Eccles Cakes - contains a little swearing

“Oh, just fucking fuck off.” Said Mary throwing the book of pastry recipes across the room.

“Look all I wanted was an Eccles cake recipe. There’s no need to get violent.” Said Martin, the book had narrowly missed him. He tried to regain some sort of dignity but Mary wasn’t going to allow this. She ran the length of the room picking the book in one motion. Mary aggressively thumbed through the pages before tearing a page out and setting light to it. The flames licked at Her fingers before dropping the remnants to the kitchen floor and treading it into the lino. 

“What did you do that for?” Martin was starting to wonder about Mary’s sanity. This wasn’t the first time this week that she had flown off the handle. Martin had never been this terrified, he slowly backed away towards the door he was starting to think he had misread Mary and the situation.

The Mary he had first encountered was friendly, warm, smart and most of all beautiful. This was the woman he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with and it had been a real pleasure to be engaged to her, the last few weeks however his assessment of the woman he loved more than anyone changed. There was only one person he had loved more and that was that Blue Peter presenter of his childhood, he’d never met her but he did send a letter in and he got a badge in return. A ll he was getting in return for loving Mary was a torrent of abuse The closer the wedding got Mary’s temper was getting out of control now could explain it. He thought it was probably the final details of the wedding that was getting her down and he certainly hadn’t done his best to help.

“Mary we are here to help.” Piped up Keith. Everyone had forgotten that he was here but he had known Mary longer than anyone else he had been friends with her long before he was with Martin. He thought he could reason with her but it seemed increasingly difficult. He thought Martin could have been more supportive. He knew however how busy He was at the office and decided to see what he could do to help out his department.

“I thought you would have known better than anybody Keith,” Mary said. She was on the point of breaking down completely.

“I’m sorry I don’t know what you mean.” Keith saw that he was in front of the knife block. He shuffled over so it wasn’t in view of either of the happy couple. “Come on Mary, we can’t help you if we don’t know what’s wrong.” Keith waited for Mary to answer.

“Come on Mary. If you can’t talk to me I’ll pop out and let you talk with Keith.” Mary seemed to be relenting a little and it was soon decided that Martin would leave and the two friends could talk about these recent out bursts. Martin didn’t know where to go, he grabbed his jacket and left the house.

“Thank fuck he is gone.” Mary smiled. “He has been getting under my feet these last couple of weeks.”

“But you usually love that about him. He loves you and likes trying to make you happy.”  Mary has no argument with this. It was Martin’s puppy dog enthusiasm for everything that had first attracted her to him in the first place.

“You remember Harry? All them years ago?” Keith remembered instantly they had all been good friends before a car in the middle of town hit him. “Well the week before I had an abortion. It was his.”

Keith knew they were sleeping together everyone did. But this was news to him. “If you knew what was going to happen to him would it have made any difference?” he asked trying not to appear to overcome by the whole thing.

“I don’t think I would you know. It would have been nice to have something to remind me of him. But I wouldn’t have coped with a kid on my own.”

Keith took hold of her hand. “So what’s all this with you and Martin?” Keith looked Mary in the eye and for the first time this week she seemed so vulnerable.

“It’s the Eccles Cakes.” She thought she was sounding stupid. All this fuss over a little cake that wasn’t really that nice. “I thought it would take my mind off Harry. It is ten years since he passed on and I needed some sort of excuse to take my anger out of, you know I don’t even like Eccles cakes but her Martin is trying to make them some sort of them for the wedding.”

“I’m back” Shouted Martin from the hall. “I’ve brought some Eccles cakes from the bakers.” Mary and Keith looked at each other before laughing and in unison they shouted back.

“Oh just, fucking fuck off!”

People who I know a bit

While I was at The University of Derby I had the chance to spend so time with some really cool people most like me trying to get their voice heard out in the big wide world so I thought this would be a good opportunity to give them a bit of a plug they are all awesome in their own way so click on a link you maybe surprised. They are by no means in order of quality.

http://crashlandapollo.blogspot.co.uk/

https://twitter.com/SimonHeywood

https://twitter.com/toowierdtolive

http://jamesbrightman.wordpress.com/

 http://hollysaysthings.blogspot.co.uk/

http://dominiccuthbert.wordpress.com/

http://www.thecreativepumpkin.com/

http://ebsn.eu/members/jason-lee/

More About Me

If you are anything like me you like to know about the people that you read. There aren't any biographies of me nor would there be. I'm only starting out on this writing adventure and so far you have all impressed me. Keep up the good work. My other presences on the internet are https://www.facebook.com/thefamousstrauss and https://twitter.com/famousstrauss check them out.

I'm a 32 year old man. I was born in a building that has since been demolished which is a shame as where will they stick my blue plaque? While born in Mansfield I think of myself as a southerner having spent most of my formative years in Havant.

That is some sort of description I guess but it doesn't really get to the heart of who I am and what this blog is going to discuss. To my friends I'm that person who only ever talks about cricket, Sussex, trains, Norwich and books. These are going to be topics that I will talk about in the main as these are things I know at least a little about and am by no means an expert on.

Some of these I have already talked about in previous posts and seemed to be at least looked at so if you liked them then this is the place for you.

Cricket is one of my big passions and having played and spectated for many years it is something I do love a good natter about. I know it's not everyone's idea of fun and if it isn't don't let that put you off there is still plenty here for you. My allegiances are to Sussex and I will update you on their progress. I also play for Sherwood Colliery Cricket Club. They are Mansfield Woodhouse's premier cricket club so you may get some news on how they are getting on.

Trains are there or thereabouts, it is my favourite mode of transport and is an industry that I would love to work in. So if some of the UK's fine train companies are reading I'm your man. I will write about interesting journeys that I take on the train. Many of these will be in the county of Sussex.

Which brings me to Sussex a county I only lived in for a short time. It is place I have grown to admire even if my first glimpses of the place was Crawley. I hope to inform you of my adventures around here. But I don't  just want to tell you about my travels in a single county, you will hear about my other days out as well.

