onionbagblog

To the Bonington Gallery! …on Wednesday afternoon. It’s been a while since I’ve walked around the back end of the city and out towards the old Poly.

Nottingham Trent University - as it is now - seems to sprawl right from the Arboretum all the way across over to the Victoria Centre.

Which meant finding the Bonnington Gallery a little more tricky - especially so for someone who is as geographically confused as me.

A few missed turns here and there and soon I was at the gallery entrance. It was well worth persistence to track down the Bonington.

On my radar was Alan Lodge’s major photographic exhibition: Counter Culture and Confrontation Since 1976.

Tell it like it is, etc. The title pretty much sums up what can be seen within the spacious event area.

Alan traces his origin story back to the Diggers:

“My interest in activism and protest goes back to the Diggers in 1649. The experiment lasted little more than a year before its inhabitants were forcibly evicted. Their vision continues to inspire me. I’ve long believed that people care for one another best in small self-determining communities rather than through distant and often unrepresentative governments.”

Which is pretty much where my own personal political philosophy sits these days, Comrades.

The photo journey for Alan starts in the mid-70s at Stonehenge. There’s a fantastic mix of black and white and colour shots, all taken with a wide angle to capture as much detail as possible. These are technically superb photos given the analogue processing at the time.

It soon becomes clear that Alan was a classic case of right place, right time. He’s also been incredibly brave to poke his camera in the face of confrontation.

The Battle of the Bean Field seems to be a major moment that has helped to develop his photo journal style. Some of the text accompanying the exhibition explains with passion about the unjust way in which the British state demonised a particular subculture.

I’ve always been interested in the traveller’s lifestyle myself. I fear my OCD demands would get in the way of living the dream.

The timeline then continues with the photos documenting firsthand how the traveller scene then formed an alliance with the emerging rave culture. A hybrid was born that once again forced a reaction from the Establishment.

The large gallery space at the Bonnington was thoughtfully laid out. The chronological approach to the photographs then takes in mid-90s activism with Reclaim the Streets, the 2000 parties that took place to shut down the City, and then all the way through to the Occupy Movement of the past 10 years or so.

The exhibition concludes, showing how Alan is still documenting and capturing activism after over half a century of working within this field.

He’s recently been involved in picket line photojournalism as well as having a record of capturing 25 years of Nottingham Pride.

Many flyers and artefacts associated with each period are also on display at the gallery. It’s a bit like walking back in time to Selectadisc with all those rave flyers plastered on the counter.

Alan signs off Common grounds with a fantastic quote:

“I have always been interested in parties with a purpose. People often engage more readily in direct action when it is rooted in community, creativity, and enjoyment.”

RAVE ON.

To the Fair City! … on Wednesday lunchtime. Have time to kill, will travel. I’m never happier than when walking the mean streets of NG1 with my PEN-F in my hand.

Snap, snap, snap away.

It was the same old path being trodden, although with plenty of changes to capture. That’s pretty much what I do these days; I walk, I document, I archive, and then in ten years' time I look back and think, Blimey, how the hell did we get here?

I started off by the Cattle Market. I had a quick shifty around the best army surplus that ever existed. I was tempted to buy a pair of army fog glasses that I thought I could maybe get away with as some rather ultra cool cycling specs. I think they would just look like swimming goggles, tbh.

Oh well.

There was a repugnant smell along the canal, along with lots of green thingies cluttering the side. As ever with nature I’ve absolutely no bloody idea.

I plotted along London Road. There are still a few bulldozed plots of land. Here Be Regeneration when I return, maybe in a year’s time or so.

I pressed on and headed to what remains of Broad Marsh. I was reliably informed by my close pal tour guides the day before that Broad Marsh is creeping back into existence or, more to the point, it is creeping back south.

Having been an absolute shit hole for the best part of five years, there is a noticeable difference in that a number of vacant units are now showing signs of life further down towards the bus station end of Lister Gate.

When you factor in the fantastic new library, the brilliant new bus station, and the NHS walk in centre that is to come, I’m optimistic that Broad Marsh still has another tale to tell.

It all then got a little bit weird. There was some half term Halloween event being staged I think by Nottingham BID. It basically involved a procession of adults, then descending down the ages to young toddlers, all dressed up in spooky costumes and dancing something of a spooky dance.

It’s not really my thing but I have to admit that the energy and enthusiasm was infectious. At least it gave Broad Marsh some sense of purpose as many proud parents and friends were on hand to capture the event. Oh, and so was I.

The crowds were getting more dense as you worked your way north up Lister Gate. I took a slight detour and decided to cut around the corner along Castle Gate.

I paused momentarily outside 29 - 31. Here’s where it started and here’s where it probably got as good as it will ever get, tbh. Have a good one, etc.

