onionbagblog

I’d forgotten about many of these songs. They formed pretty much the soundtrack to my post-Britpop listening with the Evening Session every night: Pure Morning, You Don’t Care About Us - these are songs that I’m overly familiar with but had instantly forgotten. It’s not that this is a bad album. It’s just that it’s not for me in 2026.

I quite like the punchy nature of it. Placebo always felt like they had a point to prove. The very delicate physical outlook of the band often felt that it needed to be beefed up with the pulsating bass and drums. I have got something of a soft spot for Brian Molko’s whiney voice. I don’t think I need Placebo in my life in 2026 though.

⭐ ⭐

To Rectory Road! …late on Sunday afternoon. Wivenhoe Town Cricket Club were hosting Sudbury in a T30 hit ‘n’ giggle.

Thirty overs is a half-decent format for any competition. Just don’t go telling the ECB. They will invent half a dozen new franchises and sell out the game even further.

It was an odd hybrid of the game. We were playing with a pink ball and luminous wickets, yet both sets of players looked resplendent in their whites.

Other commitments kept me away from the Sudbury innings. They had set a competitive chase of 155 for the home team.

Once again it became clear that this was a mixture of incredibly young players backed up by some older wiser heads. SHOUT OUT in particular to the Sudbury young kid fielding on the boundary. He’s probably back at primary school in a few weeks. He didn’t let himself down, both fielding as well as then turning his arm with some decent spin on offer.

An early drop was a close reprieve for Wivenhoe. I then missed a wicket as I was too busy scrolling on Forest updates and the emotional farewell for Big Taiwo.

Sudbury had an interesting selection of bowlers. One young chap in particular had the shortest of short runs that I’ve ever seen in the game. This seemed to fool the Wivenhoe batters with a well taken catch after a failed sweep shot.

Similar to the other formats at this level, there seems to be much more focus on spin rather than pace. It makes it easier on the eye to try and follow the game.

Another catch followed and early drinks were taken. Wivenhoe were now on 80 for 4 chasing down that 155.

I confess to dozing off as more wickets fell. Each polite applause from the Pavilion was my wake up call to have a bit of a check on the scoreboard.

I could see that with seven overs remaining Wivenhoe needed 36 runs with three wickets in hand. They had timed their run chase to perfection.

It was a little squeaky bum time for the very young kids out in the middle for Wivenhoe. A well-placed boundary was a fitting way for the home team to take the victory.

Another bloody decent afternoon down at Rectory Road.

I think I’ve just about reconnected with all of my existing bicycle ride routes post the great reopening of access to the Tendring Peninsula for me. Boy, I miss riding out around those parts. Being cut off at source, as a link road which leads to nowhere was being built, was no fun.

Sunday lunchtime was the final missing piece in the jigsaw. It’s no great shakes. It’s the old Bobby George BONER route with the added Great Bentley little offshoot circular add-on.

I have been able to ride this route before, but the road closure during all the rebuilding work meant I was forced along a pretty shitty detour that involved cycling a very bumpy, gravelly little path right alongside an A road. No ta.

Sunday was pretty much bliss. To my surprise there were also some wonderful new stretches of tarmac along the roads I have not ridden in over a year. We are talking proper black, deep, thick tarmac here as well.

Essex County Council went through a phase of thinking that road rebuilding meant spreading a layer of glue along the road and then dumping a truck full of shingles all over it.

It didn’t take long, however, for the new tarmac to already have a Stone Roses style paint job along one particular stretch. Someone has had fun with a very large pot of white Deluxe.

The lanes became more enclosed and quieter as the ride progressed. I then realised I was actually riding the Ride of the Falling Leaves, albeit a couple of months too early.

Mother Nature really is fucked.

To Broad Lane! …on Saturday afternoon. Wivenhoe Town FC were at home in the first round of the FA Vase hosting Frenford. The visitors play one step above the Dragons in the non-league pyramid.

This was all set to be a half decent opportunity to see how far the Dragons have progressed as part of the new set up for the 2026 season.

There wasn’t much to report for the first half hour or so. The main talking point was the incredibly tall ref and a couple of rather short wide players starting for Frenford. Talk about knowing your place, etc.

I walked around the ground doing my usual photo walk. Some silly old racist Essex owd boy mumbled out some absolute nonsense rather close to me. I rose above it and didn’t allow this to ruin my afternoon. In retrospect I really should have called him out - or maybe even lamped him.

The lino was much more fun.

“Don’t take my photo! Please don’t take my photo!”

Which actually means, “Oh please do take my photograph and please do pimp it out all over the modern interweb. Thank you very much.”

I didn’t take his photograph.

It looked bloody hard work out there on what was a rock hard pitch. I wouldn’t have fancied playing a full 90 minutes with my knees. Thankfully if it was to be even at full time then we would go straight to pens.