I love books, I love reading them, I love buying them and I love holding them so I want to share my love about them to you, you will have to keep reading the blog to find out more about this. 

So these are a few things that you will start to find out more about me in the near future I hope they have given you a sense of why you should stick around here and carry on supporting me with. If you have any questions feel free to ask.

Hayling Billy

This is one of the first things I wrote at uni, I've never had the guts to carry it on. Maybe one day I will but here it is for you to have a peek at. 

The only person who had ever understood Billy was his grandfather but he was gone. Dead from a heart attack while on holiday in Gravesend. The wake had proven to be too much for Billy. The suit he was wearing was uncomfortable. The label under the collar was itching and he wanted to take his tie off. The stuffy atmosphere of reminiscence filled the Ship Inn. The man they were heartily talking about was not the man that had been an anchor during a time of much turbulence in life. Fresh air was what Billy needed. Fresh air. The smell of dried seaweed was what met him instead. A man stood near him looking out onto the inlet, the man threw the butt of his cigarette into the water and left Billy on his own.

  

The Inn was only a short distance from the bridge that served the Island on the other end of the stretch of water. Laughter and the mixture of multiple conversations spilt from the pub. The odd car passed the bright golden lights marking those leaving the Island and the red flare highlighting a journey home. The tinkle of sailboats rang out from the sailing club and those moored in the shallow waters that surrounded it. The large sunken pillars of the old railway line lay in ruins barely visible in the gathering gloom. The grandfather, a railwayman, had crossed those long removed tracks and Billy now felt it was time he finally made that journey.

                                                    *****  

Katherine was everything that Billy wasn’t. A straight A Student, prefect and much admired by her peers and teachers alike. An able horse rider she spent much of her spare time riding the trail that the old rail line had left. She was keen to conquer the waters that during the winter lashed the nearby shores with much violence to its southern shore.

   

Her sailing club was sheltered from the Solent by a natural harbour created by Hayling Island and Portsmouth. This was the perfect place to hone those skills that would eventually lead to days out to the Isle of Wight with her boyfriend David. Nights alone with the gentle sea and the gentle boy who was a fellow prefect at the grammar school. Sometimes she wondered if life was a little too perfect. With a place at an Oxbridge college virtually guaranteed she wished that life would throw up the odd anomaly to break her from her comfort zone. Weaving among the decaying pillars in her little boat her wish was to be answered as Billy jumped out of the heavens to send her boat spinning out of control.

A Bag of Hammers

So you are probably wondering why I switched my blog name from the thoughts of the famous strauss to 'A Bag of Hammers'? There are a couple of reasons first was after watching the film A Bag of Hammers. There is a quote in it which explains the title (don't we love it when that happens?). The quote is

"We all get a bag of hammers. You know what I mean? Whether it's being poor, or catching cancer, divorce, losing your brother - losing your mother... Well, but the thing is, what you do with these hammers when you get them. 'Cause that shows you what kind of a man you are; even if you're not ready to be one yet."

This to me seemed apt to what I want to do with this blog. These words are my hammers and this is how I'm using them.

Of course a bag of hammers is also used to mean dumb or stupid and at times some of the things I will post will be just that, or they will appear that way to you. Sometimes my innermost thoughts won't always be that stunningly insightful but I hope they will be entertaining at least.

So go on be as dumb as a bag of hammers!

Hove Actually

Big occasions at Hove have not come along that often. I wasn't going to miss this one. The long coach journey wasn't a chore. I was going home. Home in a metaphorical sense, the feel of the sea breeze, and the sound of seagulls gliding majestically in the sky. For most the ground on Eaton Road is unique in its quaint little way and I guess it is. The deck chairs at the Cromwell road end make the place special. The ground was packed, a good old local derby with the prize of a Lord's final at stake.

The last time they had been this close I was stuck in East Wittering. I saw maybe 30 seconds of that game. The tiny shop had it on a black and white t.v. and I blocked the shop owners view. He understood though he had been there. All Sussex fans have at sometime or another, the same result was always there. I sat in my tent and listened to the commentary as they beat Glamorgan. I went back once went in the same shop but the magic was never repeated.

The rivalry between Hampshire had grown bitter. Most games between the two usually involved a controversial moment that would keep the fans amused. It also coincided with my parent's major fallout with their neighbours. I had moved away in search of better things. They seemed far away where ever I was. The ground looked splendid under the beam of the floodlights, the first installed in the country. 

My first cricket games had been at Southampton mainly to see the touring teams. My heart was never in it for the home team. My heart belonged to the team just a few miles over the border. I did the washing up for months in order to earn the money to get my first membership for Sussex. Finally a Benson and Hedges cup game on a sunny April day was to be the day I was finally accepted by my first true love. 

Most boys my age where of discovering girls and cheap cider when this happened and they are still thing I have never totally got my head around. The cricket team has been there longer than any woman and it will be there long after I have gone. I guess it is true that no fan is bigger than the club let alone a player. I would have loved to have seen some of the true greats that have played the game. There had been many to grace this little ground. I did get to see Ed Giddins a player who when banned for drugs use opened a shop selling Christmas trees. 

It is any boys dream to fill his autograph book with famous names and so when Brian Lara came to the county ground I was no different. I approached him in my shy way and he asked me if I would wait until later. I was star struck so I didn't say anything. Later in the day I was minding my own business when one of the fellow members persuaded me to try again. I approached the legendary batsman again and he agreed to sign my book. I was a bit confused to why he agreed to sign it now. So I asked the man how he knew I would get this autograph this time round he intimated that I was one of the committee members sons. This one white lie secured me the prize.

