Automatic writing for the people

Right. So the other day I did this thing called The Reading, as part of the Not Part Of festival. You may have read about it here. You have three hours to write, in a specified slot, in an art gallery and there are 72 writers in total; each one is given the last paragraph of the last person's story to use as "inspiration" to write a completely new story. A bit like a chain letter. (Bastard, I hated chain letters - they were all the fucking rage in the 70s. Not that I wish to divulge my age, or anything of that sort.)

Right, so, it's a sort of automatic writing - y'know like what the Beats did. Or Oulipo. And I took part in this artistic expression experience on Thursday. It was interesting, if a little difficult. Anyway, I thought I would share with you the culmination of my efforts; tell me what you think. If I were to give it a title, I think I'd call it The Plan.

The paragraph that I was left sprung forth from the genius mind of my mate L'il Dave; without further ado, here's David Hartley's final par and then, after the stars, a strange story by me...

She was faced with the end of the world but she wanted no part of it. If this was collective imagination, then the collective could keep it. Half a mile behind her, blades rotating through the past, Ollie's helicopter was waiting. She took one last look at the roaring future, shrugged her shoulders and walked away.

*****************************************************************************

The past, the future: you can keep them. The present, that's where it's at; the here and now. Take each day at a time - you have no idea what it will throw at you. Just react as it happens. Live your life real time. Look at you now. You're live-streaming your thoughts out into the ether. You don't know why: as if anyone even cares, right?

But someone does, somewhere. They look at the words you spew forth every day on those modern-fangled fancypants networks you love so much. You tell them all about the most inane details of your meagre existence on this planet, God's green earth that is slowly suffocating in front of your very eyes. But you don't care, not really. Live in the moment. That's what you say, you think.

Keep plying your audience with the twaddle they seem to love so much. Look: I'm drinking a can of Coca-Cola. It's the full fat stuff: the taste is better, the packaging is a design classic. See: I'm smoking a Gauloise Blonde. Not a Gauloise Blonde Legere as they're not as strong, and I'm trying to portray an image of myself in a certain way. (Also, you can't have Legeres any more - European law, or something.) Watch: I'm eating a packet of Hula Hoops. I'm putting them on the end of my fingers then biting them off enticingly, one by one.

You're sending out messages. You're not all that sure why, but it's a way of connecting with them out there. Sometimes you even tap out stuff that only certain people will understand. It seems a bit pointless, but you want them to know you're thinking of them perhaps, even if you're only doing this by the power of describing your clothes, the contents of your bag, the book you've taken it upon yourself to try and read. What about Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451? You like a bit of dystopia. Breakfast Of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut, maybe? It has a good title.

People relate to that kind of stuff. Stuff. Like the coke, the cigarettes, the crisps. People understand, and those understanding people are the ones who are also living in the moment, like you. Who cares about the past? It's done and dusted, you can't change it, move on. Who cares about the future? You can plan and plan and plan, but it doesn't mean that everything is going to go according to that plan. There'll always be something: a spanner in the works, a fly in the ointment.

Take things as they present themselves. This could be an opportunity. It could be an adventure. It could be a disappointment, it could be a disaster. You can still be prepared - it helps to carry an umbrella in a rainy city, for example. And where would you be without that knife in your pocket, that condom in your wallet, that safety pin clipped to the hem of your trousers? Life-savers are handy when you have a life that needs saving.

And your life now - this life you're living one moment at a time, not making plans, going with the flow - is this life worth saving? Of course: it's fun, isn't it? Yes, but it's dangerous. Yes, but that's exciting. Yes. And people want to hear about it, remember? They're waiting to hear about it. You can't let them down now; you have a responsibility to Your Readers. They need you; perhaps they need to live through you.

Listen: I'm at the art gallery. I'm looking at art. I don't get the art that I'm looking at. Oh, I shouldn't admit that I don't get the art that I'm looking at. But I don't. It's dumb. Who the fuck funds this stuff, anyway? Why don't they give the money to me: I'm a living art experiment, aren't I? Living in the moment and all that. I could use the cash to keep up my body of work, extend my oeuvre, explore new forms of expressing these experiences everyone wants a piece of.

