Month: Jan 2018

I was four in 1977, the year of the Silver Jubilee. I recall a tonnage of bunting at our local recreation ground, though it’s vague. One sentiment glued in my head is frustration, with my parents the following morning.

I’d been given a silver spoon with the crest of the jubilee, they were of the opinion it was something to treasure, to keep in mint condition, as one day, I was told, it’d be worth a fortune. I disagreed; sure was a lovely spoon, made sense to me it should have the honour of being used to eat my Coco Pops with.

I snivelled in our kitchen; mum, adamant I wasn’t going to use it to eat my cereal, finally caved, telling me the spoon would be ruined and I’d be sorry when I grew up. I did use the spoon, and continued to use it right into my mid-twenties, when the crest was long gone and it rusted to a state of disrepair.

It was futile to expect a four-year-old to comprehend sentimental value, but till this day I’m not materialistic, I’d sooner something be functional than retaining it for visual nostalgia. When studying art history I focussed on tribal art as they put design into their tools, as nomadic it’s pointless to carry unnecessary items for their aesthetical value.

Dating from the Norman era, the Church of St Mary the Virgin in New Park Street is one of the most important buildings in Devizes; it’s Grade 1 listed, amongst the top 2.5% of listed buildings in the country and it’s tower a landmark in town, but no longer in use as a church.

A Conservation Management Plan was produced four years ago at the request of the Salisbury Diocese and passed to a number of consultees; the Diocesan Advisory Board, Wiltshire Development (Planning & Conservation,) Historic England, The Church Building Council, Devizes Town Council and Trust For Devizes.

The St Mary Trust formed a vision, to transform the historic church into a vibrant building for the arts. It’s been a battleground since, initially turned down by Wiltshire Council, appealed, and turned down more times than the dweeb in the first year asking out Tracey Slater, the fittest chick in sixth form.

The grounds for their decision; WC planning officer, Mike Wilmott said, “This is a contemporary addition to a very old building. This will make substantial harm to the setting of this building,” and accused the group of blackmail, which, with all due respect, sounds to me like a crock of shit.

Nobody’s proposing holding a Special Brew anarchist’s sadomasochist brawl, or asking West Ham and Milwall fans to settle their differences with a monster truck rally. It’s just a few mild-mannered Devizions wanting space to perform some music and theatre.

By my reckoning, the modern regime we burden under despises funding arts. They’d rather we wake, work, be content watching Homes under the Hammer, sleep and repeat.

There’s a meeting to be held at 7.30pm on February 1 at the church, chaired by St Marys Future Group.  The churchwarden, Tony Storer explained to the Gazette, “The purpose is to review what has happened over the past two years, including a presentation outlining the Conservation Management Plan, developed with advice from the Salisbury Diocese.”

In the uncertainty, I hope the meeting doesn’t conclude that anything is better than being left redundant and the church gets used for something-or-other, like, I dunno, selling off for an antiques shop disguised by a fancy name, or slapping up two-thousand shoebox sized flats, just for the sake of it. I wouldn’t have eaten any old, budget-range chocolate rice pops with my jubilee spoon, had to be Coco-Pops.

An art gallery, café, charity base, use by another congregation, craft workshop, theatre, and a drop-in centre are all decent suggestions. After permitted TITCO performances, such as the brilliant and apt Sister Act, it’s clear, acoustically and functionally, St Marys would make an awesome arts centre, which would need a café for intervals, and when no performances are happening, it’d be perfect for all the other suggestions; hey, a multi-purpose arts centre, why not?

A similar pursuit for an Arts Centre in Calne is under discussion, using the Grove building. Town councillor Terry Couchman informed me he’s “desperate to get some individual and group outline proposals of how they would like to use the Grove. Without these brief declarations and interest it’s going to be a tough fight with Wiltshire Council.”

I pondered with Terry, after explaining about St Marys; “I wonder if they’ll try similar on the Grove, although it’s not an old church?”

“They want to sell it for building,” he sighed, “to the highest bidder.” Why doesn’t this surprise me? Again, there’s a Town Council Meeting in Calne on 5^th Feb, see the Calne in Tune Project Facebook page.

The Rev Canon Paul Richardson, St Mary’s Rector said it all, without adding things about monster truck rallies like me; “Without development of St Mary’s Church for community use it will be closed, and its future conservation is by no means secure. There is no harm to the building; there is minimum impact on its setting and the conservation area. There is a clearly identified and acknowledged public need that outweighs that minimum impact.”

Unless WC can see logic, like my rusted, worthless spoon, St Marys and the Grove will be hidden away, considered too aesthetically pleasing to be functional for art, which is kinda the same thing isn’t it? So come on Wiltshire Council, as we see our amenities fast diminishing, such as the hub of Brickstead and Eastleigh Rd, The Cavalier, isn’t it about time to bring something fresh to these market towns?

If I’d only kept the spoon, I’d bop them on the nose with it. I Googled it, you can buy a mint one on eBay for £1:99; worthless now, there wasn’t a need to treasure it, just saying.