I looked at the coach times. The train would be too expensive. It would mean leaving at five but the sacrifice would be worth it. The only downside would be if the game were close I would miss the result or face a run along the seafront in order to catch the ride home. This is how it always was. I didn't have to travel such distance and it was true I never had work the next morning.The bus travelled along the south coast taking in the delights of Emsworth, Chichester, Bognor Regis  Littlehampton, Worthing, Shoreham and finally Hove. It took an epic three hours but the end result was worth it. I got to see my heroes. It hurt when at times they were revealed to be real men with many human faults. 

Sussex use two other venues for their matches. There is the rather picturesque Arundel ground looking over the castle. There was a voucher in the West Sussex Gazette for 2 tickets for the price of one and I persuaded my mum we had to go. Middlesex were the opposition. They had a number of famous players such as Phil Tufnell and players less famous such as Mike Roseberry. Tufnell was a big fish and when my sister and I found ourselves in the member's area we decided to reel in the autograph. He had his pads on and was ready to sit down with the food of athletes, a banana and the more athletic cigarette. I brought up my courage and a put my autograph book in his path worried that it was either going to be stained by fruit or set alight. It wasn't always good memories and when Worcestershire came to town the season after most of the senior players left I watched in horror as my heroes were bowled out for a paltry 71. It felt more like 29. 

I arrived at the ground and there were a number of people already there a quick trip to the Tesco Metro around the corner from the train station. Once in side the ground I bought a replica shirt and found my seat. I had a regular seat when I first went regularly. To afraid to sit in the pavilion with the other members I sat near the Arthur Gilligan stand. I was horrified when during a game with Glamorgan there were a couple sat in my seat, the ground was empty but they had sat in my seat. I sat down near by and scowled at them all day as they drank from their flask. I finally moved to the pavilion and for the first time at a cricket match I was amongst friends. 

Sussex fans travel to all corners of the world to follow the team and at away games the same faces tend to crop up and it is reassuring in a way. In 2008 with one game left of the former Sunday rehashed mess about with the format league. It boiled down to the last game of the season and the top two met at Trent Bridge to fight it out for the crown. The result had looked certain to be Nottinghamshire's for most of the second innings until Murray Goodwin swung it back and a six off the last ball sealed victory. I joined in with the celebrations and found myself hugging a man I had never met before but the occasion seemed to merit it. 

Hampshire batted first and when John Crawley fell early on it felt like it was going to be a good day. Then their batsmen chipped in with runs that took their total towards competitive. Shane Warne could have been a Sussex player. He was offered the captaincy and a decent wage in county cricket terms. He said no and while I didn't instantly dislike him, he was to become the main focus of hostility. Chris Adams took control and he started to install a backbone of hard to beat cricketers that had been lacking for so long. In a way I dislike him for that it was so much easier to support a team that didn't win every week. Expectations began to rocket and when they won the second division on my birthday 10th September 2001 it felt like the world would be ok. The world changed the next day in more ways than one.  

James Kirtley started to break through the ranks just at the same time I became a regular at the county ground and it was kind of fitting that of all days his bowling was going to be pivotal. I was there at his debut test match against the South Africans at Trent Bridge where he bowled England to victory on the final day. It was a long journey for him to get to this point his bowling action had been scrutinised on a number of occasions and it was down to a lot of hard work that he finally got the recognition he deserved. When he bowled Warne the whole ground erupted with joy the only person who wasn't happy was the batsman who pointed his bat accusingly at the bowler. When the same happened the ball after it made me more determined to see a Sussex victory.

I was heartbroken when we lost to Warwickshire back in 1993. I watched the game from my living room and as the game drew nearer to a result the family were watching rather pessimistically trying to dampen the inevitable water works that would follow. When Sussex reached their second Lord's final within the space of a few years against Hampshire of all people I didn't stay till the end I chose to spend the moment of defeat looking around the well-stocked shop. I think I would have cried just as hard. That's the problem with following a successful team; the defeats are harder to take.

The Sussex openers started scoring runs at an express pace and when the inevitable mini collapse came with the introduction of the spinners it was up to Michael Yardy and Carl Hopkinson to steady the innings and this they did just calming things down and building a solid foundation. It was during this calm in the past that one lone voice would pipe up with a rendition of 'good old Sussex by the sea.' 

Hopkinson and Yardy would never be considered as top quality cricketers not even by their parents. They had a hard working approach to their cricket and made sure they got more out of their performances that their talent would naturally allow. Hopkinson never quite made the cut and this would be one of his most important days as a Sussex cricketer. Yardy has found international honours with England in the short forms of the game his flat spin bowling is hard to score runs off and his unorthodox batting is ideal for a crisis.   

The game was in the balance when I had to go and find the coach home. It was now dark and the floodlights were burning bright. Hove was the first ground to install permanent floodlights and one of the first sponsors added huge eggs to them as an aid for further sponsorship. If a player hit on of the eggs they were in for a cash prize. The same family friend who took me to Southampton to see the Australians took me to my first day/ night game at Hove. I was to spend most of my summer in Nottinghamshire and this was my last real chance to see them that year. I entered a competition in the programme and when my name was read out over the public address system it made the day all the more special.  I won a bag and Sussex won the game. In some ways this was more exciting than watching my first test match at Trent Bridge later the same week. 

I ran most of the way to the coach station hoping I wouldn't miss my only way home. This was nothing new I had run for the bus so many times it felt right. I got there ten minutes early and the coach wasn't to turn up for another half an hour I could have seen the end of the game to see Robin Martin-Jenkins hit the winning runs. I found out on the radio that victory had been sealed and that a Lord's final beckoned

All At Sea

It is hard to imagine how big a seagull is until they try to take food from you. It’s at times like this that you forget all attempts at bravery, and throw the measly flake of cod that is in your hand and flee to a safe place to eat in peace. This happened to me in Eastbourne, where I guess the seagulls usually outrun their victims. Pigeons are much easier to deal with. They will creep up on you hoping for the smallest crumb of anything including cigarette butts but will scarper when spotted.