There's your application, right there. Copy and paste it into the online form, quick, before you forget, before something comes along to distract you: a phone call, an important email that Needs Answering Right Now, a meteor smashing into the polar icecaps and setting us all in a tailspin towards the sun, a gigantic spaceship hovering about Manchester Town Hall, demanding an audience with Richard Leese.

But that's not going to happen, is it? You, I and they all know that the aliens only ever put a humungous shadow over New York, Los Angeles, Washington, Johannesburg, Paris and London, at a push. Plus humungous isn't even a word. Probably gigantic isn't either; you can't remember and the dictionary has everything in it these days, colloquial, made up, everything.

You should know, you spend enough time flicking through the good book at work where you edit report after boring report and pretend to be looking up things like "data" (plural? Singular? Does anyone give a toss?) but actually what you're really doing is trying to find as many rude words as possible and testing your own encyclopaedic knowledge of swears against Roget. You usually win; the man has no sense of imagination. You couldn't if you came up with such a complicated cross-referencing system.

So, yeah, live in the moment. Get that funding bid off. Then get on with your next project idea: the one where you catalogue all your favourite naughty phrases using library coding parameters stored on microfiche and displayed on a light box in a darkened room that adds to the suggestive atmosphere. Or you could do a series of Venn diagrams: male bits intersecting with female bits, so to speak; the subset of shared bits including nipples, arses, hard, panting. And then there's the bedtime stories stroke of genius: two writers sat in a bed telling tales of titillation, like the Yoko and John of the literary world. The arts lot'd love that; they'd put on their special voices and extol the talents of the great minds who came up with such a brainwave.

But you're living in the moment, remember? These projects are plans. You don't have a plan. God, it's stressful, not having a plan. Why hadn't you noticed this before? You were trying so desperately to fly by the seat of your pants and cram in as many events and experiences and emotions and other things beginning with e that you've started to lose your way.

So let's make a plan, you and I. Maybe I'll make the plan and I won't let you in on it. Would that work? But then I'd be in control and wouldn't that be like playing God? That's twice now he's cropped up. But I don't believe in God, only extraterrestrials, because there's got to be something out there, right? Just not an old bloke with a beard sat on a cloud surrounded by cherubs playing lutes or lyres or whatever the damn things are.

If I make a plan, The Plan, would that be even more stressful? We're right back at the plans not going according to plan. That was the whole point of this discussion. Perhaps we shouldn't have these philosophical existential theological mental chats in our frame of mind. It's tricky, that's for sure. A proper dilemma. I can't make The Plan - surely that's for the Fates to decide. Leave it up to destiny, eh? But then you have to believe in the Fates and destiny to begin with, I suppose, and I don't believe in anything. Except extraterrestrials, of course. Remember?

But say we did have a plan. Just say. For argument's sake. Work with me here. What would The Plan involve? I can't see into the future, but I want one; the life worth saving, all that. You too, right? The life worth saving, I mean. Trouble is, my idea of the future would probably not be the same as your idea of the future, if you'd for just one minute think about the future and stop selfishly pretending you don't need a plan. Living in the moment, indeed. What kind of student anarchy thinking is that?

So we're getting nowhere with this. I want a plan, you don't want a plan. I don't want a plan, you want a plan. What, you've changed your mind now, have you? That complicates matters. Maybe that's the spanner in the works, the fly in the ointment: you've been pretending you don't want a plan, but actually secretly, all along, you've been squirrelling away thoughts of things that might happen in the future. I bet you've got tons of these thoughts hidden in the recesses of your great mind.

