Joyrobber Didn’t Want Your Stupid Job Anyway

A second track from local anonymous songwriter Joyrobber has mysteriously appeared online, and heโ€™s bitter about not getting his dream jobโ€ฆ..

If this mysterious dudeโ€™s August invective track at racist talk show host Jeremy Kyle, and his patronising attitude, it feels like him telling me heโ€™s โ€œnot one for holding a grudge,โ€ might have a smidgen of irony too! His grungy pop-punk response to his career rejection might be biting satire, but amusing with it.

Eight and a half years ago, he claims, he was cruelly denied his dream job by what appeared to be a corrupt interview process. Perhaps it was to take over from Kyle, but Joyrobber reveals nothing, even after I badgered him for a clue to his identity.

What we do know is it was produced by Sugarpill Productions, a parody of hip hop pioneering label Sugarhill, has the vocal engineering talents of Jolyon Dixon, and is rather catchy with a highly amusing hook. I Didn’t Want Your Stupid Job Anyway is indicative of how we all might feel after a failed interview but being British, we bit our tongue. A bolshy after-contemplation with dry implications, in a Weezer skater-punk two-fingers up fashion.

I donโ€™t believe for a second heโ€™s pleading for sympathy, just to get the frustration off his chest by thrashing a guitar at it. If youโ€™ve been there too, youโ€™ll identify, making me like this more than the debut single, because Iโ€™ve an incalculable history of bodged job interviews, likely because they were all knobs as well!

Itโ€™s up on Spotify, downloadable from Bandcamp with a โ€œname your priceโ€ option, and itโ€™s Marmite, love it or hate it, it remains a sticky spreadable extract to get over your dysphoria, but not sing at the Job Centre.


ย 

Danny Kruger Set To Destroy Imaginary Religion

Dunno bout you, but I’ve still not gotten over the horror a majority in Marlborough blindly voted him in. Or even that he doesn’t believe women have the right to decide what to do with their own bodies, but after Clactonising his Wiltshire constituency despite their unwillingness to join the Black Shirts, their reborn fascist MP Danny Kruger really has done gone blown his mental head gasket on a journey to Lala Land’s Reform office this time. And it’s at boiling point over an imaginary religion, which, according to him, is too woke to even be classified as wokeโ€ฆ..swear me in, if it triggers this contemporary King Ethelbertโ€ฆ..

Mushroom season in Marlborough always finds a few oddballs taking in tongues, but straightjackets on standby, as this goes way beyond reasonable psychedelic intoxication and reverts us back to Anglo-Saxons.

Days after daring Danny Dog posted a letter of heartfelt baloney to his constitutes, pleading they follow him like Jesus’ selfless plea in Matthew 16:24, to โ€œdeny themselves and take up their cross daily,โ€ regardless of his political treachery, whilst he plans to lick faeces off the backside of Nigel Faragรผhrer and deport all three of Marlborough’s dark skinned residents, his address to Parliament from July, or more like preach, has resurfaced on social media. Merging politics with religion, the bizarre result is a speech so far removed from reality it’s virtually sci-fi.

Largely for Islamophobia succour his waffle begins by denouncing secularist separation of church and state, praisingย  The House of Commons for taking their prayers in earnest, and big-ups Henry VIII expressingย  rather obviously, โ€œour democracy is founded on Christian faith.โ€

Only since 1534, I might add. Prior, we had various ancient philosophies blanket-termed Paganism, which Christianity crushed in the Christianisation of Anglo-Saxon England in the 6th century, and herein lies the most bizarre segment of his rant.

Not before grandstanding his horror at the recent bill decriminalizing abortion, he audaciously quotes John Lennon’s Imagine, forgoing The Beatles claimed they were โ€œmore popular than Jesus,โ€ and lambasts any freedom for welcoming other religions or philosophies as โ€œugly and aggressive new threats,โ€ claiming โ€œall politics is religious, and in abandoning one religion we simply create a space for others to move into.โ€

Here he cites the first, โ€œthere are two religions moving into the space from which Christianity has been ejected, and one is Islam.โ€ But the following paragraph concerning the apparent second, his fictitious nightmare, is the real eye-opener to a loony climax.

