My Hometown is a Joke

I was born and raised in Kettering, a medium sized town in Northamptonshire, roughly in the middle of England. It's famous for shoes and being a bit of a Joke. Literally I mean. For some reason Kettering is funny.

The first use of Kettering in humour (that i'm aware of) is in Monty Python's Travel Agent Sketch, in which Eric Idle talks about being 'carted around in busses, surrounded by mindless oafs from Kettering and Boventry'. Since then (maybe in part due to the Python reference) there's been countless mentions of the town in mainstream British comedy.

A whole episode of Peep Show was spent in Kettering, mostly at the souless head office of Mark's employer. An entire episode of angry man sitcom 'One Foot in the Grave' revolved around a contrived joke about mishearing 'She's in Kettering' as 'She's in Catering'. There's even a classic comedy fanzine named 'The Kettering'. I've been trying to figure out why people find Kettering funny.

Maybe it's the word itself, Ket-err-rin' (as we from k-town say it). There must be something to this, as Douglas Adams & John Llody used it in 'The Meaning of Liff', a dictionary of words that haven't been invented yet. Kettering is defined as:

'...descriptive of the marks on one's bottom caused by sunbathing in a wicker chair'.

Personally though, I think what's funny about Kettering is what it represents. Kettering is funny because it's a town that has ideas above it's station, it's trying too hard to be something it never will. It has visions of grandeur, despite the fact it's always going to remain an insignificant smudge on the map between Leicester and Northampton. What other town would throw money at building an amphitheater jut down the road from a street where every other shop unit looks like it's been hurriedly deserted hours before the economical storm hit town, the remnants of the businesses once occupying the shops obscured by the 'closing down' graffitti painted on the inside of dirty windows. A road where, believe it or not, even charity shops are going out of business.

It's odd, because if you believed what you saw on the TV or road signs, you'd think Kettering was a bustling up and coming town. It's always on the ITV regional weather looking sheepish next to City's like Nottingham and Leicester. It's on sign posts miles away for no discernible reason. I live in Loughborough and Kettering is signposted on the A6, despite being a good 50 minutes away and 'Rock and Bowl' being one of its primary night spots.

The thing that perfectly sums up this desperation is Wicksteed's Park. Wicksteed's Park is the (i.e. only) theme park in Kettering. I'm not sure what the theme is though. Wicksteed's used to be fun, when there was an element of danger. The original rollercoaster had wooden carriages with no harness or belt, just a metal bar to hold onto at the front, perfectly positioned for smashing your teeth on. They had a centafugal death trap that stuck punters to the wall and pulled the floor away. Seeing someone vomit in it was always a treat, because one person to the left would be the unwitting receiver. A bit like a Newtonian version of Russian Roulette. Wicksteed's Park will never be able to compete with the big boys because Mr Wicksteed left what was then an expansive park with gentle boat rides to the people of Kettering, by way of a charitable trust. Wicksteed's spin is:

'Wicksteed Park is unique in that, unlike other parks, you don’t have to pay for the rides if you’re not going to use them'

But this is only because they have no right to charge. Wicksteeds is a nice park, in the traditional sense of the word, but it's tainted by its attempts to be a mega-attraction, with over priced food, tame rides and a lame mascot (Wicky Bear, whos clothes look suspiciously like Super Mario's outfit)

I think the writers of Peep Show picked Kettering because, like the character Mark, it is trying hard but always failing to be something it never will. At one point in the episode Mark and Jess visit Kettering's (fictitious) strip joint 'Lap Land' (Kettering does actually have a Lap Dancing club but it's called 'Cleopatras' and is above a working man's club). There's a huge sign on the wall, reading 'Lap Land, Kettering'. This sign is, possibly not deliberately, a perfect summation of the funny desperation of Kettering. Given how shit the club is, there has to be only one Lap Land in the world, yet the try hard Ketteringite who owns the place wanted to subtitle the name with 'Kettering' to make it seem like a chain, more important then it really is.

I think you can see a bit of Kettering in everyone. If they're naked, sunbathing on a wicker chair.

David Atkins comes from Kettering and lives in a house with Jen in Shepshed. He spends his days programming and pressure washing. He trys to write like a proper journalist, but really isn't good enough. He's a true child of Kettering.

Jen, Music, Good Films, A Lawnmower with a Bag and a Pressure Washer

I think about three years, I realised that I really don't need a lot of money to be happy. My happiness list was, in this precise order: Jen, Music and Good Films. All of which is pretty affordable. Apart from Jen, obviously. She's not for sale (that didn't sound right, it's not like I own her. Or could put a value on her. Look, she's not yours. I have got a VHS copy of 'The Big Lebowski' going free though if anyone wants a good film).