Seagulls are an important part of the seaside experience for me as much as eating fish and chips out of the paper. Or trying to win enough two pence pieces to fill all your pockets and still have to carry some of them home in bags or those little plastic cups the put out for you. These are the same coins that anywhere else would be dropped on the street, put on charity buckets or put in jars and forgotten about. The temptation to win that plastic watch or key-chain becomes too intense but as soon as you lose your last penny you shrug it off and move on.

The seagull that scavenges along the coast and, more and more inland, is the Herring Gull. They can weigh as much as three pounds. Their wingspans can be frightening so they are the last thing you want to see when picnicking on the seafront is the silhouette of a hungry gull bearing down on your mini scotch eggs. Their distinctive plumage and their natural squawk make them vital to any visit on the coast. I think it’s the way that they make flying seem so easy, the way they just glide in the air. They are an immediate reminder of where you are and add to the atmosphere.  This is amidst claims that their number have been in rapid decline some have to resort to stealing bags of Doritos from shops.

I used to live not too far from the coast, but I never felt the draw of the beach. Most of my class at school would go down to Hayling Island when the sun was out and frolic along the sands and make friendships that last. I didn’t have many friends and so I was happy to go down to the creak with my dad every so often and look for driftwood. I saw a dead seagull on one of these trips. I had seen animals squashed to the road before but this was different, the feathers that hadn’t dropped off hung to the skeleton with bits of flesh that hadn’t finished decomposing or been picked off by other seagulls. It was over the bow of an old boat that was in a similar state of disrepair. We changed route after that so my sister couldn’t see. She wondered what the fuss was about. It wasn’t that exciting.

 Now that I live inland I long to return to the coast, I don’t mean the sun kissed beaches of Europe where the beautiful and drunken Brit mix in imperfect harmony. Nor do I mean that capital of tackiness, Blackpool. These clichés of beach life don’t appeal to me. I don’t begrudge anyone who enjoys this type of holiday, everybody needs their own ways to escape from whatever it is they do for the rest of the year.

I have made excursions to the Lincolnshire coast; not very often and most likely I will never return. I wasn’t impressed by my first visit to Skegness, known for its ability to be ‘bracing.’ Like all drives as a youngster it seemed to take forever, and then there wasn’t a great deal to do there if you didn’t visit Butlins. The next visit when I was old enough to drink alcohol made it a little more bearable but in other ways that had its own limitations; all my friends wanted to do was get drunk and have conversations on the rides about their top 5 cartoon characters while the forces of science tried their best to dissuade them. What they talked about that they couldn’t have done while being thrown in different directions I will only be able to speculate on. I was firmly on the ground holding onto coats and bags. At night if you look out to sea you can see lights off shore. One of my friends commented he thought that they were the ‘sea police.’ In reality they are likely to be oil rigs or if more recent trends suggest offshore wind farms.

Cleethorpes is peaceful and tidy but unremarkable in many ways; of its features is a natural pond just off the promenade but not an uncommon feature. I have only been a couple of times and for a large amount of that time I had my back to the sea. There are apparently a number of Lincolnshire cricket fans who want to see a professional standard of the sport and every so often Nottinghamshire indulge this and where better than by the seaside? This was the reason for both visits so I may not get to know the place better. Cleethorpes proximity to Grimsby is probably what puts many people off; with its tradition as a fishing port placing it in the same league as Hull in terms of appeal. Thinking about it Hull probably has an unfair rap as well. I only saw the train and bus stations so am in no position to comment.

I was on my way to Scarborough. The train takes a route that passes along the coast for much of its journey. Once you pass Beverly you start the journey towards the Yorkshire coast. People head for Bridlington where the train empties and refills before its onward journey to Scarborough where the line ends, and you’re a short walk from the beach. My hotel there was on the wrong side of the town for the tourist areas. So I didn’t see the Scarborough that everyone thinks of, but I did get the time to visit Anne Brontë. Her grave is not far from the ruins of the castle. I like to think it was the inspiration for the little castles you find in goldfish bowls. I took the long way round, walking up the hill requiring a sit down half way up, as opposed to walking further down the road, which would have meant not struggling with the steep climb.

The grave itself is inconspicuous. Most of the people who were looking for it walk straight past. I feel she got a better deal than her sisters because where they died was far bleaker. The Yorkshire moors for me are depressing, as is most of West Yorkshire; there is something about the colour of the moors. It’s the dark browns of the heath and the way the sun never seems to generate any warmth and when added the harsh industrial buildings of the early 1800s you want to get out of there sharpish. The village they lived in has now become a place of homage to many but the Howarth they knew was a place that life didn’t prosper, the water was polluted and so was the air. The towns and cities nearby such as Wakefield blend the grand Victorian gothic with the town planning of the 1960s and 70s to create places that when you visit you want to leave.

For many years most of my family’s holidays were taken on the Isle of Wight. We would camp in a farmer’s field and it would just be the four of us; my parents, my sister and me. While we didn’t make friends with other kids we got plenty of space to run around. The size of the island meant that we were always close to the sea. One of my favourite days out was to Blackgang Chine. I’m not even sure what was there. I do remember the dinosaurs; there are photos of me and my sister posing next to them. Apparently during the hurricane of 1987 they broke free from their stands and made a swim for it, before being washed back ashore. It seems that the dinosaur will never meet a dignified end.

One of the local bus companies used to advertise a day out in Ryde. You could get the bus to Portsmouth and catch the catamaran over to the Island. This was all in a reasonable priced combined ticket. The biggest disappointment other than using the offer only once was the predictable advertising slogan, “Ticket to Ryde.”

