Billy cabinets -  structure and order in music are important to me.

The beginning of Britpop was in 1992 when Blur launched their non-album single Popscene onto an uncaring world. Popscene wasn’t ‘baggy’ or ‘Madchester’ or ‘grunge’ or even 'Shoe-Gazing'; it was something noticeably different. Blur spelt this out further the next year pushing the single ‘For Tomorrow’ from their album ‘Modern Life is Rubbish’. They were all about Doc Martens, dog racing and Kink’s style whimsy. Britpop was born.* So 1993 is our start.

And the end? Well, it would be a neat book end to close Britpop down with Blur’s 1997 back to basics Blur album. By that time, Tony Blair and New Labour were in power and Cool Britannia was already a jaded concept. It had run its course and was now just embarrassing.

Probably though the actual end came the summer before when Oasis played their two huge Knebworth gigs. Britpop couldn’t get any bigger. There was nowhere else to go.** It seemed a celebration but also a fin de siècle party for a lost age. A final round of drinks before time was called.

So 1993 – 1996 it is then (or 93-97 if I find a good track and need to bend my own rules).

The Charlatans – Just Lookin’

The Charlatans by the mid 90's had a groove. I saw them a couple of times in the 90's. Great gigs. I love this song for the guitar sound, the guitar solo and the fact that it ROCKS.

Teenage Fanclub – Neil Jung

Saw the Fannies a lot in 1990's. Although they came out of the grunge scene, they produced probably the best Britpop Album in 1995 - Grand Prix. I loved this song and the lyrics always seemed a little personal to me. I did have a girlfriend. She was a lot younger than me.

Ride – From Time to Time

I only saw Ride only once - on The Leave Them All Behind Tour 1992. This one comes from 1994 from Carnival of Light. From Time To Time is one of my favourite Britpop songs but also, one of my favourites anytime, anywhere. Magical, hypnotic, great harmonies. 

Radiohead – Street Spirit (Fade Out)

I remember someone telling me in 1993 that they liked Radiohead. I bought Pablo Honey and thought it shit and so avoided them for the next year. I probably caught the last part of their set at Reading 1993 waiting for Blur. And then - whilst browsing in the Virgin Store in Brighton - they were playing The Bends in 1994. Those last three tracks! Wow! Stunning. And this one, magical and so perfect. They were never this good again.

The Blue Tones – Slight Return

Yeah, I stretch the envelope to 1997 with this one. It takes me back to the Amex Sports and Social Club which had a juke box. I used to play this all the time. Jingle-jangle perfection. 

Oasis -  Rock n Roll Star

There's not much to say that hasn't been said. The mighty Oasis coming out of the blocks with Track 1 of their debut album. They didn't mean this ironically they fooking meant it, man. I never saw Oasis. Or did I? Maybe at The Boardwalk in 1992 before they were famous. But I was pissed and there was a girl.

Morrissey – Spring Heeled Jim

Morrissey, Prince of the Losers in the 80's, was still big in the 90's. I love this track and the authentic scally-wag voices in the background "And they caught 'im, and they said he was mental!"

The Boo Radleys – Wake up Boo

Every morning in the mid 90's you would wake up listening to Chris Evans. His theme song was a bastardised version of this ditty "Wake up! Chris Evans on the Radio...". Cheerful, infectious - a classic. (Though I do prefer their earlier shoe-gazing incarnation).

Blur – Girls and Boys

This is the song that really kicked off Britpop. Blur's 1993 album 'Modern Life is Rubbish' didn't produce any hit singles. I was a big Blur fan and saw them loads of times in the 90's. And then I turned on Top of The Pops in March 1994 and there's my favourite band bouncing around in tracky tops and trainers to this weird song that combines 80's beats with thrashy guitar and amazingly catchy chorus. I remember this as the soundtrack to Tim in Budapest in April 1994.

