I took the following
photographs yesterday while we were in town.
I was up very early by Sunday
standards, as today was the day of the peaceful protest against the moving of
the Emmet clock from the Victoria Shopping Centre. After checking the event on
Facebook (remember Facebook? It’s making an inexplicable comeback), I started
to wonder if it was worth it after all. The event only had eleven people saying
that they were going, and there were no extra people on the back of the radio appearance
on Friday. Radio’s Jason Loftus contacted me to tell me that he had it on good
authority that the clock was not to be moved, and wondered what my next step
should be. Part of me wanted to go anyway, even if I was the only one there, as
I had started the thing in the first place. On the other hand, I am fed up of
being the go-to guy for this kind of thing when I live in a city full of people
who bitch and moan until they’re blue in the face but don’t actually do
anything about it. With a couple of hours to spare, I decided to cancel the
event and gave what I thought was a good reason.
Thinking no more about it at
this point, on the way to lunch at my dad’s I was phoned by a reporter from The Nottingham Evening Post (as I still call it) to ask
where I was and was this thing still going ahead. I had no idea that they were
even going to take an interest in this, as they hadn’t bothered to reply to my
email earlier in the week. Walking on a busy road and talking on the phone wasn’t
mixing well so I asked them to call back, I wanted to make the most of a Nottingham Post employee who actually knew how to use a
telephone in the old fashioned way. As they had made the effort to go to the
shopping centre I felt a bit bad, but went into a soapbox rant about how people
in Nottingham don’t really give a fuck anymore. I expect that very little of
what I said will make it into the paper, if they even run an article.
My dad has recently moved
house, and has acquired the attention of a cat who just wanders into the house.
We’re not sure if it’s male or female, although you can usually tell by the
face. Roger (the lodger, as my dad has called him) is tame and friendly so I
don’t think it’s a wild cat. I have a theory that my dad lives in the cat’s old
house and that the previous occupants left without it, but that was shot down
as the house was empty before my dad moved in and Roger does look quite young.
He/she is a lovely cat though, with the weirdest meow I’ve ever heard. This
reminded Mandi that she wants another cat, although I am attempting to put my
foot down and say that we have two and that is enough. On the plus side, it has
taken her mind off wanting a dog.
===
My daily blog can be delivered straight to your Kindle
for 99p a month (link)
I’m raising money to make a film about The Sunday Alternative and put on a free screening, please read my latest newsletter.
I’m raising money to make a film about The Sunday Alternative and put on a free screening, please read my latest newsletter.