St Mary’s Trust 

Future Use Seminar 1st Feb @ St Marys, Devizes

The Devizes Festival of Winter Ales does what it says on the tankard, but it isn’t just about drinking Kennet and Avon Brewery winter ales and ciders in the cosy Corn Exchange.

Now I’m not talking about this year’s warming musical performances by Rob Lear and the Drystones, or even, dare I say it, the chance to catch Rod Laver’s vaudevillian ping-pong mouth juggling, which might be worth the price-tag itself.

No, you see, the festival is a fundraising event for DOCA, The Devizes Outdoor Celebratory Arts, and we all love the many free events they put on in our town, like the Devizes International Street Festival, Devizes Carnival and the Christmas Lantern Parade.

The Festival of Winter Ales helps DOCA meet the costs of their outstanding programme, which costs thousands to create. Think of all those fireworks last Christmas, the brilliant bands at the street festival or at Hillworth Park; all wracks up you know. We owe it to DOCA to drink some ale and cider, which can be no bad thing!

Those beers won’t drink themselves, so show your support if you can; on the evening of Friday 23rd February, from 4 – 11pm, or Saturday 24th February when the afternoon runs from 11 – 5pm, and evening from 5.30 – 11pm.

Tickets are available for three sessions over the two days, and can be purchased online here: or in person at Devizes Books, The British Lion, The Vaults and the Wadworth’s Visitor Centre. Over 18’s only though you understand.

Christmas has been and gone, oodles of excessive packaging, bounded by gift-wrap, collate with ceaseless magnitudes of biscuits or mince pie boxes, and a massif of void tins and bottles, a testament to an enjoyable few days of merriment.

Now it’s the renowned month of misery, as dark as a heart-to-heart about Morrissey’s downturn with a flu-ridden goth. Yet you choose to read my causerie as if it’s going to help; oh my years. Take the bins out; far more entertaining.

I love being environmentally friendly, love the fact we’ve gone from sturdy metal bins that’d have lasted a hundred years to lightweight plastic ones which will luckily last five; sense in that?

Risking a rupture, I raise my right leg and pull myself into our recycling wheelie-bin, joining the foresaid rubbish mountain. Like a grape-crushing winemaker I stomp, squashing contents down. I lose a slipper, ones my daughter bought me too.

Now, at a lower level inside the bin, comes the finale of my party trick; amidst yogurt pots and milk cartons, I must locate the lost slipper with toes, slip it back on, then cock my leg like a ballerina at the Vienna State Opera and attempt to clamber out, distributing my weight to avoid it tipping and wriggling raised feet to avoid slippers making another break for it; opps, nearly dropped me fag.

Even compressed and refilled it’s still as light as a feather. So light in fact, that my efforts are wasted because, like everyone else in our town, I’ve failed to take heed of the Council’s yuletide collection modifications, mimicking the neighbour’s behaviour for assembling their rubbish for collection despite knowing they’ve no more clue than I. Consequently, it’s the wrong day.

Hello, it is winter; as if a force ten hurricane was unexpected. It sweeps my bin, your bin, and everyone else’s bin along the street, rocking them, tipping them, spewing rubbish into bushes and trees as they journey, littering our once green and pleasant land. If anyone wanted to remake the Dr Who episode “Attack of the Mutant Wheelie Bins,” (classic Tom Baker) they missed an ideal opportunity for filming.

Yes, I love being environmentally friendly. Guilt-ridden I pursue Fruit Shoot bottles down the street, recalling my childhood when the bin-man opened your gate, walked up your back garden path whistling a ditty, tipped his hat, threw your hefty bin over his shoulder, causally made his way to tip it in the truck and returned it back to your garden, still smiling.

No good being nostalgic, life cannot be like this anymore, we have to adhere to health and safety, have to consider there’s too many houses and not nearly enough bin-men, (sorry, refuse collection operatives)  and if we employ more, our council tax would skyrocket.

Like the days police would arrive at traffic jams to direct vehicles, or the post arrived in the morning, these are memories as unattainably returnable as Michael Jackson being the epiphany of cool.

So, someone sulked, “I used to tip the bin-men, I don’t anymore,” as if it’s their fault. “Oi; Refuse Collection Operative; put that Christmas cracker down, swallow your last mouthful of turkey, kiss the nippers bye, get your flipping boots on and pick up my crap before the storm blows it over the downs….oh, and merry Christmas to you too.”

No one blames the toy companies who outsourced production to a sweatshop in some far-flung country, meaning products need to be endlessly bounded with plastic ties, gurt chunks of polystyrene and masses of uncalled-for packaging.

No one blames the media, stirring commercial frenzy in our feeble minds, telling us what we need to buy, how much we need to bestow to our loved ones so they know we love them.

No one blames manufacturing, blasé with exploring and funding innovative concepts in organic packaging in favour of keeping costs low. If you funded them, they’d be standard and costs will drop; idiots.

No one blames politicians, many of whom hell-bent on denying there’s an issue with the environment, convinced it’s a hoax, and only push greener originations to stop a few fuddy-duddy hippies from whinging.  No worries, just shut up, munch your mini eclairs and throw the plastic wrapping into the impending wrath of climate change; some future generation’s problem.

