onionbagblog

I love turning a corner around my S Ldn patch, and then OH MY DAYS, another new mural has appeared.

Create without permission, as we use to say back in the day.

But I suspect that Spanish artist Sebas Velasco did seek permission before he painted his beautiful new piece of work on the side of Broadstone House along Cobbett Street, SW8.

It’s titled ‘Yves’ - a local young fella from Brixton, standing on the Brixton mainline platform.

The art may - or may not - be long for this world. It’s right at the heart of the failed South Lambeth Estate ‘regeneration.’

If Lambeth can be arsed to get its act together after more than a decade of stalling, then we may soon have another soulless, uniform development springing up soon.

Then again.

When regeneration stalls, the streets speak.

Or something.

I passed some half term kids playing cricket on the North side of Clap’ham Common during the morning run. Nothing too odd about this - except that we’re approaching Halloween.

There was around half a dozen of the ankle biters, probably around Year 5 or Year 6 primary school age.

They were taking it incredibly seriously as well, fully padded up and even a protective helmet on show.

GOOD EFFORT.

It was a refreshing change from seeing the S Ldn yoof playing football - or throwing fireworks at one another during this time of year.

What was all the more remarkable was that they were playing on the Common grass, or what’s left of it, late autumn. It must have been one hell of a sticky wicket.

Later in the day I found myself walking around the Harleyford Road and past The Oval. The Hobbs Gate was padlocked up.

It was a most sorry sight, reminding me that we are deep into the Winter Well non-cricket season.

Hang on. There’s an England ODI series that no one really gives a shit about taking place on the other side of the world right now, yeah?

I took my enthusiasm from the Clap’ham Common kids, tbh.

Another changing of the seasons, another selection of new music from Cleaners from Venus.

Hurrah!

Mr Mule has dropped on Bandcamp the Neverland for Now EP - four tracks, all with a a DIY ethos as you would expect.

Start your own revolution and cut out the middle man, etc.

Mule has been particularly prolific in recent years. Did someone say LEGACY? As long as he’s coming up with the goods, I don’t really mind.

The lead track from the EP is a dreamy affair, complete with Mule’s signature backwards vocals bolted on at the end. The unmistakable jingle jangle chords carry the song.

There’s a breezy summer feel - unlike the Lilli Bolero summer album, that sounded more like autumn.

Mule World is always a little mixed up.

Elsewhere across the release and there are local references ahoy. Track 4 is even called Return to Wivenhoe, a subject we all find hard to address.

“When the tide is high, and the mist is low, I will return to Wivenhoe.”

Expect a Christmas drop soon.

Worker sacked over video showing Lime hire bikes being hurled out of transport van

Early Premier League relegation analysis: Who’s in trouble?

OH HAI #nffc

Surveillance of the anarchist 121 Centre by Special Branch undercover officers, 1981-1999

ACAB

For once a foreign language album I can appreciate. The tightness of the beats and the production elevate above the lyrics. I bailed at the end of the album, rather than continue with all the mixes. The strength of the originals was enough to satisfy me. A decent working soundtrack.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

This is a powerful video from Novara: Tom McTague, author of Between The Waves, in conversation with Aaron Bastani.

The book plots the rise of how Britain left the EU in 2016. The story doesn’t start with Douglas Carswell jumping ship to UKIP in Clacton.

McTague explains with tremendous historical detail how the Brexit Wars can be traced back as far as Enoch Powell. He draws a direct comparison to Nigel Farage.

There’s so much detail to take in here. McTague is a great guest who clearly knows his subject matter.

There’s intriguing tales of Westminster drinking clubs and how the elite and The Establishment network amongst themselves.

At just under two hours long, it’s not exactly social scrolling friendly. But that’s the whole point. This is a serious subject that deserves a long form analysis. Bastani lets McTague tell the narrative with only a little prodding.

It reminded me very much of David Sanders' Losing an Empire, Finding a Role, a staple read for any first year social science undergrad at Essex University back in the early 90’s.

Hey kids! Here’s the course leader. Oh - and you’ll need to buy his book in the University Bookshop if you want to progress…

Thirty five years on, and we’re still no closer to finding that role.

I streamed Bark Psychosis' Hex album this afternoon. There was a cheapo copy going on ebay for £6. Anything between £15-£20 is the usual asking price.

The idea was to give it a play through to see if it was as outstanding as I once remembered. It was, and it wasn’t.

It’s an exceptional piece of music of which the term post-rock - whatever that might mean - was made for. What makes it all the more remarkable is that this was very much an unknown musical direction back in 1994.

The disappointment wasn’t in the music, but in me. I must have rinsed this on a home recording cassette for six months or so around 1994. Yet I didn’t recognise one single piece of music throughout the playback this afternoon.

I’m not sure if this is a good or bad thing.

Hex has clearly left a memory on me as being something of interest. I wouldn’t have set up an ebay search otherwise.

But it fails to pass the Old Grey Whistle Test. You won’t get too many window cleaners whistling along to some of the dark passages that unfold as the album stretches out in front of you.

Three tracks in and I had decided that this was worth £6. It’s probably worth £10 tbh.

And then BLOODY HELL. I clicked through on ebay, only to find that the CD had been sold.

Buy now, ask later, etc.

I got lucky with the Sunny Stockwell Skies hit and miss iPhone snap this afternoon. It was dull all afternoon around SW8. These photos only really work when there is, erm, a sunset, natch.

Some errands needed to be carried out around the Stockwell Triangle. I had to head out.

A momentary glance outside the front window of the flat, and woh! We almost have a sunset. Blink and you might miss it, etc.

The timing for these saps is getting tricky. I even asked Alexa earlier what time sunset is for the Winter Solstice.

3:40pm.

SHIT THE BED.

That’s no time to end the day.

I’ll miss it when it’s gone - the daylight, and the opportunity to capture these shots outside the window.

Here we are again.

The Boy from the Country, the Boy from the City lifestyle continues to ride - for now, at least.

It wasn’t the most Sunny of Stockwell landscapes that greeted me when I touched down in SW8 this afternoon.But I’m a Transpontine optimist. I see beauty even in the SW8 drizzle.

I did the usual thing of stopping by the War Memorial Gardens for the obligatory snaps. Brian Barnes' Stockwell masterpiece is looking increasingly jaded and in need of some TLC.

The local Labour Councillors did organise a touch up and repaint around a decade ago. But the proud pictures from Stockwell’s past - historic, not Labour Councillors - are once again calling out to be tarted up.

Local government budgets means that this is highly unlikely. Sadly Brian is no longer with us to help with the effort.

You can take the boy out of Sunny Stockwell…

I wasn’t really in the mood for this, first thing. But I persisted and gave it a spin. It’s all very familiar. The beats build up, the bass kicks in, you go apeshit crazy.

It’s not exactly a home listening album. You need to be mashed off your head and stumbling into a ditch to really appreciate. Sadly those days are long behind me.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