In the last few weeks I've found two things to add to the list: A lawnmower with a bag and a pressure washer.

I heart my pressure washer. I'm going to clean everything with it: the patio, the car, neighbour's cats, my teeth. For the first time in my life I actually left work early because I was looking forward to cleaning something. I'm a changed man.

So, that's my happiness manifest : Jen, Music, Good Films, A Lawnmower with a Bag and a Pressure Washer. Try it yourself. You'll need to find your own Jen though.

Jack Russell in a Pram

I last went to Glastonbury as a wide-eyed clean-shaven twenty one year old. It was essentially the last gasp of my student life; I had found out my degree results a week before and decided to start looking for a job as soon as I got home (I actually received a phone call from my Project Supervisor the Monday after Glastonbury asking if I was interested in a Research Position. I am a jammy bastard).

My first Glastonbury didn't quite go to plan. In 2003 it sold out fast and as all my friends had jobs I was the only one to be on the phone early enough to get a ticket. I ended up going with Kim's then boyfriend and his mates who were all five years younger than me. Don't get me wrong, they're cool people but spending the final weekend of my student life with a bunch of people who couldn't legally drink wasn't exactly what I had intended.

I remember the precise moment that I really got Glastonbury. It was when Doves were playing 'Satellites'. I think it was probably a mixture of the beer, lights in my eyes, tiredness and loud music but I was suddenly blown over the by the whole thing. Unfortunately it was about 11pm on the Sunday so I didn't have much time to make the most of my new found Glastonbury Zen.

I know what I really got wrong with Glastonbury that year. I treated it as just a music festival. After all, Loads of my favourite bands at the time were playing - Radiohead, R.E.M., Turin Brakes, Doves, Macy Gray, Manic Street Preachers. Because of this most of my time was spent walking between the Pyramid and Other Stage rather than exploring the vast site. Another mistake was the three pints of cider before Radiohead. The only thing I can remember about the gig was having a go at some strangers because they didn't recognise the b-side 'Talk Show Host'. What a Twat.

This year getting tickets wasn't difficult at all, probably because the process is now akin to getting a applying for a passport (except cheaper*) and demand is lower as every farmer and his dog have setup a festival. And when I say dog, I mean money-grabbing corporate-sponsored opportunistic events management team. Unlike 2003 the lineup wasn't perfect, but still better than most which meant there was loads more time to wonder around and take everything in. I'm not sure if writing this up chronologically would be interesting, so here's some random thoughts:

Randomness : Rihannon was convinced that she saw an evil Jack Russell being pushed round in a pram. We all mocked her for seeing things, it turned out to be true. Seeing a man climb a flag in the Jazz World field; as he reached the top it started bending to the floor, with him clinging on for dear life and hitting the ground at speed, huge cheer. Everybody at the Park Stage going mental when ever the sound check guy said 'Mike's Mike'. Hearing about MJ's death emerging from the tent early Friday morning for the long walk to the toilets and hearing a 'Shamone Muther Fucker' from every fifth tent.


Standing in a crowd with Maximo Park behind us watching Thriller on a big screen and everyone having a go at the zombie dance.


Beetle Juice singing Lionel Richie's 'All Night Long' in the Queen's Head.

Human Sized milk carton walking past us while watching Blur. Being accosted by the Green Police (see 'Staff'). Blokes walking around in their boxers and tight t-shirts - did someone steal their clothes? Trying to wave some friends over and having two blokes walking up and asking what we wanted. After we explained that we weren't waving to them they told us get over to the Dance Tent quick to see East 17!?. Getting a coffee Friday morning there was a man asleep on a chair that had fallen over, back to the floor. He suddenly jumped up and said 'right i'm off mate' to nobody and stormed off. Food stall selling the interestingly named 'Growler', dedicated to Pauline Fowler. A friend successfully walked a sizeable amount of 'treats' into the festival. Unfortunately they forgot they had them and left and re-entered the festival the next day when they were searched and the 'treats' were confiscated. whoops. Meeting some people at the front of the Pyramid stage Sunday 4:30am who were saving a space for Tom Jones. I think they may of been lying.


The mess in front of the Pryamid stage early sunday morning that was so disgusting it was almost beautiful


Being chased around Shangri-la by weird monsters barking at us.

Music : Managed to fit in alot of stuff. This is everything we saw in order.

