onionbagblog

We had TWO crews out along the Muddy Banks for a WivGigs Monday social row. And this included carrying a passenger in one boat, as a game of musical chairs took place on board as we made our way downstream towards Buoy 16 and beyond.

A little bird spotting took place by those that were bothered. Apologies, but a bird is a bloody bird. I’m here for the water, and hopefully a little peace and quiet.

That said, the flyover from a flock of geese was half decent. They might have been pigeons, but the personal touch as they made a flight path directly above us was a bit of a moment. I wasn’t alone in looking for geese / pigeon shit on my club clothing once they had buggered off to the other side of the Muddy Banks.

It was incredibly mild out there. The musical chairs meant that I found my way towards the front of the boat and on stroke. I refused to take off any layers. That boat can be full of crap with all the mud. My OCD mind would meltdown at the thought of river shit soiling my clothing.

Keep on moving, Jase. Keep on moving. Which meant that soon I was coxing. In a boat full of females, I held off with my OH SO FUCKING FUNNY cox joke. It was probably for the best.

Bateman’s Towner and Brightlingsea was soon within sight. Buoy 16 was reached.

“Anyone fancy the Rat?”

Oh go on then, Why not. Rat Island was entered. Here Be Rats, etc. We took the opportunity to stuff our faces with festive food.

The row back to the Sailing Club was a bit of a slog, tbh. I had a pressing work shift and wanted to get a move on. This was no time for bird spotting.

Oh.

I had to do a runner at the end on the Sailing Club. I took some water in on my wellies.

Arse.

Why is Andy Warhol Shite?

Bill Drummond reflects, thinks, then acts.

We were on time for KO for once. Maybe we shoud watch football matches that involve travel more than five minutes from our front door more often. But what to do now? How do you spend half an hour at a non-league ground when there’s not an awful lot taking place on the pitch? As ever, BOOZE was the answer for most. I decided to do some silly arthritic stretching instead.

We took up a position behind the goal along with the Regent Ultras ahead of KO. The Ultras are very much a real thing. One drum doesn’t make a bonafide nut job fanbase; but the Regent Ultras are a bit more than that. The proud red and black chequered flag was flying from a fair few households during our walk up to the ground. It’s makes a pleasant change from the silly flag shaggers.

Gorleston were a very odd team. Which is a polite way of saying that they were absolute shite for the first half hour or so. It was a strange choice for the away ‘keeper to wear No. 13 on his back. He gifted two goals to the Regent within the space of ten minutes. Unlucky, fella etc.

It was bloody cold out on the NE Essex coast. I enjoyed the first half, but I enjoyed the warmth of the clubhouse even more at HT. I was half tempted to buy an absolute abomination of a Regent away kit. The design looked like it had been out-sourced to the Streatham Rovers design team.

Gorleston improved after the break. They actually managed to leave their own half and spring a few attacks. Somehow they pulled a goal back, and even threatened to make a game of it with the score at 2-1.

But Brightlingsea looked like securing the points with a daisy cutter of a shot from the edge of the area that trickled underneath the No. 13 between the sticks. It’s probably best not to buy a ticket for the lottery later, mate.

A really unfortunate deflection down at the other end gave an unbalanced scoreline of 3-2. It was time to make a strategic decision. I was cold, it was damp. There was a bus leaving back to Weird Wiv in ten minutes. It would mean missing the final five minutes. What could go wrong?

Fifteen minutes later and we were on the top tier of the party bus back to Wiv. A quick scroll of X, and blimey. Gorleston equalised with the last kick of the game. It’s all very well arriving early for a game but it’s probably best to stick it out as well.

SHOUT OUT to the Brightlingsea Ultras who didn’t shut up all afternoon.

“It isn’t until their 40s that most people understand that what they see isn’t what everyone else sees. If you think there’s an objective truth that we all experience, you’re not getting the point. There is no consistent view from nowhere because everyone is somewhere. ;-)”

Dave Winer, Tells It Like It Is.

To Brightlingsea!

I’m currently crocked with a particularly painful calf ping. Running is not an option. It’s too damp around the bloody Estuary Wilds to take on any cycling. And so a walk out to Brightlingsea sounded like a good idea. A quick look of the fixture list, and HEY! Brightlingsea Regent are at home. Job’s a good ‘un. If we get a shifty on then we can make it in time for KO, right?