Danny Kruger said, โ€œIt is the other religion that worries me even more. This other religion is a hybrid of old and new ideas, and it does not have a proper name. I do not think that โ€œwokeโ€ does justice to its seriousness. It is a combination of ancient paganism, Christian heresies and the cult of modernism, all mashed up into a deeply mistaken and deeply dangerous ideology of power that is hostile to the essential objects of our affections and our loyalties: families, communities and nations. It is explicitly and most passionately hostile to Christianity as the wellspring of the west. That religion, unlike Islam, must simply be destroyed, at least as a public doctrine. It must be banished from public lifeโ€”from schools and universities, and from businesses and public services. It needs to be sent back to the fringes of eccentricity, like the modern druids who invest Stonehenge in my constituency with a theology that is seen as mad but harmless because its followers are so few and no one serious takes them seriously.โ€

Wha?! Is it? Erm, ohโ€ฆhe forgot Jedi.Yewโ€™ve garn flipped shagger, gurt quanked โ€˜nโ€™ all-a-huh! Not that he’d understand what that means because he’s spent less time in Wiltshire than Anakin Skywalker. He’s turned to the darkside too.

Without getting all history teacher on you, let’s add some logic to this tomfoolery with a basic timeline. For 949,509 out of the 950,000 years humans have inhabited Britain they’ve been content looking to the natural elements, the earth, moon and sun, and gradually forming understandings surrounding their interconnectedness to it.

And from the pandemic through to the science of the climate emergency, we realise their basic concepts of their interconnectedness with nature was more bang on the money than the idea some bearded bloke living in the clouds with a frisbee above his head sculpted mankind from clay, and a woman is just their rib. And, in fact it was most likely our conviction in the cloud cuckoo land stories of organised religions which divided us from nature and created our impending extinction.

But our Danny boy couldn’t fathom this because he’s now aligned to a company disguised as a political party which, despite proof, claims it’s all a hoax and we should give up at least trying to lessen the impact. What a silly sausage who’s taken his constituents headlong into the casserole whether they wanted to, or not.

When the real truth is, if there’s anything ambiguous or speculative about the beliefs or practices of modern paganism it’s because Christianity forcibly obliterated the origins, or twisted them to suit their own narrativeโ€ฆunless you believe Easter eggs are the body of Christ?!

But the bottom line is, there isn’t a religion, culture or movement anywhere which attempts to undermine or conquer Christianity in the UK. All, just like Christianity, promote peace, understanding and unity. It’s only in the wonky minds of extremism which seeks to suggest one who doesn’t support their faith is therefore an enemy.

To condone the destruction of someone else’s belief as Danny has done here is extremist, oppressive and certainly not in any way, Christian. Marlborough is now default facism, and that is the disgrace and crying shame their residents must deal with, protest and take to the polling stations, if Reform snipers aren’t picking them off by then.


Man With Massive CCTV Says Northgate Street is Open!

None too convenient when you need a wee down the alley where Wilkos was, but handy in other ways; all-seeing eye Noel has spotted something on his CCTV which is worth its weight in gold to anyone who dares to drive through Devizes. Northgate Street is apparently now open to one-way traffic like months of closure never happenedโ€ฆ

Be aware when navigating or painting a St George’s Cross on it, you’ve probably got used to hurtling across the Brewery roundabout like you’re Immortan Joe on a promise, but now you’ve got a thing called โ€œright of wayโ€ to consider. Not that it ever bothered anyone at the Station Road roundabout further along.

Road improvements at Shane’s Castle might still be the subject of petty town politicising, and a Conservative councillor’s golden egg in which to fib about some Guardians because they didn’t kiss his ring during the Vice Chair of the Governance and Personnel Committee voting process, but that’s just bureaucratic toys being launched from prams for no valid reason, provided we take some care at the junction; as if!

I turn right there because, like my sat-nav says, I have no fear! Somebuddy gimmie a HGV.

No, this is much better news, less slanderous and far more relevant. The north gateway to the Market Place was closed after a fire, back in what feels like the nineteen-seventies, and you couldn’t even grab a kebab while you contemplated the effects it would have on the flow of traffic, bus stop confusion, and loss of revenue to an entire corner of the town.

To see it open again is like a breath of fresh carbon monoxide, and I’m certain heavy goods vehicles and other through traffic will celebrate by ducking down there just for the crack….because they can.

It’s like Christmas came early, in an area plagued by roadworks. Unlike the accident blackspot aptly called the Black Dog Crossroads, where, after millenia of campaigning, the Munster finally pulled his finger out of the Green Party’s bum, and the installation of traffic lights is ongoing, causing chaos on the school run, as if no one has heard of four-way traffic lights in Lavington.

