“Watson’s role will be to increase the “social and economic value” of its work through public services, jobs and skills. Translation: this former minister will help grease our way to the government teat.”
Telll It Like It Is. via Novara
Richard Wilson on Woody
“Harnessing the power of harvest, when after the fruit comes decay”
Late Junction captures the season to perfection.
And so we come to Coventry at home, the first time that these two teams have played each other in the Premier League in over a quarter of a century.
What could go wrong for Forest?
Well first of all let’s start with that dreaded home form. We were in desperate need of a statement win to help us get through the three long weeks of the stupid international break.
The team news landed. It looks like The OG has settled on his strongest starting eleven and is going to run with this week in, week out if he can manage injuries and suspensions.
Coventry offered little threat right from the kick-off. You know where this one is heading, right?
MGW was looking like he had a point to prove after being left out of the England squad once again. His flicks, tricks, and kicks pretty much dominated the first half.
Meanwhile McAtee looks transformed. He is in peak condition and was able to muscle in and make his mark in his No. 6 role.
The World Famous City Ground was also looking rather handsome. All that was needed was this elusive home win.
Forest had most possession during the first half but they weren’t clinical. This won’t come and kick us right at the backside, will it?
There was a very scrappy end to the first half. It looked like Coventry were here to take a point on the road whilst Forest seemed to accept they are going to struggle to score goals at home.
There’s not a great deal to say about the second half apart from Coventry’s goal on the break which was a great effort. Rushworth made a superb pass and split the entire pitch. He also looked rather charming wearing a traditional green goalkeeper kit. More of the same please.
It’s not that Forest were crap as a team, it’s just that we couldn’t score. This wasn’t the best of games for Ndoye.
Jesus rightfully took his place. His goal showed the determination that he has as a player, but as ever, fuck VAR.
And so we go into what seems like an eternal break away from the Premier League, with the club not perhaps being where it wanted to be.
It’s not been a disastrous start to the season but three points at home to Coventry would have set us up nicely for what is to come.
I’ve tried to stay out of charity shops of late. They’re always full of tat when it comes to clothing, and especially so when it comes to CDs.
You can end up straining your eyes as you peer through endless CD spines, only to read Boyzone, Annie Lennox, and endless Eva Cassidy.
Finding a rarity whilst digging in a charity shop’s crates is something of a fool’s gold errand.
But wait! What’s this?
I did allow myself five minutes or so having a quick shifty whilst in Walton-on-the Naze earlier. It was easy to dismiss most of the CDs, as they were classical with a very distinct spinal font.
What leapt out at me was some Loudon Wainwright III and Muddy Waters. The deal was £1 per CD or three for £2. I needed to add a third to my bundle.
I strained a little further and managed to find some Charlie Parker.
Keep on digging, Jase.
To the William Loveless Hall! …late afternoon on Saturday. The occasion was the annual Wivenhoe Memories exhibition.
This usually takes place over the weekend of the August Bank Holiday. The organisers have realised that footfall can be pretty low, with many families still holidaying. A slight switch to later in the season is being trialled for this year.
Each year the curators try and come up with a new theme. Wivenhoe Memories for 2026 goes back to the 1960s and explores the idea and the impact of the University being built at the top of the town.
To our surprise we weren’t the youngest people looking around the exhibition. Previous years have seen the Loveless Hall become something of a youth club for all the owd boys as they gather and share their memories.
It was fascinating to see some of the original photos of the University being built at Wivenhoe Park. Some of these were new to me.
I remarked that if we were 50-something back in the 1960s whilst the university was being built, then we would no doubt kick up a right fuss about Wivenhoe Park being concreted over. You now take it for granted and actually admire the brutalism on show.
It wasn’t all about the 1960s at Wivenhoe Memories. There was one board dedicated to the opening of a Co-op in 1976. I liked the caption describing the celeb of Yootha Joyce opening it as being “half cut.”
Chin chin.
Elsewhere I realised that although some of the old photos dating back 100 years or so have tremendous historical importance, it is perhaps the more recent snaps from the 1970s and 1980s that hold more appeal to me.
You’re looking at streets which you walk day in, day out, which have changed ever so slightly from when the photos were taken. It’s finer the details, such as old phone boxes that that have now been lost.
As you would expect with Wivenhoe Memories, photos of the pubs and booze in particular feature heavily. Some of the scenes of groups of 10, 15, 20 people sitting around a table drinking and smoking are a world away from what takes place inside these pubs in 2026.
And so another decent Wivenhoe Memories. These gatherings are always very communal and prove to be a great way of drawing out some of the old stories.
I rather enjoyed the Between the Tides festival at Walton-on-the-Naze. On offer was a weekend of art activities and events, all held together with the loose connection of tide and time.
Walton-on-the-Naze certainly had the weather to match the event. Back in Wivenhoe, rowing had already been cancelled for the day due to the breezy Estuary Wilds conditions.
We had a brief train journey over to the Naze. We pretty much departed the train and walked straight into some experimental theatre that involved town criers. This was pretty scary shit. We decided not to linger.