Friday. Dan Black, Rumblestrips (Opening song 'Girls and Boys in Love' was brilliant. Left a few songs later when the lyrics descended into 'my first song' territory, I kid you not - 'I'm lying on my back, looking at the clouds, Lying on my back, looking at the clouds (x3)'), Fleet Foxes (I don't think the music scaled well to such a huge crowd), Friendly Fires (Amazing, loads of energy and the best/worst dancing you'll see from a front man since Ian Curtis), Lady GaGa (Not the car crash I was hoping for expecting. Left early so didn't get to enjoy all of GaGa's pointless anecdotes about being off her tits on acid), Fairport Convention (I wouldn't normally listen to folk-rock, but I did enjoy that song with 12 versus and one chorus. Kept having to restrain Jen from doing comedy barn dancing), Animal Collective (Saw them play 'My Girls' and 'Summertime Clothes' and then conceeded that we weren't drunk or high enough to get into it so headed for sleeping bags).


Saturday: Theoretical Girl (As John said, sounds like the Smiths if Morrisey was a girl), Eagles of Death Metal (good mix of The Eagles and Death Metal), Spinal Tap (including little-people dancing around a henge of stone), Dizzee Rascal (huge!), La Roux (we took a chance based on a few singles. can't win them all), Florence and the Machine (climbed up lighting rig wearing heels, crazy woman), Bon Iver (sounded amazing), African Sound System, Keith Allen (4am in Arcadia. He was going at 10 cpm (c*nts-per-minute) and spent 10 minutes plugging his keyboard in).

Sunday: The Rockingbirds (Unintentional listen. I would never of thought Country & Western would of made me fall asleep so quickly. Heard them laying on a hill in The Park having a sleep in the rain), Tom Jones, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Ladyhawke (Storming set, was worried about being disappointed but Pip Brown was on form), Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds ('Stagger Lee' was the most filth I've ever heard sang to a family crowd, loved it), Blur (Never listened to Blur much first time round, this was epic).

Staff : Nicest staff ever! Every person we talked to were nothing but lovely, always hoping we have a good festival. A toilet cleaner even offered to hold a lock-less toilet door closed for us. For unpaid volunteers, the spirit of them was amazing. That said, we did get accosted by the Green Police, 10 men and women dressed up as fairies telling us not piss in the bushes. This was outside a toilet block so I can't help think that they were preaching to the converted.

Driving : Driving to the festival was the only really affordable way of getting there. We set off first thing Thursday and arrived at 12pm at which point the heavens opened and Glastonbury Festival FM (the most amateur radiostation you'll ever hear) informed us that all camp sites were full, not the ideal start. Luckily mates had saved us tent space. We didn't quite consider how far the car park was from the camping when we packed. I swear on one of our three trips to and from the car my body was preparing itself for a blackout. It took 3 hours to get out of carpark Monday early morning and we got back at 9am. I have never been so terrified driving as I was for the first 20 minutes on the motorway. It wasn't that I was sleepy, I was just concentrating so hard on not having an accident it was inevitable i'd plough into the back of the car in front of us. Thank god for sleeping in service station car parks.

So did I get Glastonbury this year? Yeah, I think so. It was midday Thursday just after the first sip of Cider in the beating sun with my mates.


* HA HA! Biting Satire.

2009, Week 14 & 15

I can't work out whether my posting has slowed down due to a) not doing anything interesting to write about or b) me being too lazy to be bothered. I think it's mostly laziness, which ironically is the reason for me not having anything interesting to write about. Not having anything interesting to write about has never stopped me before though I suppose?

Our house is pretty ugly, but I like to think its oddness is part of its charm. Who else can say they have a 2 x 3 meter room attached to their bedroom that is referred to as 'the void' on the blueprints? It's especially ugly from the front, an 80's affront to architectural beauty, with no redeeming features and an afterthought of an extension. It's our house though and I love it. I think I have a lot in common with it; born in 1982, aesthetically odd and probably vastly over valued.

There are two weeks of the year when the house does look marginally attractive, when the tree in our front garden blossoms. To counter that I have to spend two weeks driving around in a Skoda covered in girly pink petals.




This week I finished reading 'Book of the Dead', the complete history of zombie cinema. It's a book I've been wanting to buy for ages and was well worth the wait. For example, did you know there are zombie films named 'Urban Scumbags vs. Countryside Zombies' (German), 'Space Zombie Bingo' (Troma) and 'Nudist Colony of the Dead'. Ironically, the next book on my list to read is the 'Tibetan Book of Living and Dying'. Sounds similar, but it probably doesn't give any analysis on the implicit social commentary of 'Dawn of the Dead'.