The first half was rather even. I was surprised how well Wivenhoe fared against a team that were clearly a lot more organised, not to mention no doubt better paid.

I had a few conversations during the second half with some familiar faces. Pokey Pokey Guy started speaking to me as well as poking me rather hard.

It was all friendly stuff but I do object when my body space is invaded and a jabbing finger is then inserted into my shoulder to prove a point every 30 seconds or so.

The main talking point is that the old brick wall around all four sides of the ground looks set to be demolished next week. Apparently FA funding of around £50,000 has been secured after the terrible incident that involved the death of a young player last season. This can’t come soon enough. It will certainly transform the look of Broad Lane.

Back on the actual pitch itself Wivenhoe were superb in the second half. They attacked with pace and actually outclassed their opponents from a league above. Two goals were scored in quick succession. They were well deserved.

I turned to my spectating partner, the non-pointing one, and observed that the final 15 minutes would be bloody hard work to defend.

This wasn’t the case. Wivenhoe were strong in defence as well as continuing to attack. A 2-0 victory was the least they deserved.

Well and truly up for the Cup, Comrades.

We had something of an audience for the game of table tennis on Saturday afternoon on the public playing field. A picnic party was taking place under the shade of the nearby tree. It all looked very friendly and we got a few smiles and nods when some killer shots were executed.

I felt a little sorry at first for the army of ants that had taken over the table of dreams. You don’t want to be walking around there in the midday sun just as some fella steps up with his ping-pong ball and is ready to SPLAT you with his four-arm smash.

We were both a little tired to be honest. Some of the shots were quite laboured. I felt rather envious of the picnic party people who had now made the short trip on the other side of the shaded tree to play boules.

Once again the ground around us was rock hard. One particular shot rolled down the hill and didn’t really stop. It was like that crazy cheese chasing contest as my playing partner almost tripped over down the path to try and retrieve it.

Oh yeah I somehow won 3-2.

GEDDIN.

I didn’t quite understand the judging at the Wivenhoe Allotment and Garden Association annual show. Yeah sure, veg is veg, right? Some looked a little fresher than others, but ultimately veg for me is all about necking it and getting energy.

The judges thought a little differently. There was no evidence of the fruit or veg - or even cake - actually being tasted. In fact some of the produce awarded a first in show looked a bit mangy when compared to other entrants.

I would never suggest that there is something slightly slippery taking place with the WAGA judging. Nope.

It was a decent enough show for 2026. A few panic emails had gone out and then run up to it, worrying that not enough allotment holders had entered any of their goods. Guilty as charged.

But wait, what this?

We did get an email stressing the importance of us attending the close of the event as there was possibly a chance our allotment may pick up a prize in the overall category.

Football watching duties kept us away, natch.

There was plenty of tomatoes on show as we made our way up and down the various trestle tables early afternoon. Tomato, tomatoe, etc. I’ve never seen so many varieties.

Cabbages meanwhile, remain the ugly sisters of the allotment world.

Some of the blackberries looked incredibly tempting. They were rather lush and certainly plump. I confess to having a quick shifty to my left and right to see if I could snaffle one.

Spoiler: I’m too much of a good honest citizen for that type of behaviour.

Have access to a road bicycle, will travel. I’m making the most of these dry days when I can be out freewheeling on the roadie. Having been blocked from accessing most of my bicycles since Easter because of scaffolding, now is the time to ride.

Ride to live, live to ride.

The bicycle Brucie bonus is that the gateway from Weird Wiv over into the Tendring peninsula is finally open. The road works and the link road that isn’t a link road are allowing access for cyclists. Just ignore that sign that says CCTV in operation, right.

I headed over on the Lawford route. I’ve not ridden this in over a year. It felt good to be out along some of the extremely remote country lanes on Saturday morning.

I wasn’t alone enjoying the new found road freedom around these parts. The first sighting of fellow cyclists was a magnificent-looking electric tandem.

Chapeau!

I was also experimenting with my own cycling fashion attire. The sun was failing to break through. The meant that I could wear short sleeves and my new Brixton Cycles cycling bib. There was little sun to penetrate through my fresh black ink beautifully painted on my body.

Elsewhere around the lanes there were a few horse riders also enjoying the early morning solitary leisure activity. I made some slow progress as I approached one particular horse who looked a little nervy from behind.

The lush lanes that I’ve not ridden for a year have taken something of a hammering. One particular stretch close to Lawford appears to have seen a wildfire breaking out along a stretch of the ditch. It’s completely gutted and is still smouldering.

I reached Dead Lane. It was as joyless as ever. It’s an essential little link lane which allows me to cut through a housing estate currently being built, and then on to the return leg for the round route.

The onions in the field look dead on their feet - or should that be dead on their roots? They were exposed and already semi-fried, simmering away in their rural setting.

