Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Tripe Pickers Journal

How not to get lost

Hi, I'm here again.
Where are you?

In fact, where was I?
I'm pretty sure I wrote a blog yesterday, but it hasn't come up!
My goodness, lost in cyberspace.

This hasn't happened to me recently.
Lost in Atherton, yes, but then, there are lots of little streets on the housing estate there, and they're all named after mountain climbing, for some reason - Everest Road, Tensing Avenue, Hilary Street - you get the idea.
Lost in Preston, too, but that's another story.

But lost in space?
Hey, I could be the Matt le Blanc character.
Couldn't I?

Monday, August 28, 2006

Tripe Pickers Journal

How to disprove existence

Yes, Monday again.
This is odd.
I've wasted the whole of the last week trying to get into my blog account, and they kept turfing me out.
Just to add insult to injury, they said, 'Email does not exist'.
Hey, who you saying doesn't exist, pal?
I live in Salford. We take a dim view of dismissing existence.
It's a challenge to our masculinisation, not to mention our tripe throwing acumen.
I could get really shirty, if I was wearing one.
Meanwhile, it's been a busy week out in the fields.
It's tripe planting season, as you probably know, and it's been a real rush to get the seeds in before stag rutting starts.
Oh, to live in a gingerbread house, without worries.
What are the chances?

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Tripe Pickers Journal

Waking up again, Monday morning

What's that to do with me? you may ask.
Who remembers the 1970s?

Anyway, isn' the fuss always about the'60s?
That's when they invented love, peace and understanding.
That's when Rovbert Kennedy was shot.
That's when Russia invaded Czechoslovakia, (not there to invade anymore, it's in two parts - the ultimate defence).

What's that got to do with Science Fiction?
Goodness knows, even 'Doctor Who' has changed out of all recognition.
SF is a shifting field, but if you want to know more, you need to check out my web site.

More later.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Tripe Pickers Journal

Now who's shovelling?

OK, Mike, I here you say -
If it isn't you,
(and it isn't Biggins) -
who's that shovelling tripe on the cover of your fanzine?
You know, the guy in the Matrix coat and the wild hair?

More important, if you're telling us that it's 1978, how the heck does The Matrix come into it anyway?

(We've all heard of Time Travel, but isn't that something to do with Science Fiction?
Not something real, like fanzines.)

Tripe Pickers Journal

Where do I come from?

Hmm, several errors.
It wasn't Steve Biggins. It was Paul Kincaid.
Also, it wasn't Biggins. His real name was Higgins, but somehow Biggins is more amusing.
Or is it?
Let me know what you think.
Biggins came from Tyldesley, a place that's even harder to find than to spell.
Ah well, at least it really is 'up north', and Biggins might qualifiy as a 'Northener'.
Me, I come from Bristol, a historic city in the South West.
Final error, me - not Northener.
Anyone know that??

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Science Fiction fanzines

Tripe Pickers Journal

Okay, let's get this straight.
The title comes from a science fiction fanzine of the 1970s.
It comes from the fact that me and my co-author (Steve Biggins) were writing for people in the south (of England) and trying to make up for the fact that they had some misapprehensions about us Northeners.
They thought we ate tripe.
And picked it.
(And shovelled it onto lorries, if I remember rightly.)

The truth is - I don't (any of it).

Who's getting tripey in Salford (Manchester) ?

Tripe Pickers Journal

Strictly speaking, Salford isn't Manchester.
I lived in Manchester for many years, starting in the 1970s.
Mainly in the south of the city, where the weather is warmer, the sunshine is brighter, and the people run around with happy smiles on their faces and money in their pockets.
Was it all so simple then, or has time rewritten all the lines?
Manchester is across the river from Salford, a place that claims it became a city first, and was the first place in England to have traffic lights.
Some people dispute this.
Some people say that Manchester United football ground is in Salford, but it isn't. It's across the river in Trafford. (It's a winding river.)
We can see the ground from the end of our street.
So near, and yet so far.

A call from Tony Blair

Tripe Pickers Journal

How is it that all plastic ducks are yellow?

The telephone was ringing and it would not stop.
It was Tony Blair, calling me up.
He said, 'My friend Mike, what do we need to make this country grow?'
I said, 'My friend Tone, good seeds, warm sun, lots of rain and snow.
Country will grow.'

How to wake up Sunday morning

Hey, who said it was easy working on your computer on a Sunday morning?
The butler's having a day off.
The sheep have escaped from the paddock again.
And it's raining. (Who could have guessed? This is Manchester. It never rains in Manchester, fellahs. Honest.)
Give me a minute. I need to summon the maid and tell her to draw me a warm bath.
See you later.