I very rarely watch a film that affects me emotionally, and I watch alot of movies. The last film that caught me off guard was United 93. Before I'd watched the film I was very cynical of the whole idea, I couldn't believe that hollywood could tell the story in a tasteful and non-exploitative way. By the end of the film I was mentally and, to a degree, physically destroyed. I don't know why but I can feel when a film's got to me, normally about 10 minutes before the emotional crescendo that has been building through out the film peaks. When the film does reach it's inevitable climax it's like a punch to the stomach. And it makes me well up a bit.

Last week I watched 'Waltz with Bashir' and it completely bowled me over, much like United 93. It's amazing filmmaking and I think pretty groundbreaking for an animation (more so than any Pixar film of late). If you read this, please go watch Waltz with Bashir and United 93. If you're lucky there may be one copy amongst those 200 'Epic Movie' DVDs in your local blockbuster.

2009, Week 12 & 13

I hope I haven't offended The Elders of the Internet by not posting a weekly ramble last week. Some stuff happened that my head is struggling to filter properly. If this was a private diary I would probably write about it, but it's not. I've always said this diary/blog was to act as a memory warm-up in years to come, and i'm pretty sure that I've said enough to bring things back. Needless to say, if God does exist, he/she/it can go fuck himself/herself/itself with a big stick.

We've got a new family on the street and they've moved into our loft. For the last two weeks we've been woken up at 6am by birds scratching on the roof of the bedroom. Banging on the roof seems to stop the scratching for a while. A few minutes later the noise promptly starts up again, just as you get to that sweet spot when your minds starts drifting into dreamy nonsense.

One Sunday we were woken at 6am and I snapped. I stalked around the bedroom in my pants (good look) trying to work out exactly where the avian arsehole was. Once I found the bastard I smaked the roof, hard. There was silence for a few seconds and then all hell broke loose, baby birds screeching and the mum going crazy. Jen's taken to hitting the roof before we go to bed, see how they like being woken up! I really hope for our sanity and our loft's hygene they go soon.

The weekend before last was dominate by weddings. Saturday was my Cousin's wedding in Great Misenden and probably the first time I've seen almost all of the extended family for years. I'm quite anti-social, generally avoiding contact with people I don't talk to much (less anti-social, more lazy-social) but I think I had a brief conversation with everyone, which is an achievement for me. I forget how cool they all are. I think I'll make more of an effort from now on.

Sunday was a wedding fayre at the now dead-cert wedding reception venue. We keep flip-flopping between having a large invite-everyone-we've-ever-met wedding and having an intimate, close family and friends wedding. It's looking likely that we're going for the later. I think it's a mistake when a wedding becomes more about making other people happy, especially when many of those other people aren't (comparatively) that important to your life and relationship. Also, there's more money to spend on the Honeymoon and as we want to get half way round the world for at least 3 weeks we need all the money we can get.

This weekend Martin & Sarah came up and we all went out for some Japanese, Cocktails and Dancing. Well, lack-lustre dancing in a pretty much deserted Echos. Going to a night club at 11pm is a really bad idea. Especially because when you're literally the first people in the place the booze fueled facade doesn't exist. I can understand the toilets looking a state at 3am once it's been assaulted by inebriated students, but it's a bit worrying when there is mud coated up one of the cubical doors when you're the first person in. And where does the mud come from? the place is in the middle of a decidedly concretey town centre. Maybe they ship it in from Manchester to complete the shitty indy club from the early 90's look. Quality establishment.

As usual my head was banging the next day. People always say don't mix your drinks, so what idiot invented cocktails?

2009, Week 11

Short entry this week. It's a predictable and well versed observation, but hangovers get a lot worse, a lot quicker once you hit a certain age. Two days after going out, I still feel like crap.

A few days after my Birthday, I learnt that your mental powers start declining at 27. I have now reached my mental peak and it's all down hill from here. I regularly walk around looking for keys that are in my pocket. My brain is at its optimum. I watched an hour of TV yesterday and realised in last ten minutes that I've seen it before, very recently. If I can't get into MENSA now, I never will. I'm afraid. I don't want to be anymore of an idiot then I am already.

To help my body on its way to terminal idiocy we 'got our binge on' Saturday night under the guise of post birthday drinks. So that's Orange Tree, Moon & Bell and then everyone's favourite sticky floored club, Echos with Jen, Scott, John and Becky.

As usual John got me into trouble by telling Jen things that were only meant to be between him and me. That is, something I wrote on the blog last week. Apparently the term 'clam-fest' could be construed by some as offensive, so I shall not be using it again. I don't think it's wise to say something that could potentially cause offense, I'd much rather be sure of it.