Back at base and Strava says I was a minute off a PB for this route. Not bad considering I’ve not ridden it in over twelve months.

Alabama 3’s Step 13 album. This is the first release without The Good Reverend. It’s something of a sober affair in every respect.

My extreme naivety has led me to overlook the fact that over the years various members of Alabama 3 have had a few issues. The album title of Step 13 is something of a dead giveaway.

I think this completes my current Alabama 3 collection, but you never know. Occasionally the odd bootleg appears online that seems to be endorsed by the band.

There’s still nothing quite like them. They walk it like they talk it up and down Coldharbour Lane. No other band looks or sounds Brixton.

Gawd Bless ‘em.

“Forest have had managers whose bluff and bluster was a dominant character trait — perhaps all they really had in their skillsets — but the Austrian is far from that. He is serious about building relationships. He is serious about improving players. He will be ruthlessly focused in his attempts to get where he believes he can take this Forest side.”

LOUD cough. Dyche… via the excellent Pete Blackbrun

And so farewell Raleigh

Islington exhibition celebrates 50 years of cycling campaigns

via Ian Visits

It’s that time of year when I usually bash out a Brixton Buzz piece all about the brilliant Lambeth Heritage Festival, which starts in September.

Not a lot changes each year. There’s some slight variation in the events, with the centrepiece always being the Heritage Launch Day on the first Saturday in September. This is something of a coming together of the local history tribes in the borough.

I had a quick shifty through the online brochure ahead of the 2026 event. There are some wonderful new additions, such as a cycling event tracing the route of the Effra.

There are also some half decent options around my old Sunny Stockwell patch, with an artist walk as well as looking at the industrial history of Vauxhall.

What is slightly different this year is that charges seem to be creeping in. The Heritage Festival always proclaims itself as being free but some of the prices for the poncy walks can border on the £12 to £15 mark. This doesn’t seem that inclusive for a borough that is not exactly known for its affluence in some parts.

Also changing this year is that I very much doubt I will be bashing out a Brixton Buzz piece. I felt a little sad reading through the heritage guide, feeling rather nostalgic for a personal past that once was. I’m too busy making new memories right now, but once transpontine, always transpontine.

Which brings me around in a rather clumsy way to a most peculiar incident on the Robert Elms show earlier this morning.

As part of his long running Notes and Queries section, one geezer rang up asking for some more information as to why there is a very large pink and blue banner at Champion Hill that simply says Transpontine.

Some things really don’t need an explanation, Comrade.

Elms was intrigued by this. He often likes to retell and rewrite history as to how he invented the word transpontine. He’s a fantastic broadcaster but sometimes he likes to believe his own myths and legends.

Anyway, the Dulwich Hamlet caller seemed a little clueless. We all have to start somewhere etc. But if you need to ask why there was a transpontine banner at Champion Hill then I suggest you embed yourself within the Rabble and have some chats with some of the old faces.

Some other fella called up around an hour later to explain away why this rather proud pink and blue banner is being paraded around Champion Hill. He explained how Dulwich is a club with radical roots, no arguments here.

A very tenuous connection was then made, saying that those radical roots include the fan base having a rather unique and left-of-centre taste in music. This seemed a little odd.

The absolute SHIT THE BED moment was when the caller then had the balls to say that the music enjoyed by many at Champion Hill is similar to the tastes enjoyed by Robert Elms.

It was even suggested, possibly jokingly, that the transpontine banner is actually a reference to Elms himself, who tends to eulogise over the word.

What an absolute load of hairy old bollocks.

A more sensible suggestion then followed regarding the Transpontine blog. The same caller said that the author behind the wonderful Transpontine is also responsible for the banner.

Hmm… and if you know your history, etc.

Once again that’s not entirely true. I wouldn’t like to go 100% with the exact facts but my understanding is that the transpontine banner is all down to Wolfgang Moneypenny.

Moneypenny was the original transpontine social libertarian. He walked around Champion Hill as though it was his own fiefdom. Once again he was someone who liked to believe his own myth and legend, but unlike Elms, he wasn’t afraid to take the piss out of himself.

Every belligerent dictator needs their own colours and call to arms. For Wolfgang this was a massive FUCK OFF banner that simply said Transpontine. I remember it appearing around Champion Hill in 2012. This was when Wolfgang was at the peak of his South London crusades.

A few years later it all went a bit south, so to speak, when the Toilet’s Opposite stand got sponsored by a fucking poxy estate agent. Wolfgang threw a sulk, switched allegiances to Streatham Rovers, before buggering off over to Northern Ireland. The old bastard.

I really should have called up and told Elms all of this. But then I know how delicate he gets when someone speaks most mild profanities on air.

History is always written by the victors, etc. If Robert Elms wants to claim that the transpontine banner is a self-proclaimed eulogy to himself then so be it. The truth is somewhere under the paving stone, the beach.