But I never get a shifty on. I’m always stop, starting as I snap away at the exact same locations and wildlife shit that I have been capturing on camera for the past fifteen years. Oh well.

At least there was a bloody high tide as we strode out purposely past the Sailing Club. One of the rowing club boats was out, one was back at base. Soon we could see Audacity emerging on the horizon, battling it back to the Sailing Club hard on a crisp midwinter morning.

In the shared AirPods was Robert Elms, soon to handover to Gary Crowley. The four hour run of programming on BBC Radio London for a Saturday morning is as good as local radio gets.

The WivGigs crew was replaced by a flotilla of kayakers. I counted half a dozen paddling downstream in a formation. We thought at first that they had a bluetooth speaker and were having some of a pre-Christmas rave. It was a right old bloody racket. It turns out that it was some unknown birds, brooding and kicking up a fuss a little further up along the marshland.

A mid-walk snack was taken on Fat Bloke’s Bench, just before the Creek. The big fella would hopefully have appreciated the snack of choice - Lidl’s finest discounted stollen. TUCK IN, etc.

Past the Creek and the path ahead was deserted. Even for such a glorious midwinter morning, I was surprised that this stretch heading over to Thorrington was clear. At least I thought it was clear. I stopped by a bush for a comfort break. Seconds later and a dog walker emerged.

Whoops.

Destination Brightlingsea was reached. We cut across the back fields to avoid the main drag of endless traffic. We then got a little lost around some backstreet estate, before spotting the floodlights of Brightlingsea Regent.

Up the R’s, etc.

Blue skies, still air and wellies. It will soon be time for the annual treat that is the Christmas Cup soon. The Christmas Cup doesn’t actually exist… Still, it would have been a shame to waste the wonderful Estuary Wilds conditions, with a rare break in all the winter gloom. I felt good, I played good. A battering took place, as I stormed to a rare 4-1 win. Spin it to win it, Jase. We’ve got tickets booked for the World TT Championships next year. I don’t think it’s too late for a call up.

Another Late Junction collab with Max Syedtollan meeting Chunky Mermaid. It’s quite magical, as well as absolutely bonkers, as you would expect from the Chunky girls. Max is a composer, adding a little grounding to the chaos with his keyboards; Chunky Mermaid add the colour, creativity and whistles. All nu rave projects need whistles, right? Late Junction is always essential for me at this time of the year. It’s a seasonal escape from all the Christmas crap that pretty much every radio station or show feels obliged to suffer upon you.

“It is estimated that more than 100,000 songs are uploaded to Spotify every single day, and that’s just one streaming service. This glut of music is unprecedented. Fewer tracks were released in the entirety of 1989.”

You need a filter to make sense of modern music in 2025. Far Out Magazine does a half decent job here. I’m a little ashamed to say that only two of these albums have been on my radar in the past twelve months. Maybe of more itnerest is what didn’t make the list?

Essex Pedal Power Colchester project gives away 900th bike

Good. It’s always a pleasure to see these out in the wild when I’m cycling around town. They are genuinely helping people to understand what can be achieved with active travel around a town / city that can be, ahem, a little hostile to cycling.

A storyteller, a lover, a man of funk. Add in some good old fashioned rock ‘n’ roll , plus a little music hall camp. We should all aspire to this. An amazing debut of an album. It’s the sound of an artist that has so much to say and express, and isn’t afraid to hide his influences. We need more innuendo in songs, always sang in a playful manner, without ever resorting to shock tactics for the sake of it. What a diamond.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I’ve picked up the bass again. Jase the Bass is a Bandcamp account waiting to happen, Comrades. There was no particular reason, apart from a spare half hour, and an urgent need of a distraction from work. I think I remember how to do this.

A brief tuning up - why do guitars become untuned? - and then I was away. Woh! Where to start? I know, how about Marley’s Jamming? I’ve always loved that Aston Barrett pulsating bass. Right from the opening chords, the bass anchors the whole track.

A brief online shifty for the bass line, and BINGO! Yeah, it’s cheating for sure. I’m playing bass by numbers. Move your finger here; play this string. Now repeat. There’s an awful lot of repetition when it comes to bass playing. Jamming has three parts, and that’s pretty much it.

I’ve two thirds of it nailed. I’m, ahem, jamming along with Bob. It think it’s best to keep it in the bedroom and offline for now.