I was tempted for a swift half at the Royal Kids and then one more for the road at the Salutation.

Chin chin.

But I kept on walking back down Hounds Gate, where the spooky Halloween BID lot were still doing their arm waving thing. Good luck to them.

Not a lot else then, really happened. It was a case of retracing old familiar steps and viewing the Fair City through a 2026 lens, but always remembering the personal stories around the built environment.

Christ, I’m sounding like bloody Robert Elms now.

West End Arcade was reached. West End Arcade was then pretty much ticked off in under a minute or so. It’s disheartening to see that it’s been reduced to one level, with the escalator end now being blocked off.

I had a peek through the window at the wonderful Afro-centric shop. There’s a Rasta coloured tank top in there that I’ve had my eye on for two to three years now. I really should buy it one day.

I then headed up Hurt’s Yard and had a bit of a peek in at Rob’s Records Mart. There were a couple of customers in there but already it was too busy to try and get around his Aladdin’s cave of vinyl.

I had a few items to tick off on my list. I headed up towards the old Poly. My route involved going past Rock City.

Never change, etc.

I’m not that familiar with Nottingham Trent University. It was always a cool place that was out of my reach during those early gigging years. I very much doubt gigs still take place there now.

What I was keen to see was the current exhibition in the Bonington Gallery. This was a retrospective of photos by Alan Lodge, who has captured various activism and protest scenes from the mid-70s onwards. It was a fantastic way to spend half an hour or so.

I made my way over to Hockley. I did a bit of crate digging at Rough Trade and then paused momentarily outside the old shop front for G Force. I was wearing an early 90s G Force knitwear tank top. I think the moment was lost on everyone else around the area apart from me.

And that was pretty much it. I plodded back down towards Broad Marsh, boarded a bus, and had a brief thought about how things might change in the next twelve months.

A real BAD BOY of an album. Aye. It gets a little Kerupt, FM, in places. The lyrics aren’t exactly Radio 2 friendly. I think that’s the fucking point. Yep.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Hundreds of families could soon be running their estate after homes saved from demolition

““Residents have at best been treated as a problem to be dealt with, not as individuals to be engaged with. We fought for the right to retain the roofs over our heads, and to prevent the social cleansing of our corner of SW2. We decided to resist, to fight back, as did our brothers and sisters on Central Hill and the other threatened estates.”

via the new South London Express - worth a follow.

“Perhaps more immediately painful as the weather turns is the knowledge that gas from Jackdaw will do sweet FA to bring down energy bills at home, according to most analysts. However, it is a big win for owner and operator Adura, a joint venture between fossil fuel giant Shell and Norwegian firm Equinox, so I guess we can all be pleased for their shareholders.”

via Novara

“I loved the term Big Undo so much, of course I had to get the domain. I started putting up my usual placeholder site but realized I should do this page in Markdown, not HTML. It looks fabulous. Markdown is right. It’s sobriety, go back to the beginning and put the potency in the ideas, give writers the space to write. Get the F out of my way with your freaky character limits. Anyway I’m full of manifesto these days. The money people strangled the web. I think it’s time for the creative people to make it work for real”

Tell It Like It Is

via Dave Winer

‘In his thorough research, Gall reminds us of the band’s refusal to get involved in Billy Bragg’s Red Wedge project. Despite its political idealism, Red Wedge was, nevertheless, an unsuccessful attempt to turn Britain’s youth culture towards supporting the Labour Party and its diluted form of social democracy.”

Socialist Worker on the new Redskins bio

Probably the BEST name in folk history. Shame about the music, mind. Twee as fuck.

⭐

Not the best Richard Thompson album but then that’s some back catalogue and a very high bar that has been set. This feels like the record company was trying to push him onto an American audience. It’s very polished - almost too polished. Thompson is at his best when he’s stripped back and is writing and playing songs for himself rather than a perceived audience. That said, I Feel So Good is an FM classic that gets your toe tapping. It’s good to see that he’s let slip in the past decade or so and reverted back to pleasing himself and not chasing a new audience.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Not the best Richard Thompson album but then that’s some back catalogue and a very high bar that has been set. This feels like the record company was trying to push him onto an American audience. It’s very polished - almost too polished. Thompson is at his best when he’s stripped back and is writing and playing songs for himself rather than a perceived audience. That said, I Feel So Good is an FM classic that gets your toe tapping. It’s good to see that he’s let slip in the past decade or so and reverted back to pleasing himself and not chasing a new audience.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

To the Conga! …on Sunday evening for the October session for the Wivenhoe Music Mix. GOOD EVENING, WIVENHOE! I’m Jana Varga!

Except the welcome introduction wasn’t quite as bombastic for what was a very intimate and stripped down performance from the Slovakian singer songwriter.

This was a new artist for me. Joining Jana on stage was Sam Watts, playing the piano.