Sleeper – What Do I Do Now

I saw Sleeper once definitely in Brighton circa 1995 or 1996 as they toured The It Girl. They were shit to be honest. I may have seen them earlier as they supported Blur in either 1993 or 1994 but can't remember. Anyway, although the singer was attractive she was pretty talentless but occasionally (this song, Sale of the Century) Sleeper came out with a bloody good song. You can't ask for more, can you?

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*Some might argue Suede had something to do with it as well but as I thought then – as I think now – they’re just derivative Bowie wannabes, they don’t count. And they’re shite. End of.

** As evidenced by Oasis supporting U2 on their Pop Mart tour in the States. From playing to hundreds of thousands to being the support act to half empty stadiums. It kind of rams it home.

Carfax Tower Oxford - then and now

Can anyone spot the difference between these two images taken 32 years apart on top of Carfax Tower, Oxford?

2017

1985

Tim Robson - Top Posts 2017

(In which Tim babbles about his year in blogs, talks website statistics and - like some jaded good-time girl - tries to understand your preferences)

- What is it with South East Asia and porn?

- What was my theory about Tom Petty’s culpability in the death of Gene Clark?

- What has Wandsworth Council been doing in 2017 to piss away taxpayers’ money?

- What got Tim so upset with Sky in April that the blog literally fell off the rails under the weight of forced anal rape metaphors?

- Why did I post a video of American Trilogy on 21st January?

- And who the fuck lives in Didcot Oxfordshire whose idea of a guilty pleasure is night in with a whisky, some rabbit fur and a long, luxurious  read of this blog?

And who knows when and how to get out of the ever convenient but ever bereft list format style of writing?

Questions. Questions.

So, 2017, almost over, probably not lamented, certainly not celebrated, a prophet without honour even within its own fading span. Blog-wise, where did we go? Did we progress? Did we solve any conundrums, right any wrongs, add one iota to the sum of human knowledge?

To answer this, let me remind you of an old story. Do you remember the one where – unseen – a mouse is fucking an elephant in the arse when the elephant inadvertently stands on a thorn and lets out a great howl of pain and the mouse – still pumping away - shouts, “Yeah, take it bitch!”

I’m not exactly sure what the point of that story was. Am I the mouse? Are you the elephant? Who knows? Sometimes my ways are unknowable, my motives inscrutable, my metaphors a jammed rifle that backfires like some madcap 1940’s cartoon.

Anyway – let me attempt lucidity… I’ve been analysing the traffic stats of this site, and on every measurable scale, 2017 was the year this blog entered the big time, broke all records and had more readers than ever. Thank you all for coming here, even if you only read one article.

As I’ve grumbled here once or twice, my average demographic is probably some middle-aged guy, in his mum’s basement in Lubbock Texas, turning to fat, drinking some bourbon, listening to golden era Stones and, in between accessing niche interest porn, reading my articles about Mick Taylor.

Mick Taylor. Mick Fucking Taylor. I guess I’m gonna have to continually be ‘The Mick Taylor Guy’. By far most of the traffic that comes to this site is directed at the two Mick Taylor articles I've written. If only I could think of a way to monetarise your interest, I’d be rich. If I charged a mere $1 for a sneak-peak at my Mick Taylor articles, I’d have amassed, I dunno, a few hundred bucks by now.

Anyway, here is my list of my favourite blog posts in 2017. It's a good way to ease yourself into my muse.

Covetousness

Tom Petty and the Death of Gene Clark

Inevitable Unions

Mick Taylor Street Fighting Guitarist

Whispers and Echoes

How to Troll

Things I know longer give a fuck about – dancing

Lavender Hill

A Solipsism Too Far

Battle Hymn of the Republic

Next, I'll go through my favourite moments of 2017 and my favourite songs. But for now, let me leave you with:-

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Corelli's Christmas Concerto

This year, I've been playing my Christmas music, as usual. I only listen to Christmas music - both religious and profane - in the actual month of December. Which is probably why shops who slap on their 'Now that's what I call Xmas' in September annoy me so much. There's something trivial, easy and unthinking about this practise. Does no-one in these stores have any sense or decorum?