Scientists predict a mini-ice age by 2030, yeah what do they know; they’re only scientists and, obviously, full of it? I can’t wrap my head around this ridiculous climate change conspiracy theory. Please tell me no one in Tory-Town Devizes believes this foolish fundamentalist bollocks?

Tell you what wise-guy, look around you; we’ve a few colder days but it’s supposed to be January for crying out loud into an unused snood. Nature doesn’t know if it coming or going. Plants are like “eh, what, is it time to bud now?”

Venture outside early and hear birds singing their spring song already, they don’t know if it’s mating season, migration or what to-buggery is going on. I wager they adopt the same ethos as me with the bins; wait and see what the neighbours do and when. They’re like, “hey Bob, we supposed to be migrating or what?” Bob is all like, “dunno pal, hoping you’d tell me.”

Forget not, these are the same group of ninnies certain the world is flat. Despite: YOU. CAN. SEE. IT. Climb a mountain, a skyscraper will suffice; you can see the curvature of the Earth.

Garth Brooks; I’ll tolerate. McDonalds; might munch one occasionally. But do we have to adopt this bonkers American credence? I’ll tell you what’s flat shall I? Your flipping brain is. Flat, and about the same dimensions as a postage stamp.

Take your flipping gear out of reverse, we must do what we can even if it works or if it doesn’t, least we can say we tried.

There, that cheered you up? I’m getting out of the wheelie-bin now.

With barely enough time to tack another mirror to their Lambrettas, The Devizes Scooter Club is zooming forward with a Bad Manners Tribute band on April 28^th at their regular venue, the Conservative Club.

After booking Northern Soul DJ Terry Hendrick for 24^th Feb and hosting a 70s/80s disco on 31^st March, are they out to put a gig on monthly? I asked the Colonel of the club Adam Ford. “We’ve got six dates in 2018 so far,” he told me; bookmark 30th June, 25th August and the 27th October in your busy diary rude boys and girls.

Now you don’t have to be a Tiswas devotee to know the music of Bad Manners, surely? Formed in 1976 in North London, the Two-Tone band had enormous success with several notable hits you can’t help but dance to.

I recall seeing them at Level Three in Swindon in the nineties, on a tangent, it’s sad to hear the news Sheer’s night with Frank Turner will be the last gig there. A sad day for Swindon’s music scene, the venue and the Rolleston pub next door has been going for as long I can remember. I recall fond nights with the likes of the Skanxters and Zion Train.

Bad Manners though, they gave Millie’s “My Boy Lollipop,” a gender-swap cover, “Lip up Fatty,” was an anthem, “Lorraine,” and “Walking in the Sunshine,” both fantastic, and when they did the Can-Can, even my gran would be shaking a leg at those eighties family parties. Personal favourite though has to be “Special Brew,” which coincidently is the name of the Cardiff-based tribute act heading this event.

We’re just entering our 4th year of playing,” the band’s manager Wayne told me, “Things have gone from strength to strength.”

Of course, irregular frontman Buster Bloodvessel is the main reason for the notoriety of Bad Manners; that belly, baldhead and, well, that tongue. He managed to get them banned from Top of the Pops, and let’s just say the Pope didn’t take to kindly to him, or his backside, either. I asked Wayne if he’d met Buster and if he approved.

“We’ve met Buster a few times,” he continued, “he totally approves of us and appreciates us doing what we do. Angela, our sax player played for Buster and Bad Manners at last year’s Cardiff gig.”

Doubly confirming this tribute act isn’t watering anything down, their frontman goes by the name of Busta Bollock, and sure looks the part.

I asked Wayne for their favourite Bad Manners tune. “I guess each member has their own favourite but as a band we’d have to say Lip Up Fatty,” he answered, which didn’t help my patience any in anticipating April 28^th; can’t wait!

Special Brew @ The Cons Club: April 28th 2018

What makes the ideal husband you might ask; what’s that honey, you woke me up?

One made of chocolate and praline perhaps, one who can fix the broken drain in just cut-off jeans and still smells like rosewood and patchouli, one who folds his socks in pairs might be adequate; I don’t know, maybe Oscar Wilde has a better answer than me. That is where the Wharf Theatre in Devizes comes in.

So yes ladies, the Ideal Husband is at the Wharf, rather than yours who is snoozing on the sofa, cuddling a bowl of cheesy puffs with his hand down his pants. Running from Friday 26th January to Saturday 3rd February, the Wharf’s next production is Oscar Wilde’s brilliant tale of political scandal.

Wilde introduces his audience to a young, highly respected politician, whose murky past comes to light at just the wrong moment. Lord Chiltern is on his way up and is being spoken of as a possible future Prime Minister. He is considered morally upright without a stain on his character and his wife, Mabel, considers him an ideal husband.

However it soon emerges that his meteoric rise was not without compromise and an early indiscretion leaves him wide open to blackmail; tales of political scandal are nothing new.

Tickets are now on sale at £12 with £10 concessions and can be purchased from the Devizes Community Hub and Library on Sheep Street, the Wharf Theatre website wharftheatre.co.uk or call: 03336 663 366