It only takes twenty minutes on the catamaran, fifteen minutes on the hovercraft and a lot longer on the ferry. The beach seems go on for ever, when the tide is out you feel you can walk back to Portsmouth. Because the beach reaches so far out the catamaran docks at a pier that requires a train to get to the esplanade. Once there you can wonder around the town which is as many people like to point out is stuck in a time warp. This is part of the charm of the Isle of Wight; it has survived bombing raids during the Second World War and rock festivals in the 60s and 70s. But it has kept its integrity, in many ways that is commendable. Many of the holiday destinations abroad are desperately trying to keep up with the tourist. Huge hotels spring up in places that used to have some beauty or charm that attracted people there in the first place. We explored most of the island and we only stopped going after my mum was bitten on the leg by a dog. Most of the last day of that holiday was spent in a doctor’s surgery while she updated her tetanus shot. When we moved we started going to Hayling Island for holidays instead.

My dad never liked to pay the prices charged by most attractions so we used to do everything that was free so we only ever got to the gates of Carisbrooke Castle, and for a long time that was the same with Porchester Castle although you could walk around the grounds for free there. I eventually went on school trips to Porchester. The castle was enclosed inside some of the most complete Roman walls in the country. The Keep was Medieval and said to be a favourite of Richard II but I still hate the steps that lead up to the roof. The narrow staircase that spiralled up only had a bit of rope to hold onto, I would imagine that when first in use there wasn’t even this precaution and especially no fire exits. I always thought that some Norman soldier would come in the opposite direction and send me tumbling.  The view of Portsmouth and the surrounding area made it worth it in the end and thinking about the famous people who had stood here before me. Henry V stayed there just before going to France to claim another throne that wasn’t rightfully his.

One day we took a small wooden boat that my dad had built and launched it out to sea tied to a piece of string and would bring it back in when the novelty wore off. One day however, the string snapped and the boat sailed out to sea. It looked to pick up speed and rolling over the waves it looked like it was enjoying itself, just like the model glider we took out into the New Forest and saw fly into the distance, climbing on each new thermal. I like to think it’s still up there flying somewhere over South America on its fourth or fifth circuit. It felt like this was going to be the same with the boat. It would have been somewhere in the Pacific now if another kid hadn’t swam out and rescued it. I didn’t mind paddling out into the shallows, but Porchester didn’t have a beach and I wasn’t prepared for a swim.

Emsworth is another place where we would go as a family. There was an enclosed harbour which you could walk around and some benches to sit and admire the view as well. We used to sit down looking out at the pleasant bay and fish for crabs; the only creature that prospered. They usually took the bait - a bit of bread rolled into a ball - then we could put them back in the water and go home safe in the knowledge that we were able fishermen.  

When I was able to start going further afield on my own, I travelled the Sussex coast when I had a day spare. I took advantage of it going to places like Bognor Regis, Littlehampton, Goring-by-sea, Worthing, Shoreham and finally Hove.  With a stash of vouchers for the bus from the tourist information office that would last the summer I would ride on the 700 bus. It took three hours to cross the county and I would start to explore places.

Bognor had a Butlins and the local paper gave away vouchers for cheap day tickets, so I would go with some friends of the family and have a long day out, I started with a bit of swimming followed by a game of pool and then we watched the free film. The films where those aimed at young families, some soppy film with animals going on some quest to rescue their human owners from some mine shaft or something ridiculous, most of the time I would be won over by a well told story but not always.

There weren’t any rollercoasters but it still had some rides that looked frightening enough, which meant I stuck to the carousel and the bumper cars. This was still a better day out than Hayling Island, where if we missed the bus home, we would have to start walking back until we saw the next bus. We also went on the train to Bognor. I have vague recollections of the IRA planting a bomb in a bin outside the Thomas Cook there days before we next went. Whenever I talk to my mum about this she can’t remember it.

Littlehampton is not far down the road and I’ve only stopped there a few times I don’t think there is much to recommend about the town. It is the home to the Body Shop and the first Blue Peter life boat. Even Goring-By-Sea, which has to have -by-sea tacked on the end so it isn’t confused with a place in Oxfordshire or a Nazi, is more interesting. The bookshop is named Jabberwocky Books and some of the street names are named after former Prime Ministers. It is also apparently where Oscar Wilde is thought to have got the inspiration for character names in a couple of plays, such as Lord Goring, and Jack Worthing, the latter from a rather fruitful trip to Worthing where he wrote The Importance of Being Earnest. There is a blue plaque in Worthing to commemorate this however it is now believed to be on the wrong building.

Worthing lives up to its reputation as a stopping off point for the elderly, especially on the bus. It was after we left the town centre and moving down the seafront that I would start to notice that old person smell. It wasn’t overpowering, but it was enough that if you had fallen asleep, you would know where you were if you woke up.

I once sat opposite two women one an American and one half Lebanese half Cypriote - I only know this because it was something they discussed in detail - who were talking about going to Shoreham. They had never been before and they thought that it would be a lovely English seaside resort. I felt I ought to tell them not to get their hopes up but, in the end I let them find out for themselves. Also where else are you supposed to sit on a horse other than its back? It is pleasant enough with an annual air show.  It is overlooked by the chapel of Lancing College which is made from the local sandstone and, as a result, is slowly crumbling despite the best efforts of conservationists.

I found a five pound note the first time I went to Hove. It was a dull day with drizzle in the air; I don’t know why we even went. I think we were supposed to go to Brighton, but ended parking further away than planned. Living in Crawley at the time, it seems rather surprising that we didn’t go more often. I wasn’t thrilled to be there that day and moped about walking down the seafront. The place was deserted. I walked past what I thought was an ice lolly wrapper. It then started to occur to me there aren’t many companies that use an image of the queen to promote their products. I turned back to find it was a five pound note.

Hove is a place I go back to often. At first it was to watch the cricket. Then as I got to know the place I would venture down George Street and look in the shops, an independent record shop was a favourite; they would have a number of tapes that were always worth looking at and even chart albums.