Breaking update ….or braking update: it’s only one-way, guys, don’t get over excited. One way the wtong way, btw, for if went into the Market Place rather than out it might have reason to use it. Heading out of the Market Place is a test of human kindness in Devizes, as no traffic has to give way to you. At the last count, it was a twenty-five to one probability there’s someone kindly enough in town to surrender their right of way and allow you through. If that doesn’t say it all about levels of human kindness in Devizes, I don’t know what does!

Seriously, take care out there and drive with consideration of others. Remember, Noel is watching you.

PREVIEW : โ€œThe Mikadoโ€ at The Mission Theatre, Bath, July 22nd-23rd 2025.

by Ian Diddams
images from Jon Lo Photography

Ask the typical man โ€“ or woman –  in the street which Gilbert & Sullivan performances they can name, and you may well receive such answers as โ€œTop Of The Pops, 1972โ€, โ€œMan about the Houseโ€, โ€œCrucible Theatre World Snooker Final 2001โ€ and โ€œWho? What?โ€.  [ Thatโ€™s a bit left field? โ€“ Ed ] . However, amongst the cognoscenti within this theoretical vox-pop, you may find some that do actually understand the questionโ€ฆ  and amongst the more likely answers of โ€œPirates of Penzanceโ€ etc, you may well find somebody suggesting โ€œThe Mikadoโ€.

The Mikado has had some troubles in recent years being staged, as the core principle of Gilbertโ€™s satire being the send up of BRITISH society by utilising an alternative environment which was all the rage in London Society at the time, is confused with patronising that other place. You may disagree with me, which is your prerogative, of course. But whatever the reasons it has become โ€ฆ  uncomfortable โ€ฆ presenting The Mikado as how it was historically performed.

More modern adaptations however have avoided any unnecessary disquiet by setting the operetta in other situations โ€“ Devizes based White Horse Opera staged a highly successful version set in a dystopian country ruled by a despotic dictator akin to a 1970s central American military president just a few years ago โ€ฆ  I know because I was the Mikado! This in itself however is also I believe to be refreshing โ€“ if all such shows (including Shakespeare etc) were always performed in exactly the same manner, aside from Sullivan’s wonderful music they may quickly lose their shine โ€“ seen one, seen them all. Reimagining the background creates new ways of looking at the story, naturally.

So step forward โ€œForbear! Theatreโ€, a London-based professional theatre company known for producing innovative Gilbert and Sullivan shows, and their splendid Terry Pratchett inspired adaptation, performed at The Mission Theatre prior to their transfer to New York. Minimal changes have been made to the text in bringing this fantasy kingdom to life, with the same madcap characters, plot and iconic songs that have been loved for generations. This version of “The Mikado” aims to represent Gilbertโ€™s original intention by being set in an other-worldly, beautiful and dangerous fictional culture; the perfect canvas onto which to paint British flaws. And of course, Sullivanโ€™s sublime and clever โ€“ almost cheeky โ€“ music.

So come and find out for yourself how Gilbert’s characters fare in this Pratchett inspired fantasy world at The Mission Theatre, July 22nd and 23rd ย 2025.ย  After all, others have praised this production to the hilt already

โ€œThey live for their art.ย  And it shows in their show. You could put this production on at the London Coliseumโ€ (*****) – London Theatre 1
โ€œSuperb singing and silly goings on in the land of Tirwuduโ€ย (****) – London Pub Theatres
โ€œRachel Middle has given an old story a beautiful new homeโ€ย (****) – North Westend
โ€œA real triumph from the creative team who have passionately and carefully reimagined this iconic piece of theatrical historyโ€ (****)ย – The Deskbound Dramatic
โ€œBrilliantly subversiveโ€ – Everything Theatre

Tickets from https://www.missiontheatre.co.uk/whats-on/2025/the-mikadoย 

UrchFunk; The Forgotten Tale of How George Clinton Created Funk Music in the Wiltshire Village of Urchfont

You’d be forgiven for believing funk music came out of Detroit in the early seventies, when it is a little known fact, obscured and deliberately hidden, likely for the prestige of the American city and the ignominy of the village, that funk music was actually created in the Wiltshire village of Urchfontโ€ฆ.

Funk pioneer George Clinton and bandleader of the collective Parliament-Funkadelic was born in North Carolina and grew up in New Jersey, moving to Detroit in the mid-sixties to work as a songwriter for Motown. By the early seventies Clinton and several members of the band settled in Toronto, but during this time he encountered legal difficulties arising from acquisitions of his record label, resulting in dangerous circumstances and was secretly exiled to England, settling in Urchfont for a few short months.

