onionbagblog

Some more early ’90s G Force exquisite knitwear.

What an absolute bloody BEAUT.

I love the combination of the scarlet red and dark blue. This would look the absolute bollocks worn with a pair of Freddy’s of Pinewood ’50s hard denim, along with possibly some red cherry DMs.

As the boys from Clobbered keep on reminding us, always dress from the bottom up. Start with the footwear and then the rest will follow.

This particular G Force cardigan was a relative bargain. It appeared on Vinted, almost hidden away as the listing title wasn’t quite correct.

Basic error there, fella.

As ever messages were pinged back and forth. I managed to get down to the price I was willing to play.

Never forget: the price you’re willing to pay is not always the price something is worth, but G Force is G Force, innit. See them, buy them.

It’s oversized - but OF COURSE it’s oversized. That’s the G Force streetwear look.

Next weekend Robin and the team have got another stall at Lustre, the annual cottage industry craft gathering at Lakeside back in the Fair City.

I don’t think my bank balance could stretch to another trip and another purchase of the Reimagined collection.

I did wander past the old G Force Hockley shop a few days ago. It’s now a barber’s. Nothing wrong with that but there was something a little melancholy about seeing the original facade and structure that was so iconic back in the day.

I do fear that I’m subverting the G Force marketplace right now. It’s a seller’s market that responds to buyers' demand. There must be diminishing stock left out there right now.

SEE IT, BUY IT, etc.

I did have plans to go to the Sunny Colch Odeon on Monday afternoon for a cheapo cheapo grubby fiver cinema experience. On the agenda was Ali G’s Who Iz I?

Yep, I know.

But wait! What’s this?

Amazon Prime started spamming me, telling me it’s now available to watch as a freebie on the telly back home. Not quite straight to video, but straight to Amazon Prime.

Blimey, I’ll have a bit of that. A fiver here, a fiver there, it all adds up.

Cut to the chase: Ali G, Who Iz I? isn’t worth a grubby fiver. It’s a bloody awful film, but also funny as fuck in places. I think that’s the point.

The Graun liberal elite narrative leading up to the cinema release was the misuse of cultural appropriation and the dangers of taking such an approach in 2026.

This feels a little self-manufactured. The actual premise of the film takes the piss out of cultural appropriation, as well as asking a fairly serious question about what you can and can’t get away with, twenty years since Staine’s Finest first rocked up.

Surprisingly, there is a plot. It’s remarkably similar to Big in Japan, the big screen follow up for People Just Do Nothing, as the Kurupt FM crew attempt to restart their DJ careers after a downfall.

Ditto Ali G.

Having landed in the States, yer main man then takes flak from the left - is it because I iz black etc - and then also from the right, as he is used as a vehicle for free speech.

Shot by both sides, etc.

That all sounds a little heavy. Of course, it’s not heavy. It’s absolutely ridiculous, with the plot merely being something of a sideshow for some Jackass style humour.

It’s not exactly a spoiler, but I’m still laughing at the puerile and schoolboy humour of a new defence weapon that involves strapping a plastic backside onto you that then also has a dildo at the front. You tug away vigorously on the front to release a bullet mechanism coming out of the arsehole.

Pure gutter, pure lowest denominator. But then some fools over in the States generally bought into this concept and went about their masturbatory defence mechanism as though their lives depended on it.

I admit reaching for my phone around an hour or so in. It wasn’t anything Ali G related, just general Friday night Insta scrolling. You couldn’t get away with that in the cinema.

The ending is quite sweet. It does answer the question: Ali G, who iz I? The cultural appropriation of one community is then shifted to another, but that still doesn’t make it all right.

I’m not really sure who the joke is on. You could take a grand sweeping view and look at it from a societal perspective and say this type of comedy really should have been banished decades ago.

Or you could take a more postmodern perspective and say it’s basically On The Buses, 2026.

Or maybe it’s just a dumb ass film, innit.

To the University! …on Friday morning for a double header of table tennis then followed by badminton.

Small racket, big racket, big racket, small racket. It’s all the same innit.

Once again my player partner attempted to tease me psychologically and take my mind off the table tennis:

“You’ve got BO again.”

That wasn’t quite the case. I was most particular with my personal hygiene an hour or so earlier.

Cheers for that one, luv.

We were once again booked into the University squash courts. These are bloody brilliant for having a full on hour session of TWATTING the ball back and forward with no need to go chasing it.