It's probably like one of those books you used to order off the back of cereal packets in the 80s, the ones where you get to the end of a chapter and are faced with a number of options, each one leading to a new set of circumstances. Like a tax return, only with princesses and monsters and pirates and monkeys. There were probably monkeys. So you got to the end of a chapter and had to decide your own fate.

a) Rescue the princess from the monsters and pirates and gallop off on a white monkey into the sunset where you'll get married and live happily ever after. Go to Chapter 2.
b) Don't rescue the princess from the monsters and pirates and save yourself from a loveless marriage and a lifetime of nagging. No one finds out what happens to the monkeys. Go to Chapter 3.
c) Rescue the monsters and pirates; leave the princess to set up a monkey sanctuary and die an old maid but she's content because at least she's put something back into society and you're content because you've got a whole gang of monsters and pirates to hang out with; ain't nobody gonna mess with you now, dawg. Go to Chapter 4.

So we need to think of the options in your head. I guess they're: carry on as is; don't carry on as is; carry on but this time with a plan. Oh, we're back here; I think this is a sticking point. If only we had some monkeys. They'd distract us if nothing else. We'd get caught up in training them to do party tricks; fetch and carry; make cups of tea. We'd be the talk of the town with our troupe of dancing simians throwing down rose petals for us to walk over. Now, that's a plan. (Note to self: look into monkey adoption.)

But let's not lose sight of the important details. The important details are The Readers. We'd kind of forgotten about them, but we'd be nothing if it weren't for The Readers. We need to keep them in new material, you know what they're like. So demanding. If we don't keep feeding them the snippets of information on the minutiae of our life, they'll get all sluggish and slow and eventually stop, like a Furby or a Tamagotchi. Discarded in the corner of the room, staring at the point where the two white walls meet, staring with dead eyes and no purpose in life.

We're the life-savers, after all. We thought it was our lives we were supposed to be saving, but really it's theirs. So let's get on with it; give them what they want, what they need. Words, sentences, paragraphs, chapters, books, libraries. That's why we're here. What else did you think?

Crafty idea

Upcycling is a word I'm hearing more and more, although it doesn't seem to have made its way into the Oxford English Dictionnaire yet - at least not the free online version anyway. Never fear, Wikipedia is always on hand to come to the rescue in times of missing popular culture references crises; indeed here you'll find that upcycling is defined as: the process of converting waste materials or useless products into new materials or products of better quality or a higher environmental value. In other words, it just goes to show that one man's trash really is another man's treasure.


As if to prove this, an upcoming exhibition at the Royal Exchange Craft Shop sees up-and-coming contemporary craft makers showing and selling homewares, jewellery and accessories inspired by upcycling. The special commissions are by students on the MA in Design at MMU and include Catherine Chester, whose intricate and interesting earrings (pictured) are made from recycled watch components. There will also be pieces for sale by established makers and local craftspeople, so if you didn't even know the Royal Exchange had a craft shop, this gives you the perfect opportunity to bob along and check it out.

The Upcycled show launches with a special preview 12-3pm on Saturday 5 February and then runs until Thursday 31 March, with a special free workshop event on Saturday 5 March. It is part of the Take Stock project which the lovely Craft Shop ladies, Rachael and Gail, are running in conjunction with The Crafts Council. More info can be found on the website, blog, Facebook and Twitter, and you can expect a review here once it's all underway.

Saddle up and ride em cowboy

This weekend, it's all about cycling. Well, every day is about cycling for me, but I do like to encourage other people to get on their bike (to coin a phrase), and sometimes they're not all that keen to do this if they're not being accompanied by other people on two wheels. Something to do with safety in numbers, I guess. (As perfectly illustrated by this photograph of two matching bikes I spotted in the Northern Quarter on Tuesday evening. Neat.)

So this weekend in Manchester there are quite a few excuses to dust off your velo and pump up your tyres pump up your tyres pump up your tyres - dance dance. (Uh, sorry, don't know what happened there.)