There was an itinerary planned for the day, but best laid plans and all that. In the end we thought it best just to wander and to see where Between the Tides took us.
This meant the first thing was peering over the seawall onto some superb sand sculptures. I misunderstood the description in the festival programme. I thought this would be a sandcastle competition. But nope, it was the faces of some very powerful female role models etched out in the sand.
We then made our way over to Format Records. This is a fantastic shop that somehow seems slightly out of place in a sleepy North Essex coastal town. They have some serious stock in place.
I never know where to focus my attention when digging in the crates at Format. I was on a bit of an 80’s vibe and so I flicked through racks of vinyl that I once owned back in the day. The ZTT dedicated section in particular was pretty impressive.
Outside Format the festival feel continued with a DJ playing some ace digi reggae. Listening to old Greensleeves 12 inches is just what you want to kickstart your Saturday morning.
I’m not so sure about shanty singing however. This always scares the shit out of me. We walked straight into a shanty session when we reached Millennium Square and the small festival stage.
There was a market also taking place that was described as artisan. That was slightly open to artistic interpretation. If you really wanted to, you could customise your Crocs with one particular store.
It all then went a little bit wonky when a couple of dudes in beachwear started to dance around with a surfboard as the lone sea shanty singer launched into some Irish numbers.
We hit upon, by pure chance, a community art challenge. A live piece of art was being created on a large board. There was an open invitation for anyone to use the materials and add in their own design.
This is a particular personal ‘journey’ (ARF) which I am pondering entering into right now. I really do need to address my Art CSE Grade 3 demons from over four decades ago.
I’ve come round to the mantra that if you do something then you become it. Put simply, if you create some art then you’re an artist. If you stand along the sidelines and watch, then you’re simply an observer.
I decided to take up the challenge and waited to find a space on the board that was the smallest available area. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to create. In the end I used a black marker and did a few replicas of some of my tattoo designs.
I took a step back to admire my artwork and then realised that we had to GTFO ASAP.
Perhaps the best find of the day was the Walton and Frinton Yacht Club. I didn’t even know this existed. I always thought of Walton-on-the-Naze as being very much a seaside beach town.
But nope. If you take a few shortcuts around the back, you enter inlets. This is also where the Walton and Frinton Yacht Club is located.
There was an open door session at the Yacht Club as part of Between the Tides Festival. It had a fantastic local angle with a series of high class photographs from various local photographers, all inspired by Arthur Ransome’s Secret Water. This is a piece of fiction that was inspired by these very Essex backwater areas.
The photographers were all part of a loose collective Not a Camera Club. They had taken the map, which is quite a key point in the plot for Ransome’s Secret Water, and then each decided to take some snaps around a specific location.
Holding all of this together in the centre table at the Yacht Club was a blown-up version of the map with some references as to where each photo was shot. It really was a fantastic addition to the festival.
By now the itinerary was completely shot. I fancied something of a beach walk. We headed up towards our usual favourite cliffside cafe, which was now closed for the winter months.
We watched a brave lone paddle boarder trying to launch on an incoming tide before giving up with some of the fearsome waves.
And that was pretty much it for Between the Tides. There was plenty more to discover but we were both knackered and Forest were on the telly back at base at 5:30 pm.
A decent Walton-on-the-Naze day out.
Another Universal Works fleece, all the way from the Fair City - well not quite, but Universal Works has its roots back in NG1 innit.
This was a cheapo cheapo online purchase. The original listing was incredibly benign when it comes to the current costings for all things Universal Works online. Being the cheeky fucker that I am, I offered £10 lower.
Much to my surprise the seller went for it.
It arrived and it’s cuddly wuddly as chuff. It fits perfectly and is the kind of fleece I wanted for the winter months.
Universal Works is the new G Force - I think.
We had a little time to spare up at Wivenhoe Park on Friday afternoon. Back in the day and having a little time to spare at Wivenhoe Park meant necking four cans of SPESH down by the lakes and then waking up with all sorts of mysterious and unknown stains down my Forest ‘89 replica kit.
Thankfully my tastes are a little refined these days. The Forest ‘89 replica is still worn with pride 0 and it’s also stain-free. I’ve also learnt my limit in that two cans of SPESH is all I can take these days.
Instead of collapsing around the back of the lakes, we decided to take on the Wivenhoe Park Tree Tour. Who knew such a thing even existed?
A little bit of an online shifty and soon I was able to download a ten page PDF documenting the various trees and the exact walking route.
Blimey, that sounds like bloody hard work. Maybe the best option is just to walk around and look at trees?
We tried to follow the guide as best as possible. I learnt about a Legion Grove, which used to be a cool leafy glade. That’s just the kind of shit you would never do as a student.
I was kind of interested for the first ten minutes or so. The endless commentary from my tree-walking partner did my nut in. She was determined to read the entire ten page PDF and point out trees of interest. I was just in search of my next can of SPESH, to be honest.