It was in solitude at the sleepy Wiltshire village where Clinton honed the funk style based on the recordings of James Brown. Developing an association with a few village musicians who had formed a skiffle group on his lonely walks to the village pond from his home in Cuckoo Corner, Clinton convinced them to create a new band. Clinton called them Urch-Funk. The band would play to a small crowd in the village hall, and even daringly attempted an ambitious outside gig around the pond.

After a short while, Clinton got the all clear from his record label, and made his way back to Toronto, taking the idea of funk music back with him, but not without leaving a significant influence in the village. What happened next was a secret funk phenomenon in the village, now sadly hidden; I wanted to know why.

1973: Parliament-Funkadelic visits Clinton in Urchfont

A villager, who prefers to remain anonymous, revealed, โ€œyarp, they bee dancin’ โ€˜nโ€™ singin’, arn movin’ ter thar groovin’, arn joist wen wun hit me, with argh bloody shovel I mioght add, I turned arand I dids, n shouted play art funky music Urchfunk boi!โ€

But, it was not a case of one village under a groove. Some villagers and the parish council have deliberately made my research as difficult as possible. My initial discovery of a disco ball buried in mud for decades and only unearthed when the new houses at Peppercombe were built, led me to wonder how it came to be there. I returned to the site to discover disregarded afro wigs and flyers for soul all-nighters at the village hall. But everyone who I approached refused to talk, accusing me of creating a hoax.

Some even chased me out the village with pitchforks and torches, calling me to not unearth Urchfont’s secret funkadelia past, if I knew what was โ€œgard fur me!โ€ This naturally roused my suspicions that Urchfont held a direct secret link to funk music, a majority were embarrassed by it and, it seemed, were willing to kill to protect the secret. I had to know more.

A rare flyer for an UrchFunk gig at the Village Hall

I took to returning to the village to hunt for more clues by the cover of night, but I found nothing. Until one evening, so frustrated my searching was unfruitful, I stayed all night looking, and early morning joggers and dog walkers were emerging from their homes. Ducking stealthily into Stone Pit Lane, a strange looking old man appeared from out of the bushes and clasped his hand over my mouth, stating, โ€œcum wiff me if yer wanna live… groovy!โ€

He took me to a secret lair in the undergrowth which appeared to be a shrine to Urchfont’s forgotten past. Within this hobbit hole of treasures he allowed me to browse, and as I did he told me his story. He was one of musicians who met Clinton, and who had created the definitive sound of funk which would soon take America by storm. But he told me how the local folk club banished them, believing funk was the work of the devil, but really, he suspected it was more likely because they upstaged them, with glitter, and platform shoes with goldfish in them, which later they declared was animal cruelty. The fish were released into the village pond.

Likely the only existing photograph of UrchFunk. Believed to have been taken at the Urchfont Village Hall in 1973.

They were simply excuses, the man dressed in worn purple corduroys and flowery dagger collar shirt, informed me. He explained how the folk club encouraged the entire village and council to hide Urchfont’s funky disco days, as it was considered untraditional and could radicalise the young people of the village into wearing sequined jumpsuits.

โ€œHoy,โ€ he said, โ€œonce eye bee argh boogie singer, playin’ in argh rock-and-roll band, see? Never โ€˜ard no prublems, me, yer nose, ganderflankinโ€™ down thar one-night stands, like. N everything arand me gart ter start ter feelin’ so low, so eye decided quickly, yarp, eye dids, ter disco down anโ€™ check art thar show, praper jarb!โ€

1973: Parliament-Funkadelic visits Clinton in Urchfont

Once settled down from his excitement of my arrival, the old man continued with his amazing story. Clinton tried to organise a funk festival in the village which he called the Afro-Festival, which the old man claimed once Clinton left for America the parish council changed the name of it to the Scarecrow Festival. The outside gig around the pond, Disco Balls Around the Pond was swiftly changed to Candles Around the Pond, and the villageโ€™s connection to funk was forever swept under the carpet, save for when the wind blows south east across Sleight.

I remain steadfast that this forgotten past of Urchfont should be exposed, and celebrated; the village should be proud of it’s funky past. Therefore, Iโ€™m glad to be able to finally publish this information after many years of research, today, the 1st April 2025.ย ย 


Take Our Wiltshire Pothole or Moon Crater Quiz Challenge!!

Can You Find The Wiltshire Potholes From The Moon Craters?!