They could, of course, adopt the musical policy of Clapham Common tube station who play classical music in their foyer; usually beautiful, restful and uplifting Vivaldi. Because this year I've discovered Arcangelo Corelli's Christmas Concerto. Now, this I could tolerate in September though - like a chastened monk, I'd never play it at home before 1st December.

Yes, a baroque concerto about Christmas. Why have I never found this piece of music before, me who loves to baroque and roll so very much? It's serious, moving, beautiful even. It reminds me that Christmas isn't just about discos when you were 16, or first kisses, or friends who were important at the time but are now a wistful footnote. There's something contemplative about this 12-15 minutes (different groups play it faster or slower at will). For me - since you ask - I like to reflect, remember previous Christmases and, like Marcus Aurelius, come to grips with how very insignificant is my role in the scheme of things.

So, I'm pleased that I've discovered this piece of music. I hope you like it too.

Merry Christmas

Tim

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Tim Robson's New Novel

“A writer wrote a word a day
Carefully selected.
Until he had marvellous novel
Everybody rejected.”

— Annoymous

It's been three years since Franco's Fiesta stormed the lower reaches of Amazon's best selling charts. Some days it manfully sold its way to the top 100,000 paperback sales in the world (or UK, or Brighton or my road or something). I think I've given out those 10 copies now to friends and family. Did you get one? 

A question I'm (never) asked is, when are you going to write another. Well, what with the writing, editing, promotion, the hotels, the literary festivals, the groupies, who has time? And some authors should stick at just one book (looking at you Harper Lee). Well, I feel I've got at least another book in me. I didn't achieve all I wanted with Franco's Fiesta (fame, money, groupies, lead part in the film of the book, soundtrack, album, er, yeah. Wanker.)

So, lately, quietly but methodically I've been planning my next novel. Ha! Yeah - planning. As if I didn't just pen some crap and then edit it and think, is this a short story or does it deserve another chapter? Well, this latest one, deserves another chapter. And probably several more after that.

So, what's it about? In answer to this, let me quote myself using some bullshit I penned for a small publisher who took one of my short stories:-

“I’m lucky to walk along Lavender Hill every day on my way to work. And every day I observe hundreds of interesting characters who cross my path. Who are they and what are they doing and why are they here?

Teeming with ideas I get to my office ready to start writing a new piece. And then, I think - “fuck it” and just write about myself. Again.

I am my own God.”

— Tim Robson - The Rejected Manuscripts interview.

Amusing, eh? But not so true this time - just as it wasn't for Franco's Fiesta. I can use that thing - what's it called? - oh yeah! imagination. I make stuff up. That doesn't mean I don't steal people or events or places from real life, because I do. I put them all in a black velvet bag, shake the pieces and draw from it randomly. And write.

But I'm more conscious of posterity, more aware of precedents, less convinced of my uniqueness. I'm also getting to like longer sentences, longer sentences with sub clauses, errant thoughts, asides, funky punctuation and literary allusions. Fuck short sentences. Precision can be reached by either the front door or via a circuitous route through the back door. 

I will say this. I've been quite influenced by some of the books I've read recently. Breakfast at Tiffany's was great but then so was The Go-Between. And others. But I think I'm pitching for that capturing the zeitgeist stardust. 

Anyway, two chapters down. Slow progress but it will speed up, I know.

Place your advance orders now!!

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Amex Sponsors Christmas

It's pretty well known that I used to work for American Express. I think the phrase used in these situations is "Amex is a good company, with a good product, but I've moved on now. Got good memories though." Party line. 

Yeah.

Anyway, Amex does do one good thing which is its annual shop small where, in many small shops and pubs that take Amex, if you spend £10 you get £5 back. Obviously Amex want to prove to merchants the value they bring despite taking a market topping discount rate. Whatever the motive, if you have an Amex card, then these two weeks in early December are a good time to do a pub crawl with Amex coughing up £5 in every £10 (once per location).

So, in a very real way, Amex is sponsoring my Christmas. I have the hangover to prove it.

