onionbagblog

Soul Mining is one of those albums I really should have got around to buying back in the early 80s. I finally did get to own a copy on CD a couple of years ago. As ever with my ever-growing pile of CDs, I’ve yet to play it.

It’s also one of those albums that already feels familiar. The tracks were pretty much the soundtrack to me growing up. You heard them nonstop on the radio and also whilst out and about at the youth clubs. This Is the Day is the perfect pop song from the period and brings back incredibly strong memories of early teenage years in 1983.

What’s telling about this album is that many of the issues addressed are still relevant 40+ years later: social isolation, economic breakdown, and a general feeling of despair, yet with some personal hope always being there to see you through.

A very decent debut.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Another day, another ride. Chapeau!

The plan was to hook up once again with the 40+ riders. An impending weather forecast of doom and the bloody long schlep out to the meetup point close to Chelmsford put me off. This ain’t going to end well, right?

I decided to roll out myself on a fairly semi-serious 70 km loop circuit.

As ever, the route I plotted into my Beeline Velo 2 almost fell over before I even left Sunny Colch. I had to go through the half-town, half-city in order to get the exit point I wanted for the lanes.

Colchester is bloody hellish for cyclists. It’s always been this way. I can’t see it changing, to be honest. There just isn’t the willpower or even the political imagination.

Truth be told I came close to going up after being pushed into the fringes of the roads, with very little scope for me to command the cycling space.

Finally I was free. Thank fuck for that. I reached the lanes and had a pretty decent route for the next 3 hours or so.

I’m loving riding the road bike right now. In a few weeks' time I may have to shift to the Rally electric but whilst the weather holds the roadie is just perfect. I was even cycling with a small rucksack.

I was vaguely familiar.

When people bang on about how they love indie music and then name absolute shite such as Kasabian, 1975 and Bastille, I despair. That’s not indie. That’s mainstream wank from pretty boys who want to play up to whatever indie once was. Fuck all that shit.

Step forward PJ Harvey. What a killer debut release for the much-missed Too Pure label. Indie was never about the music. It was more about the spirit and the ethos.

Jesus and Mary Chain are perhaps the most fuck-you indie band ever. PJ captures that spirit and even adds a little music to the mix.

This is such a confident, ballsy debut. It’s brilliant that it comes from a female singer-songwriter. She drags you in with an almost war cry like vocal style. You’re not going to mess with PJ, right?

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

A half decent evening session down at the sailing club. This was my second hour of table tennis for Monday.

Live to spin, spin to live, etc.

It was bloody stuffy upstairs in the sailing club loft. My style of play reflected all that energy as I reverted to brute force to batter my way through my opponents.

Five minutes in and this led to a smashed ball.

Whoops.

It seemed to be working however. Somehow I managed to beat the best player.

He didn’t take it in the best of spirits and demanded we play a grudge match out again. I called it a rematch but he stuck with grudge. It’s him that’s got the problem, not me.

He got the better of me but only just. I thought it wise to call it quits before taking home a 2-1 defeat.

We finished off with the usual doubles. We had a tight game with my partner and I leading 20-19. I gambled the house on a killer spin shot that landed pinpoint on the corner of the table.

I was so happy I could smash another ball.

To the Odeon in Sunny Colch! …on Monday afternoon. Yeah you know the routine by now. If it’s a Monday afternoon then it must mean it’s the cheapo cheapo grubby Fiver Odeon cinema deal.

There was no dilemma in selecting the choice of movie for this afternoon: the Oasis Don’t Look Back in Anger documentary - or rockumentary, if you will - was being screened.

But wait! What’s this?

The cheapo cheapo grubby fibre deal had seen a price increase to £7. Apparently it’s something to do with this being a limited screening before it shifts over to Disney+.

I surprised myself by being on time once again. This meant I had to sit through all the crappy adverts ahead of the trailers.

One particular one for some shitty sugar drink started to play out. It was part of a promo package with the Premier League. All the usual Big Six cartel crappy clubs featured.

I had an internal grumble to myself saying, “Where the fuck are Forest?”

Towards the end some fella popped up wearing the pinstripe kit of last season.

I rose like a Trentside salmon from my seat at the Odeon and let out the most almighty U REDS!!!!

It was something of a Pavlovian response. Oh dear. I think I embarrassed myself, especially so since, rather surprisingly, the average age for the Oasis film must have been 65+.

I had zero interest in taking out a second mortgage to buy Oasis tickets last summer. Been there, done that, etc.

I have the memories that I need, stretching back to the Electric Ballroom, Glasto and then the shitfest that was Knebworth.

I had something of a passing interest last summer, hopeful that they could still pull it off and it wouldn’t end in tears, or even a disaster.