If anything I am quite unadventurous when it comes to most places, I find it hard to walk from Brighton to Hove without getting lost. I have found a number of different routes, none of them straightforward. Getting the bus from near the Brighton Pavilions, It took a route behind Brighton train station into the residential areas; it was like looking at the same place as described in graham Greene’s Brighton Rock. The cramped terraced housing is in evidence around the station and imagining the characters walking down the street isn’t hard to imagine. The buildings start to turn into apartments the closer to Hove you get, once past of Hove train station it turns into family homes and if you are unlucky enough you will find yourself among the mansions celebrities such as Adele, Heather Mills and Fat Boy Slim. Hove of course is seen as more gentile than its neighbour and Brighton and I like it that way. There is never any sense of urgency in either. But if anyone asks me where I am headed I will repeat that famous quote ‘Hove actually.’

I have started spending more time just sitting on the beach, next to the leisure centre there is a crazy golf course, I have never seen anyone play there but it is the indicator that I am in the right place. It isn’t crowed with people who have no respect for the area. There are not people dropping litter or being loud and disturbing other people’s enjoyment. Instead you get families on little impromptu educational visits looking for shells and interesting shaped pebbles that they can draw and put away in little wildlife collections. Don’t get me wrong there times when it is nice to sit further down the beach towards the two piers. The burnt out structure of The West Pier is a silhouette on the coast showing not just Brighton’s decline as a popular holiday destination but places all along the coast. It can be cheaper to spend a week abroad with more of a guarantee of seeing the sun.  

I have seen Portsmouth at all times of the year and I would have I like it best at winter. This is more than a decade ago; there wasn’t Spinnaker Tower then, a weird structure that can be seen across a decent part of the city. I liked to go walk down towards Southsea and watch the ferries leave and return. The lights that are visible give the place a feel of safety of routine. In the dark the sea can be dangerous. When you can’t see something it plays on the senses. You are more vigilant, and the sea does this to you. When the waves are agitated you know to stay out of its way but when they’re calm it gives no indication of its dangers. The sea usually gives a warning of the threat it possesses when you first dip your toe in. the coldness that shocks up your body even in summer says this is not a place to mess with.

The atmosphere is different by the sea during the winter. There is a something that changes whether it is that there are fewer people around, or the waves look more ominous. The light brown colours of the sand mix into waves and create an altered kind of feeling than those of the clearer blues and greens of summer.

Early Stats

I have been trying to spread word of this blog through the usual channels open to me. These being Facebook https://www.facebook.com/thefamousstrauss which my friends all look at every so often if they remember that they actually like me. The there is twitter https://twitter.com/famousstrauss of cours but I don't think the word is out on the street about that one I have 26 followers.

This blog is in it's very infant baby steps and is about 12 hours old and already I have had a decent number of views even with a limited audience.

If you break the figures down into countries where people have viewed me from the UK obviously leads the way. This being the country of my birth it isn't surprising the 2 views from France is a bit however. The USA comes in second with 7 views with Russia and South Korea being the other countries to show an interest.

What I would like is more of a presence in scandinavia, Canada and maybe even New Zealand, can this be achieved only time will tell I guess. But probably not if I use such cliche.

The Seagull Prophecies

I wrote this for one of my uni modules, it isn't the most interesting piece but it was more a project to see what was possible.

I don’t appear in this story not even as the narrator. You may wonder what I am doing here; well I'm not really here at all, you're imagining it. Focus, come on now. No not on me, over there in the background, him on the bench. Good I guess we should start. No I'm not going to tell the story after all I can’t. You're telling me you've forgotten already. This isn't my story. It’s not even yours. Well that may not be true. Just because you aren't it doesn't make it yours. It’s time for us to get back on track I will pass you over to that young lady over there after all she has something to tell you. I won’t ruin the plot for that would be cruel, and that isn't what I'm about.

I saw him sitting on a bench in the park, I can't tell you where or when. It’s not that I don't want to tell you. I just don’t remember the bigger details, they aren't that important. Anyway there he was, his clothes clinging to him as if they were about to fall off a cliff. It had been raining for the last two days so it was hard to tell how long he had been out there just sitting, looking into the near distance. No one seemed to notice him and walked straight on by. Even the Mormon’s hurried on by. It was hard to imagine that anyone had been there to talk him out of his stupor. He didn't look like the type with many friends and who could blame them.

A burst of wind, some old forgotten ghost of energy whipped up the empty crisp packets and empty promises. The discarded detritus sticks to your leg like some metaphor of life. So you desperately kick it free so that you can both carry on with your respective journeys. It flies up into the air and hits a business man in the side of the head, knocking his phone out of his hand. Then I remember the man on the bench.

I was now more curious to know why this bloke was sitting there. He was watching what seemed to be the remnants of an umbrella just flapping around the park like a distant seagull with a broken wing. I went to sit down next to him when he began to speak.

‘Life can be like a train at times at times. It doesn't always stay on track or arrive when you want it to. There are often unexpected delays or cancellations. Then life throws a bus replacement service at you which is when you realise it would have been quicker to take the bus.’

‘All roads lead to Rome but not all trains lead to Leamington Spa. That maybe a good thing unless you are stuck there waiting for the train to Warwick, to resume not just your journey but to be back out there in the world.’

‘There is a church in Warwick where the tomb of Richard Beauchamp just sits there; the golden figures that surround it are really something to see. I go there from time just to sit and reflect in the silence, occasionally swearing from time to time at tourists who get in the way.’

‘This tomb and church is from a different world when kings were kings and men were men. I admire their achievements more than most. I would imagine that the person walking down the street doesn't even know it’s there, which for me is a shame, and shows you everything that is wrong with the world today. Maybe it takes someone like me to change that. It is impossible to make a living from tie dye t-shirts, even in these supposedly more enlightened times.’

‘Maybe I should storm the ten o’clock news with some rant on the condition of the dustman. Something that makes people sit up and listen to the injustice out there. There are too many sob stories or just plan idiocy and I wonder what the deal is with that?’