My playing partner is rather conversational. This gets right on my tits while I’m trying to focus on how to lose a game.

The talk was of new table tennis bats. Apparently some members of the Sailing Club Monday evening social session have upgraded to something rather fancy.

Betcha I can still TWAT the ball past them.

“That’s not good”

…remarked my playing partner after a very narrow miss as I returned one of her shots.

The very next ball she attempted a serve, but it crashed right into her side of the table and back onto the squash court wall.

“That’s not very good, luv, etc.”

We pressed on. I somehow managed to come very close. The score line of 6-2 in her favour didn’t do justice to my own table tennis superiority on the squash court.

“You could beat me if you didn’t arse around so much”

…was her closing observation.

We then switched over to the sports hall for some badminton. There were some serious players out on the courts, wearing the Essex Blades badminton kit as well as having proper full on badminton bags.

I felt a bit of a fraud with our Sports Direct £10 set.

It took a little bit of adjusting from table tennis to badminton. One shot in particular from my playing partner went so high and off target that it almost landed in one of the basketball hoops nearby.

Slam dunk, luv.

Truth be told I didn’t really recover from the opening remark of:

“Do you want to get the cocks out?”

I raced to a 2-0 deficit but then managed to somehow bring this back to a 3-2 win.

Let’s call that an even draw all round after a morning of hitting various things back and forth between each other.

“The new reality is that there doesn’t appear to be any pushovers in the Premier League this season, no teams to serve as the poor kid who repeatedly gets his lunch money stolen and his socks chucked in a tree.”

David Marples on the PL 2026

Let’s start with that cover first. This doesn’t suggest post-industrial music with a Germanic touch. It screams early boy band bros' imitators. OIL me up baby.

This really confused me. Spotify was saying it was a 2018 release. I had some crazy thought at first that maybe DAF had franchised out and had passed on the name and legacy to some young imitators.

But nope, the 2018 was just a Spotify re-release. This is still the 1981 original. Phew, that was a close one.

And then we come to the music itself. It’s harsh as you would expect in places, but then also uniquely poppy and uplifting in others. DAF were very good at mixing together industrial anger with a little synth playfulness.

It helps, as ever, that I haven’t got a clue what they’re singing about. My ignorance when it comes to other languages serves me well when assessing new music. A decent find with a few random tracks added to my Spotify playlist to suit the mood.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

A couple of finds from a very pleasant 15 minutes or so digging in the CD crates at the Oxfam music branch in West Bridgford, back in the Fair City. Some Muddy Waters and some Costello, £6 all in. Job’s a good ‘un.

There’s a fantastic selection upstairs at the Oxfam along The Avenue. I always make sure I drop in whenever I’m back around town.

It’s priced competitively although fairly. No surprises to seeing the friendly guy behind the counter flicking through Discogs, double-checking stock before he put it out in the front racks.

I spent a lot of time cross-referencing my own collection and what I’ve already got. I’ve actually had to resort to having a list on my phone of some major artists that I know I will buy CDs. I’m not entirely sure exactly what I’ve already got. I’m neither proud nor ashamed of this.

I picked up the Muddy Waters, thinking, blimey, this is on my wish list. Three quid, bloody bargain, bag it. It wasn’t on my phone list of CDs already sitting back on the shelves at home, but something in the back of my mind told me that it was.

Whatever, if in doubt just buy. Three quid. POP. There you go.

And then we come to the King of America. This is something of an iconic cover that I always remember peering out at me in the shop window at Selectadisc back in the day.

Back in the day meant probably around ‘84 or ‘85. I knew Castello was cool but my musical direction was pushing me elsewhere. It’s one of those albums I’ve always wanted on the strength of the cover but now I know the music matches it.

A little later when I was back at base I managed to cross-reference my increasingly random and anarchic filing system for CDs. I’ve basically got two systems that I now need to merge together.

I can’t find Muddy Waters’ Hard Again anywhere, so that’s a win.

An album title that is only just shorter than the review. Everyone loves some album art that features a giant chicken, right? The music is most hypnotic. It’s something of a Gilles Peterson wet dream. I have no idea what it’s all about but it makes me smile.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

The uprising of 1381—when the peasants fought back

via Socialist Worker

Happy birthday Ian Visits - a remarkable London resource. Ditto Diamond Geezer, natch.

“He was blocking my way, so I had to move him: Road rage driver who avoided jail after breaking cyclist’s skull claims rider was kicking off and his brain injury doesn’t matter”

via road.cc

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.