Watching the film is where I am at right now. I don’t want to be stuck in North West London at 11 pm, having big sweaty blokes hugging me and spraying me with overpriced piss-poor lager. I think I found my demographic with the coffin dodgers in the Sunny Colch Odeon.

This film was really rather lovely. It wasn’t the all-bravado dick measuring competition that the documentary could have been.

We started with the backstory, which is familiar to millions, etc. There was some pretty rapid editing going through the Oasis story and the split backstage in Paris.

What then became clear, as the film documented the early rehearsals through to the UK gigs, and then the wider world legs of the tour, is what the band actually mean to their fans.

This wasn’t a film about two brothers putting aside their differences - although that is covered quite extensively - but it was more about what Oasis mean to the fans. It was also a generational film showing the power of music to unite families.

Oh yeah, the music was bloody LOUD. I always thought that Oasis unplugged was an idea that wasn’t going to work. I’m pleased that we upgraded the extra £2 as part of the cheapo cheapo grubby fiver deal to experience this in the cinema.

The interplay between Liam and Noel, both on stage and behind the scenes, is quite delightful. You can see the tension during the early rehearsals. The main question was: will he or won’t he show up? In the end Liam swaggers in, sings his songs, and then buggers off.

It becomes clear during the rehearsals how Noel is the leader. He dictates the music, the direction, and where each band member should be taking it.

But this seems to have been a softened approach as the rehearsals and then the live performances play out. Noel doesn’t hold back in explaining how he has found a new respect and even love for his younger brother. It really is quite moving.

Perhaps the best quote during the film, unsurprisingly, comes from Liam:

“I care a fucking lot about not giving a fuck.”

It all gets a little emotional toward the end. Some of the most moving shots are of the crowds dispersing at the end of various gigs.

You see a blokes standing on their own, looking like they have PTSD. Tears are flowing and they’re looking around trying to find some meaning to it all.

That meaning is probably best left with Noel having the last word:

“All was forgiven without saying a word.”

To the University Table of Dreams! …on Monday morning. The students are still a week away from returning. We had the entire Sports Centre to ourselves.

A decent warm-up started the session: corner to corner, forehand to forehand, backhand to backhand. TWAT it as hard as you can.

I’m starting to feel that maybe warm-ups aren’t adding anything to my game. Soon I found myself 4-0 down, with my opponent laughing at me.

We were also attracting interest from the viewing gallery above, with some staff members assembling to also add to the humiliation.

“Shall I play left-handed to make it a fair game?”

…asked my playing partner, the cheeky cow.

This was the inspiration I needed. One of the best rallies we’ve ever played then took place. I went from 4-0 down to coming back to 4-4.

“The tension is rising”

…remarked my opponent.

“Yeah, for you, love, but not me.”

5-4. GEDDIN! Take that! Who’s laughing now? Ha bloody ha.

It wasn’t quite Forest away at Highfield Road in the League Cup, 1991. If you were there then you know.

But I’ll take it anyway.

I enjoyed this a lot more than I was expecting. For some reason I thought this would be pop tat. But nope, there are some deep heavy beats. It almost has a mixtape quality to it. Her vocals are not of the diva variety, which gets right on my tits. Instead they’re quite considered. She knows when to open up and then pull back again, depending on what’s happening around her. A really decent find and possibly an artist I should look a little more into.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

To the Essex Sports Arena! …early on Saturday evening for the first home fixture for the Rebs' Division One men of the new season.

And so it begins. That’s my Saturdays booked up pretty much all the way through until the run-in to the playoffs in April.

It was a little weird arriving on campus fashionably early for once. Term time is still a week away.

In the absence of students it seems that the University was holding some kind of conference or gathering for fire officers. I must have counted a dozen fire engines, plus plenty of uniformed fellas walking around. It may have been a health and safety audit.

No such health and safety audit was needed in the Arena. Volume set to max, plenty of energy on the court, fun times only.

It was good to see many familiar faces and the old crowd behind the scenes as part of the Rebs operation.

Meeting and greeting us at the door was Queen B. Spoiler alert for any kids reading: I think Queen B is a new Queen B once again this season. Same costume, slightly different physique, and different vibes when it comes to the dance moves.

The students may not be around just yet but there were plenty of kids turning out to cheer on the men’s Division One team. The Rebs certainly know how to market these games. There’s been a considered push over recent weeks in the run-up to the season opener.

We flashed our season tickets and were immediately handed over a shiny new lanyard for the season, plus the obligatory tote bag with a freebie drink inside.

Tuck in.