Now, at Devizine Towers we are far too mature and sensible to mock Wiltshire Councilโ€™s sterling efforts to repair our road defects by jumping on the bandwagons of chalking phallic symbolism around our countyโ€™s potholes, playing pitch and putt in them, or creating memeโ€™s with a drowning Leonardo DiCaprio. But we thought a fun game for all the family might be some harmless entertainment; at least, far more harmless than driving on our roads….

Can you distinguish the pictures of potholes on Wiltshireโ€™s roads between those pictures of moon craters?! It’s not as easy as it looks, kids! Would you know which of these images to report on the MyWilts app, or NASA?!

Thereโ€™s ten pictures below, carefully cropped and in grayscale to avoid clues, like vaguely painted road markings, or little green aliens. If you do need a clue, I can tell you, there’s more Wiltshire pot holes than there are moon craters; we like to keep things real on Devizine!

See how many you can correctly guess in our pothole or moon crater challenge!

Find the answers below, if I can remember myself which ones are which!!

NO PEEKING!!


Question 1: Pothole or Moon Crater?

Question 2: Pothole or Moon Crater?

Question 3: Pothole or Moon Crater?

Question 4: Pothole or Moon Crater?

Question 5: Pothole or Moon Crater?

Question 6: Pothole or Moon Crater?

Question 7: Pothole or Moon Crater?

Question 8: Pothole or Moon Crater?

Question 9: Pothole or Moon Crater?

Question 10: Pothole or Moon Crater? Tricky one to finish on!


Answers: 1- pothole, 2- pothole, 3- moon crater, 4- pot hole, 5-pot hole, 6-moon crater, 7-tricky one this, but it is a moon crater we found on the Poulshot road, 8- pot hole, 9- moon crater, 10- unless Neil Armstrong took a traffic cone with him, we strongly suspect it’s a pot hole, but who can be sure? I reckon you’ve taken a traffic cone to the moon in the past after a few too many shandies, or maybe just to the end of your cul-de-sac.

Mark your own papers, I trust you, but deduct a point for every traffic cone you’ve woken up with, cuddling in your bed, you silly drunken sausages.


Devizes Upgraded: We’re a Two-Greggs Town Now, and You Know What that Meansโ€ฆ..

Exciting news, isn’t it? Enough to cause me to skip merrily through the daisies in my garden as naked as a cherub, and sing its praises from every rooftop from here to Wellington Drive.

โ€œOh hear ye, oh hear ye, Devizes hath been blessed! Devizes, oh, Devizes, magically upgraded from a one to a two-Greggs town!โ€ fairies chant over a maid tinkering on a harpsichord, sprinkling their fairy dust in jubilation. Wonโ€™t someone sign me into my Facebook account so I can spread word of it pronto: twelve โ€œlikesโ€ and counting, three are love heart emojis, yay! I blush at my popularity and bite into my steak bake milliseconds before it gets cold.

Yesh, brothers, sisters, true as I sit here typing this crap, another Greggs bakery chainstore has majestically opened in Devizes like the second coming of a prophet, making us a two-Greggs town now, and you know what that meansโ€ฆ.

You do know what that means, donโ€™t you? No, neither do I, really. They have pasties with peas in them; peas have no home in a pasty, thatโ€™s too much of a trigger. Job opportunities, perhaps, and thatโ€™s good, right? The notion that one quick swerve from the congested fury on London Road, and you can be refreshed with a lukewarm cuppa and a salty dog-meat sausage roll as traffic builds up behind you. You need no longer to stop off in the Market Place and realise there are better quality local produces available, and that has to be the winner winner chicken baguette dinner, hands down. At least it beats knowing you’re funding a convicted nonce, eh?

Otherwise, I see no valid reason to jump for joy. Swindon has thirteen Greggs, Chippenham has four; do you see them wetting their knickers when another opens? We donโ€™t even beat electronic talking Christmas treeโ€™d Melksham, dammit, theyโ€™ve got threeโ€ฆ and donโ€™t get me started on the Golden Arches. Unfair, Devizes Town Council, just because no one has actually ever applied to open a Maccy-Dโ€™s here, doesnโ€™t mean you shouldnโ€™t pull your bloody fingers out and kidnap Ronald McDonald until he starts supplying his celebrated Fillet-0-Fishes and McNuggets here. Damn your eyes, sirs, and look around at the desperate and needy fast food generation, see their tiny tears welling!

Stop catering to a yesteryear generation, eating on plates is soooo last millennium; we’ve surpassed Wimpy and demand our pointless packaging.