For my previous thoughts on Xmas click here. 

Enjoy the video and let's push it to 50 views. 

Cheers

Tim

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Mick Taylor and Tim Robson

Occasionally I look through the analytics of my website. I've also recently signed up to Hotjar which provides free analytics for small scale sites like this. And what do I conclude?

More people are coming to this site month on month. I'm breaking internally records frequently. It's gratifying to know that my work (my huge body of work) is being read by more and more people. And people from all over the world (I'm big in Indonesia - who knew?).

BUT YOU'RE ALL READING ONE FUCKING ARTICLE !!! Mick Taylor and that guitar solo.

It's like Chuck Berry writing the genre defining rock songs but having his largest hit with 'My Ding-A-Ling'. 

Come on people, I'm better than this! I write about stuff, you know.

- Rock music

- Roman History

- Modern Dating

- Architecture

- Me. 

- And yeah - Mick Taylor in the Stones a couple of times.

I get that Mick Taylor's great. He is. Why else would I write about him? But FFS! I'm more than the sum of my Mick Taylor articles.

Yeah. Chasing my audience away with a shitty stick. I'm an artist, dammit.

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How to Take A Compliment

“You look good. The beard suits you,” she said giving me a one up, one down look. She turned to her flatmate. “Men always get better looking as they get older!”

Now receiving a compliment from a beautiful French woman – albeit patently untrue – is an ego boost whether you're 20 and square jawed or in your forties and bald. But how to react?

I probably blushed and mumbled something inconsequential. I’m not used to receiving, let alone taking, a compliment. When something is unusual, out of the ordinary, I tend to burble  a forgettable response. I might have said something complimentary back. Sincere and merited - no doubt - but all the same, knicker-not-dropping banal. 

So, in retrospect, here's what I should have said:-

1) "I know." Short, classy, the blonde in a Little Black Dress of receiving compliments.

2) "Get your coat you've pulled." or it's cockier twin, "Get your coat, I've pulled."

3) "Give me a fiver and I'll let you lick my beard." Yeah, sounds a bit 'out there', no? Slightly perverse? But, I knew a girl once who liked to suck my beard. Yeah, I said beard. Weird and yet shockingly erotic. (Forgot that until just now. Muse. Muse. Muse.)

4) What about - "You look great too! Get on your dancing shoes and we'll head to an age appropriate club that plays songs from yesteryear and we can pretend we're young." Usual Friday night then. Tim rides the sofa solus (again).

5) "The secret is regular sex. I need to do it four times a day. Oh look! I think I'm due a session now." Tacky. Tacky. Tim. You didn't say this did you? Er, probably. Later. Slurred perhaps. Women love that.

6) "Thank you, I don't believe you but I'm happy you said that. You however always look great!" This is probably the best response. Acknowledge. Deflect. Give back. Must learn this one.

Anyway, next time I get a compliment I'll post it on this website. They don't come often. Not as often as I'd like. There was one in 1988. I have the letter. 

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Signs of Christmas on Lavender Hill

It's getting to that time of year again.

The Ascension of the Lord's garden is fenced off in preparation for selling Christmas trees. Fine. Fine. But who the hell buys cut Christmas trees in early November? Fools. That's who.

Bar Social has Christmas lights in October (see picture). Ocean going stupidity - like Christmas carols playing in a garden centre during September. Like scraping into a car in Tesco carpark and doing a runner without leaving a note. Just crass.

The fashion this year is for the ladies to don a wooly hat with a pom pom. Today I was falling over fashionable Clapham women in these accrutiments sashaying past me and into memory. Which reminds me, I think I need to upgrade my head gear - had a business meeting today with a client in a flat cap.

Tim switches from white wine to red wine in honour of the festive season. Let us not forget the religious nature of Saturnalia. Er, Christmas.

Below we have Oasis going toe to toe with Beatles around Xmas 1994. They are the only group who could (briefly) take on The Fab Four and not get their ass handed to them. Enjoy.

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