It was then that I realised that this man was a total loon, oofty mcgoofty a nut case. I got up and left and thought nothing of it until I was sitting in my onesie eating corn flakes out of a mug with no handle watching the ten o'clock news when this maniac bursts in the studio empties a bin of rotting cabbage on the desk. George Alagiah stood up and lamps him one, sending into the remnants of month old veg, before rubbing his face in it. Boy did I feel good about that one.

OK, OK I steered you badly on that one I can't apologise enough. Apart from the fact that I'm not in control here, you're supposed to be.  Now settle down you are starting to make me a little uncomfortable here. So now what? You want me to give you compensation? Are you out of your mind? You must be you’re talking to me I guess. OK what if I can channel you down a new path? A new story and a fresh start. You like stories with animals in, I know these things, I don't know why you have to ask. I'll see what I can do. OK here we go, you are feeling very sleepy.

There is a field with a Mule and a Bull they are both minding their own business eating the grass and looking into the distance trying to figure out if it will rain or not, when the Bull approaches the Mule and asks.

“Are you a Donkey or an Ass? Not that there is anything wrong with that” said Andy the bull. “It’s just sometimes labels matter.” Bertha looked at him with the stunned look that most mules possess form time to time, if not all day long.

“Are you mental? I’m a Mule. Now can we drop it and talk about something sensible like is it going to rain? Or the size of rabbits feet which if you ask me are way too big.” Andy was chewing on some grass by now and all he heard from Bertha’s outburst was rabbit.

“What’s the difference between a rabbit and a hare?” Andy asked, as a seagull landed on his back pecking at the flies and other pests.

“Oh, that’s it. I give up you really are the most stupid bull anyone will come across.” Bertha was far from happy with the current conversation and tried to hurry off as quickly to the other side of the field as she could trot.

It’s true that Andy isn't the smarted bull in the world but he is pretty inquisitive. If it wasn't for the fact that Andy’s insemination record was the best around for miles and probably countywide he would have been pretty easy to get rid of. As it was he was awarded the same prowess as a footballer in the lower leagues, not on a great deal of money but with more than his fair share of kids by different mothers.

He was adored by his farmer and by those who recognised his achievements, but all the other animals on the farm took an enormous dislike to him, apart from the cows that had their two minutes of fame with him. It was that he was annoying as hell.

Come on that is sick, what kind of mind are you running here. I think I should move on. After all what is “insemination record” all about? What makes you think of things like that? Alright we’ll move on I’m sure there is something in this little mind of yours that would be interesting to look at. Maybe time for a little drama that would be good wouldn't it?

The seagull shit hit the back of my head like a tracer bullet. The sticky substance transferred to my hand the moment I felt to see what it was. It wouldn't have been out of the ordinary if someone had thrown it at me. The little pile of gunk made me feel instantly sick. People around me told me I was going to have good luck. But I had never had any luck, good or otherwise. That just wasn't the sort of person I was.

The remnants of birds dinner was starting to dry on the collar of my shirt like moldy toothpaste. I was already late for my interview on the pier. I needed to get rid of the mess on my hands so I wipe it in some kid’s candyfloss; this just made my hands stickier. 

There are people gawking at me, and then a man starts shouting at me. Crap it’s the dad of the candyfloss kid and he doesn't look too happy he looks like pistons and springs are starting to rattle in his head. Of course he has every reason to be like that but I don’t need this just now I need calm so I can get this interview over with and start my interview and start changing this luck situation. The man moves towards me and I run for the pier. I need to find some sort of sanctuary between the noise and lights of the arcades. There is a buzz to the place; people are excited about winning multiple 2ps. The claw machines give the hint of glory before letting go. A group of old ladies swoop on the slot machines as families move away to discovery new ways to spend their money and maybe buy an ice cream. Groups of teenagers form like a pack of feral animals waiting to pounce on the misfortune of members of their group.

That is until I enter the place people are now watching me clearly noting my every move. I feel as if I have committed some incredibly devious crime one that I will never be able to live down. The 2ps stop hitting the bottom of the dispensers, the little horse racing things stop running and the focus is on me. I do what any sane person would do and that is run for the exit. I take the wrong set of doors.

They follow me out on to the pier I am trapped the cold looking sea is a real concern but it seem like it is the only way out of this situation. I don't want to jump but what other choice do I have. There are policemen in the crowd. Surely what I have isn't that bad I should get a caution at best. This isn't what I wanted. Damn seagull, it’s all your fault.

They have moved in closer. I’m on the rails, I think about giving myself in but I lose my grip and I’m in the water. I have never been this cold and I feel more disorientated than ever. I make my way to the shore, warmth failing to re-enter my body. Now I’m a sodden man it wet clothes the only thing left to do is go home dry off and leave town. I need to find a place where there are no seagulls. That is harder than you would think those things are crafty little buggers, they have a tendency to follow a man unable to conform to societies demands.

Wow, wow. I think there are some major guilt issues here. I don't really want have anything to do with that. I think we should go our separate ways. OK I guess I can't just abandon you just yet but you have to promise not to pull a stunt like that again. Do we have a deal? OK let’s see what’s next.

Jon loved Maude very much. He would do anything for her. Then one day she fell ill. Jon was beside himself with worry. So he asked his dear love what he could do to make her feel happy. More than anything she wanted him out of the house.

“I’d like some bagels and some lovely cream cheese.” Jon wondered what a bagel was. “You know how much I love them.” This was the first that Jon had ever heard about bagels let alone Maude’s love for them. It may have been on her on-line dating profile, but he hadn't looked at that in months.

This left him with a problem he didn't know what it was he needed to get but he didn't dare ask Maude as she may have been disappointed in him, she would have forgiven him but that didn't enter his thinking. There was only one person that he knew he could contact in a situation like this. He had been friends with Kevin since primary school. He has always been the smart of the two but that was much the same as saying the cheese slices you get in burgers are as tasty as a nice piece of brie. Don’t ask me why it just is. We don’t need any of the italicised rubbish to tell me how we tell a story.