For what is a town without the splattering of unwanted pickles on its pavements? What is the measure of a place where rat-enticing decomposing chicken bones in a Colonel Sanders bucket isnโ€™t found dumped down every alleyway, I cry? Hark, the sound of a Deliveroo moped on an otherwise quiet evening? These are the things upcoming generations will hold in dearest retrospection upon reaching maturity. But come, let us flock around this new arrival in awe, on this December slow news day, for it is all we have and we learn to make do; save Subway, of course, where seven of your best earned quids will see you handling a BLT roll, you total ledge.

Ah, monopolisation has found a new home in Devizes and to hell with the independent bakeries, I chortle like a chav, as my belt buckle bursts from the weight of more cholesterol-hugging delights. Factual reporting here you know, I researched for this bitch of a scoop. Queues out the door and through the Shambles to get a Greggs at the Winter Festival, there was, while independent eateries a stoneโ€™s throw away nervously twitched their feet at the hope someone might drop by. And thatโ€™s reason enough to justify the opening of a second Greggs, question what have we become, and munch happily into our affordable pepperoni pizza slice till the watery juice stains our shirts. 

Yeah, come over to mine, mate, celebrate its magnificent arrival; weโ€™ve got a gazebo in the garden, going to play some Pop-Up Pirate and get some tandoori chicken baguettes in. Whoa, chicken? I thought that was โ€œwokeโ€ now? The Daily Fail said it so itโ€™s true, numpties! Get a โ€œreal,โ€ pea-less pasty and shop for savoury delights from local purveyors, please.


Cotswold Water Park to be Renamed

Here’s a prime example as to why I could never be a councillor…..

Cotswold District Council will vote on changing the name of Cotswold Water Park to Cotswold Lakes because visitors turn up expecting water slides, being the term is usually used for water theme parks.

How two dimensional is that thinking? Imagine having to sit through meetings with people so utterly boring that’s the best solution they could come up with, when the potential here is staring them in the face. A million people visit the water park annually, many of them willing to pay for access to a water theme park they mistakenly thought that it wasโ€ฆhello? Earth to Cotswold District Councilโ€ฆ.

Instead, they’ll probably spend thousands on graphic design and signage changes, when all they’ve gotta do to keep the name is install some bloody water slides, and get rich very quickly!

Matthew Millet, development officer at the Trust, said the name was “never fit for purpose” and that it is “about time” a new name was found to reflect what the lakes really offer. Now, that’s thinking outside the box; someone wiped the cobwebs from the cogs of their minds!

“Fun” must have a different definition for those councillors to mine. You could section off a tiny area of the lakes, you could give the people what they want, what they thought they were turning up in their armbands and Speedos for, or you could just carry on as you were, hoping a carp will take the bait!

Michelle Gonelan Makes History

Last political rant from me for a while, given all that happened today, pinky promise!

Hitler shot himself, then, as requested, he was doused in petrol, thrown into a bunker and burned. And I find that hilarious, because he was a mass murderous bastard. Though a coward’s way out, at least he had the sense to know he would one day be held accountable.

In this final political rant from me, hopefully for some time, on the day in which we thoroughly congratulate Lib Dem Brian Mathew for deservedly winning the Melksham-Devizes constituency in the general election, I find myself mostly concerned about the Conservative candidate Michelle Donelan’s reaction as the results are read, caught on camera today; bit weird!

She seemed to appear stumbling backwards slightly, as if in disbelief, and then pulling a disgusted and shocked expression, as if sucking a lemon! Ah, it was funny too, though a tad worrying. โ€œWhen you’re chewing on life’s gristle,
Don’t grumble, give a whistle ….โ€

Although historically the result was unusual, given Conservatives have held this seat for a hundred years, surely there must have been a tiny seed of doubt clouding judgement in her mind that she might not walk it?

I’d never dare to insult the intelligence of anyone who has made it this far up the political spectrum, for it takes guts and brains, but the higher the monkey climbsโ€ฆ.

One must surely have an inkling, given the absolute corruption the party she has supported and condoned has perpetrated? The lies to the Crown and public, the perpetual cheating, scandalising, the thieving and selfish disregard to public spending, all coupled with continuous inane attempts to cover it all up by censoring media, playing the blame game and bucking responsibility like the country was a school playground. You’d have thought, anyway,  though whether or not she played her part in this too, for even if her own business dealings are debatably suspicious, her involvement and allegiance with the national party is accountable.