Jana’s voice was exquisite from start to finish. She managed to hold the room throughout with her range of original material and a few covers slipped in.

Some Carly Simon was included, but such was the quality of her own songs that it wasn’t always possible to distinguish between the two until she let it slip.

It wasn’t just the music that worked well. Jana is a great storyteller. She managed to weave a narrative that runs throughout her own songs to create a strong connection with the audience.

There was also a great professional chemistry between her and Sam on the piano. We even got to have a little bit of flute action towards the end when Jana put down her acoustic guitar and worked her magic.

This was something of a departure from the usual Wivenhoe Music Mix Sunday night sessions. We’re used to a full on jazz assault that blows away any thoughts of Sunday night blues ahead of the week ahead.

Sometimes you need something a little more thoughtful from a very powerful singer who won over many new friends on Sunday evening.

The plan was for a Cycle UK big old bicycle ride on Sunday. Storm Boele decided to interfere. Whatever.

I didn’t fancy pushing the pedals for 75 km, not even with a Raleigh Electric.

No worries, let’s go for a walk instead.

There were no great changes. It was the usual: down to the front along the estuary, reach the Creek, and then backtrack through Alresford. It’s a very convenient and Strava pleasing 9 km door to door.

I reached the Quay. Woh, it was bloody choppy down there. The Harker’s Yard race day over at Ardleigh had already long since been cancelled because of Boele.

I was PONCEING it around wearing an extremely fetching G Force knitted beanie. It’s quite a loose fit and doesn’t hug your head. I had to sacrifice fashion for practicalities. No one wants a ponceified G Force piece of elite knitwear being washed up into the estuary.

The bright conditions overhead were a welcome return after the bloody depressing downpour of yesterday. I can take a little bit of wind if it means there are Estuary Wilds sun rays to soak up.

I reached the Sailing Club and had a brief shifty to make sure the kayaks were still there. Yep, all present and correct. The wind was blowing around the most pleasant aroma of yacht varnish. Yep, it’s that time in the season again.

I walked along the riverbank and out towards the estuary. It was pretty deserted. SHOUT OUT to the three cyclists who really shouldn’t be cycling along here, especially the cargo bike rider who had the most unsuitable choice of wheels for this territory.

I reached a wooded area ahead of the Creek. I was pleased to be wearing wellies. It was pretty hard work, pounding up and down, wearing thick green rubber on my feet.

Alresford was a little dull but functional. It managed to provide the Strava OCD-pleasing 9 km circular walking route.

I celebrated by wearing my ponceified G Force piece of elite knitwear indoors for the rest of the afternoon.

To the University! ..on Friday morning for something of a double header. We were booked in first for table tennis and then badminton.

Blimey.

We made our way through to the squash court to play table tennis, which added in a further racket sport complication.

In the main sports hall it looked like some workshop was taking place for juggling. Oh gosh. Rewind 36 years ago and this is one of the societies on campus that I helped to set up.

Still got it, Jase. Still got it.

We arrived at the squash court to find our table wasn’t set up. No worries, a bit of DIY action and soon we were good to go.

It was around about this time when I first noticed I had some pretty bad body odour.

Oh dear.

I’m usually fastidiously clean. I had showered in the morning and I put on a fresh sports top but that’s where it all falls down. I think my cheapo cheapo Lidl sports tops now reeks of sweat so much that it’s impossible to wash any of it out.

I was reminded that our very first date in the same location 36 years ago also involved body odour. That’s me, not her.

Keeping up with the fashion stakes was my playing partner, who was wearing a korfball top. I have absolutely no idea.

The warm-ups followed: forehand to forehand, then backhand to backhand. We’re getting quite some speed and rhythm going with these. We then went straight into the game.

Nothing was working for me. I got very angry.

Even though we were playing in a squash court, some of my shots were rebounding off the walls rather than hitting the table.

“We’re not playing squash you know.”

Remarked my playing partner. Cheers for that, luv.

I was 8-2 down when we got booted off by some squash boys who looked the real business. It was probably for the best.

We made the short transition over to the Essex Sports Arena for our badminton court booking. The Rebels Volleyball Women’s team were setting up for what looked like a pretty hardcore training session.

And so, table tennis to badminton. Much like drink, you should never mix your racket sports.

Chin chin.

It’s been about a year or so since we played badminton. It showed with our early shots I’d forgotten that you can’t really spin a shuttlecock.

We spent half an hour or so doing mainly warm-up practises: the usual forehand to forehand, backhand to backhand, as well as setting up some smash shots.

We then entered into a game situation. We had to consult my friend ChatGPT for the precise scoring sequence for badminton.

We managed to get through to 1 game all. This was time to call it quits.

There was some serious WHOOPING coming from the volleyball women. I think they were having more fun than I was.