As I was waving goodbye to the 26 year old me, I decided to also say goodbye to some treasured frequencies by standing next to the world's worst speaker in Echos. For the first and very probably the last time in my life (I'm not a slut, it just doesn't ever happen) I 'shooed off' a woman who asked John and I to dance by derogatorily waving my hand at her. My reasons were honourable, I don't think Jen should come back and see me dancing with some random girl. And she was rotund. She gave me a dirty look, some sort of 'don't go there' palm and walked off, which I think was fair enough. John's classic response was 'well, that didn't go well for any of us'.

And that's it for this week. I could rant about Tescos and my scratched up copy of Fallout3, but I really don't have the energy. If you ever have a scratched game, go to Blockbusters and they'll repair it for a few quid. Just don't shout at the staff when they ask you if you moved your xbox when it was on. You may know that you're joking, but the person behind the counter hitting the panic button doesn't. They give you funny looks and it makes you feel a little bit smaller inside. I blame my newly initiated mental decline.

2009, Week 10

Birthday Week!!! 4 day weekend!!! Unnecessary exclamation marks!!! Despite the excitement I expertly portrayed in the previous sentence, I had forgotten it was my birthday and continued to forget when it arrived. That's not really a surprise as I spent half of last year thinking I was 27 until Jen pointed out that I was 26. That really made my week.

For our birthday weekend we had a mini-break in London Village. We left late Wednesday evening and crashed at my sister's flat in Peckham, which is unfortunately not in the classy Nelson Mandela House (one can only dream).

On the over-ground in to London Thursday morning we had a Mary Poppins style welcome, as we watched some mad gypsy dancing with an umbrella outside of his caravan. I reckon this is the Mayor's new initiative to welcome tourists to London, paying gypsies to relive famous London scenes. Hell, it was more entertaining then a Routemaster that transformed into a, erm, Routemaster with its top floor blown off. Rewatching and describing that video, I've just realised how unintentionally offensive it is.

We'd hired an apartment for a few days. The first apartment we checked into had no hot water and a broken TV. After a wait for someone to turn up we were moved into a two bedroom apartment which was huge and had two bathrooms. We could both go toilet at the same time! Happy Birthday Us! The apartment was in a great location - This is the view of The Old Bailey we had 20 seconds from the apartment.


That evening we went to see Dirty Dancing - The Classic Story on Stage, my present to Jen (both the tickets and me sitting through it). It was, to say the least, the complete opposite of a sausage-fest. Let's call it a clam-fest. The show itself was technically smart but I think for someone who is not a fan (ie me), overlong and badly scripted. All the XX chromosomes' seemed to have fun though, whooping at the exemplary word-smithery such as 'I carried a watermelon' and 'Nobody puts baby in the corner'. Oh and fake-Swayze looked worrying old to be seducing a teenager. And he had funny hair.

Next day I dragged Jen on a walk around The Cirty, checking out St. Pauls (Huge!), The Globe Theatre and the current Turbine Hall exhibition at the Tate Modern, 'TH 2058' AKA 'Big Scary Spider and some Bunk Beds'. Here's some piccys.





Before lunch (a wise move) we went to The Hunterian Museum, a collection of various animals and body parts, mostly in Jars, collected by John Hunter throughout his life. It was fascinating, but unfortunately somewhere in the Royal College of Surgeons dinner was being served. So whilst we were viewing the insides & outsides of featuses, babys and adults, humans and non, we were getting a lung full of pie and mash. The shear scale of the main 'Crystal Gallery' finished us off and we had to get out for some fresh air and some tapas. On reflection, The Hunterian Museum was a bit like anatomical tapas.

In the evening we went to Adam Buxton's 'Out of Focus Group C' at the BFI Southbank. It is, as Buxton puts it '...basically an excuse for me to show some old and new video morcels I’ve made in between live performances from myself and other more talented actors, comedians and musicians'. And it was hilarious. Special guests were Doc Brown (comedian/rapper), Young Knives (who played 'Terra-forma' and 'Turn Tail', before backing Famous Guy for a rendition of 'I Like to Rock') and Kevin Eldon.

We finished the weekend by Chilling back at sis' and watching the ridiculously entertaining 'Taken', where Liam Neeson beats the shit out of anything on two legs for a few hours. I think he might be the new Seagal.

On our travels we had a new RCS (Rubbish Celebrity Spotting) to add to the list - that bloke off of that program in the flat with Samantha what's-her-name and that guy called Martin. Or, after some research, Ben Chaplin from 'Game On'. This spot is almost as good as Tim Vincent at a petrol station. Almost.