It’s as if the group Conservative brain cell mistook the job description. Oh, the government is about serving the public, not robbing it; who knew?!

So I put myself in her shoes, undoubtedly the most expensive shoes I’ve ever worn, and I think, sure I’d be gutted, but the other candidates, Catherine, Kerry and Malcom all come up smiling, taking it like an adult. Why is Michelle’s reaction so different? I believe the answer to this also explains the very reason for the shock result.

The answer, I think, is in assumption, for it is said to be the mother of all fuck-ups. To assume any seat is a safe seat, therefore you can do and say whatever the heck you like shows aย  naivety brought about by an ingrained ignorance to public opinion. For if you weren’t shadowed by an inability to know when you’ve overstepped boundaries, surely you’d not pull such an expression of shock, rather an “oops” shrug of acceptance?!

To loosen all the screws on the seat, then wonder why it collapsed is sheer idiocy. An idiocy we’ve seen in the majority today. Conservative MPs so absolutely certain of their success shows just how out of touch they are, and being out of touch with the public makes you incapable of making a decent and honest job of it; quite important that!

So, we congrat all those MPs who slayed the beasts, the ringmasters of this circus of thieves, in their constituencies nationwide, and send our heartfelt condolences to those few who didn’t. It is not about right, central, or left sway winning or losing. It’s about what’s best for the majority of people in this country. It’s for all those deaths, thousands preventable if the government took heed to the WHO and locked down when advised. But they didn’t, not after two money-making sports events in which delegates from China were invited, and they could devise methods of profiteering from lockdown.

It’s for those who’ve suffered from fourteen years of government neglect, for what they’ve done is inexcusable, and surely they must know this? No one could be this nieve, I don’t buy this act of disbelief unless they’re really the clowns they perform as?

From the simplicity of busting a tyre on an dilapidated road, or watching sewage running through a river, to those injured, lying on the pavement for hours waiting for an ambulance due to underfunding the health service. It’s for those children too, who went hungry, or were psychologically scarred by lockdown while they held wild cocaine orgies at number ten. It’s for those who swallowed their pride and were reduced to begging with the ever-growing necessity of food banks and shelter charities while they subsidised their own luxurious lunch in Parliament and laughed in our faces.

It’s for all those who today stood up against these injustices, not to suggest Labour will make a good job of it, or not, but to say, at least someone else has been given the opportunity to try, because unfortunately the modern Conservative party has displayed such a selfish attitudeย  towards it, what comes around goes around, and it serves them bloody well right!

Though, when I look at it, perhaps they didn’t want to win, because they’ve taken enough money from us to support their friends and families for generations to come? Why, then, did Michelle look so utterly distraught? Most politicians I’ve met genuinely do what they do because they want to make the country a better place. Is this not true of the Tory ones?

Therefore I find it a total mind maze, a complete misunderstanding as to the Conservative mind, if they really think what they’ve done, the actions they’ve taken and country they’ve held to ransom was in any way beneficial for the people who live here. Maybe, that’s my misunderstanding of their philosophy, or maybe it’s their sheer ignorance, the mind boggles but is thankful it’s finally over, until a new generation forgets all this and history, as it does, repeats.

So, cheer up, Michelle, and here’s a little song I dedicate to youโ€ฆ.

“The Collaboratorsโ€ at the Rondo Theatre, Larkhall, Bath, June 19th-22nd.

by Ian Diddams
photos by Richard Fletcher & Lisa Hounsome

The concept of historical brutal dictatorships and comedy is not necessarily one that one considers as workable. Yet the likes of โ€œThe Producersโ€ and โ€œThe Death of Stalinโ€ show that the right level of satire can over come any qualms that may exist. John Hodgeโ€™s play โ€œCollaboratorsโ€ continues this trend as an Stoppard-like surreal absurdist comedy about the relationship between real life characters Joseph Stalin and Mikhail Bulgakov, which the Rondo Theatre Company are performing this very week.

John Hodge may be better known for his scriptwriting on โ€œShallow Graveโ€ and โ€œTrainspottingโ€ amongst other blockbuster films but here in โ€œCollaboratorsโ€ he ratchets up the satire and hinges his story on a Machiavellian plan by Stalin toward the dissident playwright Mikhail Bulgakov.

Director Matt Nation has created a demanding โ€“ in effect โ€“ two scene play into a smoothly choreographed storyline, as the simple set of the Bulgakovโ€™s Moscow flat replete with huge Soviet red star also covers the Lubyanka, theatre, rehearsal studio, doctorโ€™s surgery, hospital, kremlin basement & metro, all clarified by Alex Lathamโ€™s subtle lighting changes, The cast smoothly transition between these environments adeptly โ€“ such is the skill of particularly community theatre in  representing multiple arenas in a limited space.


