Month: April 2014

Live tweeting: Norwich Blitz 1

I’ve been left slightly speechless by the response to a something I did last night on the spur of a moment relating to The Norwich Blitz. I have a head full of stuff relating to lots of things, the inner nerd has lots of strange habits, and whilst mulling over whether it was worth staring glumly at a row of garages that didn’t exist until the 1950s, willing information to fall out of the sky on whether I would ever find any information out about Brian Royal Potter and his Family and Ethel Jopp who was visiting the houses...

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Trench Fever

I thought it was about time I did a bit of quantifying, I’ve done a something in a previous piece here, which scratches at the back of a story but only tells the penultimate episode of it not the rest, there’s other bits clanging and banging about on the internet that I’ve written about it too. So having done a piece on it at the request of for Stephen Bevan at The Cambridge News and because I’m actually quite lazy and it’s half done already so I only have to stick some lipstick on it and slap its bottom....

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Vanishing Point: The Somme still flows – Schwaben redoubt

I’ve been distracted enough not to put fingers to keyboard for the last week or so. Mainly because I had an upcoming trip to France, my first on my own due to some fairly uncontrolled sets of human circumstance and how time plays its stupid games. Travelling isn’t an issue, but I’ve had an anxiety issue relating to a fairly nasty car accident a few years ago in Northern France which a rather strange affect on my mind and gave me what is apparently termed the rather fey sounding “separation anxiety”, so I spent a week with my brain...

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Supporting Pulp

  We once supported Pulp. All local bands get to support someone half-decent if they keep at it and harass people for long enough, which is basically what we did. As experiences went it wasn’t that special, but beat the hell out of playing in an empty bar on a Wednesday night in the rain out in the county or among the stretched polo shirts and sweating lager glasses of city pubs. It was at the Waterfront, the internet tells me it took place on the 4th of June 1992. I’s not have remembered otherwise, it was just ‘the...

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Ghosts: Hawthorn Ridge the Somme

I feel like a bit of a slacker, I’m tired, having gallivanted through The Somme for most of three days, I’ll leave you with this; a starter for ten. The photo is a ghost of one of the Somme mines that were set of at precisely and critically 7.30 (roughly-ish) in the morning of the 1st of July 1916, just before the attack started just beyond Beaumont Hamel near the sunken lane. It’s quite easy to find if you are there, looks like a copse, is in fact a giant crater just down slope of Newfoundland Park and just...

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Hidden history: A winged victory for the sullen

‘Peace’ or an Angel Sheathing a Sword, not actually a winged victory at all, despite the smile. A rather attractive woman, but you wouldn’t especially want to piss her off. If you lived at the top of Prince of Wales Road you might fancy having a sword at hand, dealing with the half-naked drunk and freezing callow youth of Norfolk every weekend lurching about preening and vomiting on your plinth. This is Norfolk Regiment Boer War Memorial in Norwich; she sits on Agricultural Hall Plain on a plinth just behind the Castle and Anglia TV. Increasing car use has meant...

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Magdalen Street 2: St Botolph the traveller

Magdalen Street’s hidden history: The lost churches Part 2, St Botolph. St Botolph or St Botulph or even St Botwulf was a church named after a saint  that now only really lives on in an adapted street name. Ignominiously lost in a few street signs in the precincts behind Anglia Square. The original Botolph or Buttle street, tracked from it’s junction with Pitt Street and St Augustines, across the top of Calvert Street and then St Georges; also known as Middle Street both now truncated by the flyover; to Stump Cross where it joined Magdalen Street. A narrow dark...

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2 weeks ago

Invisible works

Not my finest work, but y'know.

Anglia Square.
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