Well I was just…

Don’t, save it. Any way our hero needed the help of his friend, who we have established he looked up to.

‘Hello, Kevin. I need your help with something. It is really important.’ Jon said. Looking up into the sky a seagull hung in the air as if suspended by a piece of string pinned to the upper atmosphere.

‘I’ve got your back mate, what is it I can help you with?’

‘What is a bagel and where can I get them from?’ this was asked with all seriousness and Kevin knew it.

‘I’ll be over in ten minutes don’t go anywhere.’ Said Kevin sounding excited, this was a really chance to go on a big adventure, or at least the big Morrisons on the other side of town.

Jon looked again at his watch, ten minutes was now starting to look like forty. Kevin had rarely been on time for anything in his life. Jon had resigned himself for this taking a while, even though this was a situation he needed sorting out.

When Kevin arrived, Jon didn't bother asking him why it had taken so long to get around four blocks because he knew it could not change a thing.

‘I hope you know where you are going?’ said Jon looking the most riled he had ever been. While Jon always looked clam on the outside he was a nuclear explosion in one of them snow globe things. Kevin didn't say anything for a long while and it wasn't until they had gotten to the car park of the supermarket built on what was once an old haunted Indian burial ground, all the more strange for being in Godalming, Surrey.

There weren't any sign of ghosts or weird happenings, apart from two cowboys sat on horses filling up with hay. Jon didn't bother to mention this to Kevin, he just wanted those bagels and to get home to the woman that made his dreams a reality.

‘They are near the bread, Jon if we can find out where that is kept. Somewhere at the back I’d guess.’ Kevin had taken control. This wasn't anything new and probably why they had made the news at ten for getting stuck down a gold mine on the outskirts of Guildford.

‘Can I help you sir?’ said a young assistant, fresh out of school, still unable to predict that the general public are all idiots, especially the two she is trying to help.

‘Yes we are looking for bagels’ said Jon, ‘it’s rather important.’ The assistant smiled back, this annoyed Jon. He didn't want these pleasantries he wanted bagels.

‘This way, gentlemen’ she said beckoning them to the back of the store. ‘Oh it appears we are out at the moment.’ Jon was not happy. This scared the girl. ‘Um maybe you could try the small bakery over the road. The might even bake you some fresh ones.

‘OK, we’ll go and see what they have got,’ said Kevin trying desperately to pull Jon along with him.

The bakery over the road was a pokey little thing. It was dwarfed by the empty buildings around it. However it seemed to survive. Its buns must be amazing.

‘Hello?!’ Kevin said when he opened the door; the dim lighting suggested no one was home. ‘Oh I thought you worked at the supermarket over the road.’ He added to the girl behind the counter.

‘You met my sister then?’ she enquired.

‘Do you have any bagels then?’ Jon snapped at her.

‘Why of course sir’ she said handing a bag over, ‘Freshly baked as well.’ Jon snatched it from her. ‘Is this it? All I've been after it this. I could have made them myself.’

When Jon got home having added some cream cheese he took them to Maude. Taking a bite she spate it out.

‘You got the cheese with chives in you know I hate that flavour.’

Can I just say that is the most boring story I have read surely you can come up with something better that? I’m starting to lose patience. You need to impress me otherwise I am leaving.

There was a woodlouse called Toby. He had a wife and 500 children. One day he decided that it was time to go and make a name for himself in the world. He was bored of the 9-5 job of tottering around gardens all day trying to look important in the grass and under bit of bark and compost. It was hard work and never got the credit he deserved for it.

He thought he could make a better life out of acting under the stages of the west end. Woodlice from all over Petersfield remember his Othello. He thought maybe thought he should have gone to acting school but he had fallen for a beautiful woodlouse he met while at work. Kids soon followed and his dreams died.

Toby packed up all his little things and started the long walk to London, where he would walk the shiny paved streets and finally realise his dreams.  He had a cousin who lived in Brentford and was happy to put him up.

The journey was arduous, birds swooped at him trying to make him sign petitions to keep that birdsong radio station going. He didn't give up and even secured himself an audition for a top musical written by Ben Elton. It didn’t get bigger than that.

Finally he had reached London sent a postcard back to the family and sent it through the ladybird post. It was at this point he decided to go to the pub and celebrate. However he got trodden on by a big boot and he now inhabits the dust that surrounds us.

I think this says a lot about you. You feel you are in a dead end job with no outlet for your talents. The only problem is you don’t have many. Which is a real shame. You would have been good in cats or something. What do I know though? It is only half five in the morning so no need to open your eyes now relax.

Fay and Arnold were holding hands while out walking one day when they came across an odd man selling little yellow men. They were from all walks of life. There was a construction man, a policeman and even a nurse. Arnold was a collector and there was a spaceman that was really hard to track down. It had real gold leaf stuck to the helmet and one in mint condition was worth thousands. It was worth inquiring how much it was. Lego was his passion, and this would make that enthusiasm all the more special,

‘Good day sir!’ said Fay. ‘We see you have the little spaceman how much do you want for it?’

The man looked at the couple for a while, as if judging a fair price for the little figure.

‘You may have it for free but first I need you to do something for me.’

That is disgusting! I don't like where you are going with that. I beg you what are you playing at? You are sick and perverted; I would suggest you get some help! Well it isn't my fault I'm just a guide to the thoughts that are floating in your head. OK so you are telling me you were going somewhere more innocent with this story? OK let’s hear it?

‘Well within reason, I guess so’ said Fay. Who looked a little worried, she had good reason to as well.

‘Look, I don’t want this to get weird’ said Arnold who was a little defensive about this. If it was something out of a film where he could lose fay to this loser in the park it just wasn’t on.

‘I only want you to cut my toenails, they are hard to reach and the make my feet uncomfortable.’

OK, I have heard enough. It’s time for you to get up anyway. Go on wakey wakey and all that. Good you’re up good morning.