Kicking things off is the regular Bike Friday ride into town tomorrow morning, with led groups departing various points at 8am and all converging at Exchange Square for a coffee and a chat with folk from other parts of the rainy city. A couple of months ago, I tried to join the gang leaving from Chorlton Library, but I was, as usual, fashionably late and they'd set off just before I rolled up so I was always lagging behind by about 200 metres (this was back in Celia's day, just prior to retirement on her 30th birthday). Bike Friday is part of the Love Your Bike initative run by Manchester Friends Of The Earth, and the lovely Graeme told me all about the project at the "bike fair" on Albert Square on Bike To Work Day back in June. So I'm telling you. Full details on all the start points etc are here.

If, like me, you find 8am a tad too uncouth, tomorrow evening sees the monthly Critical Mass organised by I Bike Manchester (@ibikemcr on Twitter) and the inimitable Nes Bear (who posts updates on the Facebook page Manchester Critical Mass). Hoards of cyclists of all shapes and sizes, ages and backgrounds, and with all kinds of bikes (foldies, fixies, recumbents, post office, Dutch, cruisers, BMXes, mountain, racers, road, shoppers, step-through, sit-up-and-beg...) meet at Central Library from 6pm and go on an amble around town from about 6.30pm. The pace is pretty slow (all the better for not spilling beer all over my new steed, Hettie, and her marvellous spring-into-action basket) and, while the ad hoc route is often out to Platt Fields or Whitworth Park or Alexandra Park, it's not what you'd call strenuous. It's a really great way to meet fellow cyclists, promote cycling to the good people of Manchester and reclaim the streets in a friendly and non-agressive way.

On Sunday, the streets are being reclaimed using rather more organised methods as the Skyride returns for a second year. Starting at 10am, you can see the 12km (really?) route here. Lots of people took part last year, and there's plenty of "family fun" to be had, and while I'm a bit disturbed by the involvement of such a giant organisation as Murdoch's Sky, these events do raise the profile of cycling and the GB cycling team does need sponsorship. Gah.

Mode in England

So the annual Chorlton Arts Festival is now underway, having kicked off yesterday. I've been coordinating all the press and PR (no mean feat, I can tell you!), and there's quite a buzz about the event, which celebrates its tenth birthday this year by running for a record 11 days.

Tonight, darlings, the Eco Fashion Show hits the runway (7.30pm, St Clement's), and it's free so I expect to see you there in all your finery. Here are some images from the show's look book - I bobbed in to the recent photo shoot so I could put together a press release (part of which is reproduced below for your delectation). Despite being a totally voluntary affair, the show is all very professional, as you can tell from the pics, which were taken by one of my Chorlton buddies, Sam Fairbrother. At the shoot, I got to meet stylist Charlotte Workman and rub shoulders with star designer Sadia Bashir, who has created red-carpet outfits for Bafta winners and has turned some antique kimono fabric into an amazing corset that will feature on the catwalk as the "wedding dress finale".




Chorlton Arts Festival celebrates its tenth year in style with a fashion-forward show...

Fashion doesn’t have to be throwaway and the Eco Fashion Show aims to put sustainable style in the spotlight at Chorlton Arts Festival. Chorlton’s hippest residents clamoured to claim the covetable front-row seats at the festival’s first-ever catwalk show in St Clement’s Church in 2009, and this year’s will be even bigger and better for the tenth anniversary celebrations. The free event, at 7.30pm on Friday 21 May, is being organised by Charlotte Workman, who says that everyone involved is volunteering their time because of their belief in eco clothing.

Charlotte, 38, lives in Whalley Range and works in the fashion industry. She says: “Having styled the first Eco Fashion Show, I was really inspired by the eco message and the interest people obviously have in sustainable style. I’m putting this year’s event together in order to showcase designers and retailers working in sustainable fashion in Manchester, and to raise awareness of what is available on our doorstep. We have some very exciting collections using recycled clothing, vintage textiles and Fairtrade fabrics. I’m keen the people of Chorlton take away the message that fashion can be responsible as well as innovative and amazing, and I hope they go on to support the contributors involved by buying their unique designs!”

Nine businesses are featured, including Chorlton-based Wowie Zowie and local corsetmaker Sadia Bashir. The other designers are Clothing With A Conscience, Vanisha's Design Boutique, Junk Shop, Love Me Again, Between Threads, Lilly Lewis and Mononoko Couture.