The timing was half decent. The students are back at Wivenhoe Park tomorrow morning. I thought we had got away with looking like a couple of nerds staring up at trees with no other fuckers around. I was wrong. A pal from football who works at the University clocked us. Oh dear.
We did get a little lost when my tree partner failed to identify a silver birch. It was staring her right in the face.
The walk then got a little random. It was punctuated with some zigzag movement that took in pretty much the crazy and bonkers frisbee golf course around Wivenhoe Park.
My only observation of note is that I quite love the contrast of the 1960s brutalism of the University against the backdrop of the Mother Nature shit.
It all got a little too much about halfway through for me. We were walking through some pines, which our ten page PDF guide reliably informed us were victims of the Great Storm of 87. They didn’t look too damaged to me.
The walk was cut short at my request. It was starting to do my head in by now.
But if you’re not a fan of trees, then maybe this one is for you. I should send some of the fuckers from the Town Council on the Wivenhoe Park Tree Walk. Yeah that would liven the stiffs up.
SHOUT OUT Helen C for the heads up 👌🏼
To Wivenhoe House Hotel! …on Friday afternoon to celebrate something of a momentous personal moment. Let’s just keep it at that.
On the menu, of course, was afternoon tea. We’ve had a hit and miss experience before at Wivenhoe House. One completely forgettable occasion was a spoiled vegetarian Christmas dinner. You were fine if you were fans of eating thick cardboard with nothing much else in between.
But you can’t go wrong with afternoon tea, right? What’s so tricky about sausage rolls, scones, and cake, as Nick Lowe once almost sang?
I thought I would humour our rather polite waiter when he asked if we have any dietary requirements. My dining partner said:
“I don’t like fish.”
What the chuff? We’re going to tuck into sannies and cake. There’s no fish on the menu, luv.
Mr. Waiter responded by correcting me, saying that there was actually some rather fine salmon sandwiches.
Oh. I see.
We were asked if we wanted to upgrade to the Prosecco option. No ta. Afternoon tea is afternoon tea. I want thick builders' tea and not some poncey Essex fizzy shit to wash it all down with.
I thought I was suitably dressed. It was a dress down Friday after all. I was kind of smart, almost definitely casual. My self-confidence had taken something of a hit earlier in the morning when my Money Man told me I was looking scruffy for our annual catch up.
First out of the traps was a pot of tea. This was far better than any crappy Prosecco shit.
And then came the main dining option. Also out came my phone. It’s all about the Instas innit. Just show us the fucking snap.
The food selection actually was rather quite delightful. The highlights were a rather savoury sausage roll, a very light but filling cheese scone, and, of course, the salmon sarnies. No food allergies here mate.
As well as a very fine waiter, there was also an extremely confident maître d' also doing the rounds. I think he clocked us very early on and picked up on my lack of social skills and refusal to do small talk.
I managed to blank him throughout the entire sitting - or rather he managed to blank me. The Coffee Ponce back in SW8 would have been proud of my lack of small talk vibes I was giving off.
An hour or so later we emerged out of Wivenhoe House Hotel. It wasn’t quite a Mr. Creosote scene from Monty Python, but I was well and truly stuffed.
These rather momentous personal moments come around too often.
Another instant purchase following an Album of the Day recommendation. I’ve said pretty much all I want to say about Polly Harvey’s dry debut a few posts down.
It’s a stunning opening statement in a career that then followed through. It managed to achieve even more dark but still quite delightful moments.
Much to my surprise this cheapo CD version dropped this morning and I found that it’s an original on the old Too Pure label. Christ, this piece of plastic and metallic in my hand is over three decades old.
I actually had an interview at Too Pure back in the day. It must have been just after the Polly Harvey debut.
I think I went in there like an absolute dick, trying to dazzle them with a load of corporate speak. Perhaps that wasn’t the best approach to take, Jase, when you’re dealing with a cool as fuck genuine indie.
I did manage to leave, however, with a record bag stuffed full of CDs. I don’t know why but Polly Harvey’s Dry wasn’t amongst them.
I do often wonder what might have become of me if I had landed the job at Too Pure. I think Polly Harvey was single at the time…
I bloody love Dinosaur Jr. I used to stomp around to Freak Scene at Rock City on Thursday nights - or it was more like Friday mornings, sometime around 2 am.
It was something of a surprise at 8 am this Friday morning to have the shit kicked out of me by listening to Freak Scene once again. What a fucking tune! It stampedes right through you, takes no prisoners, yet is still laid-back.
You get the feeling that there is a lot more to be said and a lot more energy to be released but somehow Dinosaur Jr. hold it all back. It’s almost a threat, thinking that there’s more to come if you really want to push it a bit further.
But Bug is about so much more than just a noise. Buried away beneath all the feedback are some actual top-quality tunes. You can see where Nirvana got their blueprint from.
The absolute noise attack is dialled up further on the penultimate track, Don’t. Christ, what a fucking racket! It was bloody glorious.
I wouldn’t want to be listening to this stuff day in, day out to help maintain my mood but every now and then you need a kick in the balls with a complete fucking mess of an album that still teases you with some tunes.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