We made our way to our usual seats just behind the home benches. Another nice touch this season is that season ticket holders have got their own reserved backrest covering.

It’s been a little awkward for the Rebs Division One team, who are currently coach-less. Joe Hart did a fine job steadying the ship last season. He has gained a rightful promotion to be an assistant up in Caledonia with the men’s Super League team.

The Rebels did announce a few weeks ago the return of the Division Three team, with all-round Rebels good egg Jordan Ashley taking on a player-coach role. He dominated playing in the Division Three team a few seasons ago and has been coaching some of the more junior teams since then.

There’s been a rapid-fire quick promotion for Coach Ashley to look after the big boys in Division One, as the search for a more permanent solution is found.

The bench, meanwhile, looked familiar. There are a few new faces here and there but it’s good to see the core roster from last season being retained by the Rebs.

This includes a well-deserved captaincy role for Tyrese Hudson, who is becoming something of a Rebels legend. He knows his own abilities on the court, but always puts the team first and is a reassuring constant presence.

Recruitment looks decent with pace aplenty. We do seem to be lacking some kind of big bruiser D player to bully around any tricky players that rock up at Our House.

Thankfully Worthing were pretty much similarly matched in terms of physique. I couldn’t see beyond their crappy shorts, which appeared to have a couple of clouds sewn into the design, right on the back side of the players.

Classy.

The game tipped off. Study the buffers. This could have been a disaster for the Rebels. Worthing were all over the home team. No one wants to see that on your own court.

Rebels somehow found their calm and managed to slow down the Worthing charge. The home team played a scrappy first quarter and were fortunate to only trail 27-16 at the first buzzer.

The second quarter was bloody awful viewing for any Rebels fans. Worthing were able to sink their three-pointers whilst every effort from the Rebels fell short. A punishing run by the away team took them to a 25-point lead at one stage.

Some three-pointers were finally sunk by Johnny Mac. Rebels cut out the scrappy approach to play and realised instead that the way to beat Worthing was through pace.

The away team were clearly frustrated on three occasions in the second quarter. They were timed out with the shot clock.

Unlucky.

The halftime break came. We just about managed to dodge the Kiss Cam on the big screen. Our mugs flashed up for a few seconds before the refs blew the whistles to restart the game.

Rebels were trailing 44-36 as the third quarter got underway. They managed to close the gap with some smart moves, with Worthing having their lead reduced to 63-55 entering the final quarter.

This was always something of a slight stretch too far for the Rebels to overcome. What they did well with the new interim coach and new players was to contain Worthing. They made the away team work for their 86-73 point win.

And so not the result we wanted for the Rebels but not the disaster this could have been. Coach Ashley didn’t look out of place and he clearly has the respect of some of the players who are more senior than him.

Up the Rebs.

The Orb’s Oblivion. This was a really uplifting and pleasant listen as part of the Album of the Day earlier in the week. I’d almost forgotten about The Orb. I really should delve deeper into their back catalogue. I’m currently balls deep in Ozric Tentacles hippie shit, which I absolutely adore.

My Orb listening back in the day was probably only around U.F.Orb. It sounded so fresh and so different at the time.

By the time Orblivion came along in 1997, the whole landscape had shifted. Chill wasn’t exactly chilling. We were all buzzing off our tits and jumping around like mad fuckers. I’m not quite sure where The Orb fitted in at the time.

With age, however, and the inevitable slowing down, Orblivion is well worth a second listen. Most of it was unfamiliar to me. I’ve forgotten completely about the lead track, Toxygene. It bounces along and still has me buzzing.

An unplanned bicycle ride on Saturday morning to kick-start the weekend. Unplanned bicycle rides are the best.

I had hoped to ride on Sunday. The weather forecast of doom suggests not, so Saturday morning it was.

Chapeau!

As ever for this time of the year, I got my layers all wrong. I was wearing long-sleeve Lycra but could have done with a gilet. These details matter, Comrades.

I fancy stretching my legs out along the old Abberton Reservoir route. It rather handily concludes with a stop off at the gym for a quick swim and a freshen up.

Saturday mornings are anything but quiet along the Estuary Wilds lanes. This is the time when the white van men can go out earning some extra dosh with weekend work. Getting out of Sunny Colch and then the Hythe was pretty hellish.

Half an hour later or so, I was out on the Reservoir circular route. The white van men had been replaced by the birdwatchers around Abberton.

The seasons are showing visible signs of change. Withering ferns lined one particular stretch. They look completely singed and hanging on for dear life.

The wind picked up. I knew this as the return run involved passing a number of wind turbines in complete overdrive.

The gym was reached. A brief swim followed, and then my reward of a hour arsing around doing absolutely fuck all in the spa.