Photography by Sam Fairbrother (www.samfairbrother.com). Styling: Charlotte Workman. Model: Alice from Industry People. Hair and make-up: Sam Parker, Jemma Mcguire and Amy Uzell.

Ho ho ho, the green giant

Chorlton's Big Green Festival is back this week, and it's bigger and better! (I would say that, of course, given that I'm on the press and publicity committee. Still, at least I register my interests.) Tonight, there's the last in a long line of fringe events, which have included live gigs, film screenings and a scarecrow competition (you may have wondered what those creations were around and about the sunny suburb, including at Oddest bar, Busy Bees toy shop and at various outlets along Beech Road). From 7.15pm Chorlton's Big Green Festival presents What Next?, an interesting evening of varied talks on positive ways to fight climate change and Q&As by guest speakers followed by a discussion on how to get Chorlton green. It's free and refreshments will be available.

On Saturday, it's the big day, the main festival, which kicks off at 11am and runs through to 11pm. There will be music and dancing, just like at the Copacabana. Also for your delectation and delight there will be plenty of arts and crafts stalls; a Big Green Bike Parade, Critical Mass-stylee; various workshops, from wild food foraging and herb identification to birdbox painting and plantpot making; a fashion show and clothes swap; a plant swap and allotment trips; films showing in not one but two cinemas, and more tasty and locally sourced food and drink than you can shake a Morris dancer's stick at. As you'd expect, everything's eco, ethical and environmentally sound, but it's all brought to you in a fun and friendly way!

I'll see you there...

The great uncloched

There's a house I sometimes wander past Whalley Range way, and come winter I am always delighted to see that the green-fingered soul who lives there protects his or her alpines with a number of cloches. The rockery looks like a mini Moonbase Alpha and it never fails to make me smile. (This garden cloche, or bell jar, as they call it - although I would argue that's something taller and usually involves taxidermy or Sylvia Plath - is available at Hippy Shopper, BTW. I would presume you have to grow the courgettes yourself, however.)


I'm quite a fan of cloches, actually. I don't have any in my garden (perhaps that's why there have been a number of fatalities out there this year; not least a rare pale pink fuchsia grown by my mum from a cutting she pinched off a plant at Powys Castle or some such fancy-pants place), although I do have a mini greenhouse of which I'm quite proud (I put it together myself from an Ikea flatpack, and even varnished it to protect the dowling from the elements).


Cloches seem quite attractive in their simplicity and old-fashionedness. I also like cloches over food - they always manage to make cakes look even nicer, if that were at all possible. I've got a big blue wire cloche-type bit of kitchen paraphernalia to keep bluebottles and black cats at bay. It's quite successful, if a little cumbersome.


Cloche hats are another favourite of mine, being a big fan of 1920s style (I have a bob, don't I? Just because I don't dress the whole flapper hog every day makes me no less of a fan). I once went to a party as Coco Chanel and wore a cloche hat. Looked a treat, although I'm not sure Gabrielle accessorised with a can of Red Stripe.

The word "cloche" (pronounced closh) comes from the French for bell. More cloche definitions are available here.

Hope you like jammin' too

I've been busy this week copywriting for the soon-to-be-launched new and improved Big Green Festival website, along with various other extra-curricular tasks. Maybe it's because I love pies that I have my fingers in so many, but Chorlton's Big Green Festival was my first so it occupies a special place in my gravy-laced calendar.

This year, CBGF celebrates its second birthday (on Saturday 27 March) and, like any festival worth its road salt, it's now got its own fringe! Here are posters for the first two fringe events, one of which is tomorrow at the fabulously named Jam Street Cafe. Someone once told me that it's so named because the road on which it sits, Upper Chorlton Road, takes you up to the jam factory. I don't know if that's true or not; it would be something of a circuitous route to the soon-to-be former 113-year-old Duerr's HQ on Prestage Street in Old Traffo. Whatever, we jammin'...