Act 1 is pure absurdist comedy. Bulgakov is pressured into writing a play for Stalinโ€™s birthday, that ends up being written by Stalin himself while Bulgakov ends up running the Soviet Union. Its silly, its surreal โ€“ action also happening in Bulgakovโ€™s head at times but just on the end of Act 1 the plot twists darkly.

Act 2 is pure black comedy. Though as the end of the play approaches is not so much comedy as horror as the repercussions of Bulgakovโ€™s well intentioned โ€œdecisionsโ€ as a proxy for Uncle Joe come clear and those chickens come home to roost. Tragedy would be as good a description as the show reaches its denouement.

Weaving this excellently crafted and delivered tale are the cast of fourteen. Principal characters are unsurprisingly Stalin โ€“ complete with swept back hair and bristling moustache โ€“ played by Andy Fletcher, and Bulgakov played by Jon Thrower. They portray this odd collaboration skilfully and sympathetically, Stalin as an almost genial and friendly Uncle figure, Mikhail as the distrusting and incredulous playwright.



Mikhailโ€™s peer group is comprised of his loving wife Yelena (Lucy Upward) portraying her increasing desperation and concern as to his health, Vassily an aging Czarist (Jonathan Hetreed), Praskovya a history teacher (Verity Neeves) that cannot discuss history before the revolution, and Sergei (Charlie Bevis) who have been billeted in the Bulgakovsโ€™ small flat โ€“ Sergei lives in the cupboard!  On this note the cupboard is superbly used as the entry and exit of Mikhailโ€™s dreams/hallucinations and also the secret Kremlin door (!). Charlieโ€™s portrayal of the enthusiastic young Soviet is touchingly naรฏve, and the group rub along despite their clear and evident differences in opinion and approaches to life under Stalin. Completing Mikhailโ€™s peer group are Grigory (Toby Gibbs) a young writer struggling to get his work published due to its anti-Soviet content and his wife Anna (Elisabeth Calvert) reflecting the timesโ€™ oppression.

Bulgakovโ€™s doctor is portrayed amusingly (in all the right ways!) by Tim Hounsome, all overworked, distant and slapdash until treating the elite, while โ€œthe actorsโ€ are just wonderfully performed by Josie Mae-Ross and Richard Chivers, floating in and out of Mikhailโ€™s dreams as well as acting out the play Bulgakov is โ€œwritingโ€ โ€ฆ  Richardโ€™s homage to Ernst Stavro Blofeld is almost a show stealer in itself.

Last but not least we come to the menace in the play โ€“ the NKVD officers.
Vladimir (Tom Turner) is quite brilliant as the jocular yet disquieting secret policeman who becomes more luvvie and obsequious as the play develops. Its unfair to pick out individual parts as โ€œshow stealersโ€ especially in community theatre, but it would be remiss of me to not to praise one particular performance in this play. Tim Carter plays NKVD policeman number two, Stepan. A silent, brooding presence he delivers the real โ€“ literally unspoken โ€“ menace throughout whilst being at the back of the stage mostly. Its not until the very end that he comes to the fore in his own right, but itโ€™s a special skill to not be heard but be influential in the action and Tim really nails the requirements.



Vladimir’s wife Eva is played with an almost cameo performance by mainstay of the Rondo theatre company, Alana Wright, who manages to stave of the unwanted attentions of Stepan… mostly…




Aside from Alex on lighting, Dylan Jackson provided sound tech and as a team they had a busy time and completed everything to perfection – this is a tech heavy show so huge congratulations to them. Other crew aspects were indeed โ€œcollaboratedโ€ on (dโ€™ya see what I did there? ) by all of the above โ€“ set design and build, stage management (including Toby Skelton), costumes and publicity which was aided and abetted by Lisa Hounsome and Richard Fletcher with photography.

“Collaborators” is a fast paced, thinkers play โ€“ although the allusions to modern day Russia are evident and lie not very far beneath the surface. Some genuine laugh out loud moments, some shocking moments and Stalinโ€™s final words to Bulgakov sum up the regimeโ€™s totalitarian control in a nutshell.

โ€œCollaboratorsโ€ is showing at the Rondo Theatre, Larkhall, Bath from June 19th to 22nd at 1930 every night.

Tickets from https://www.ticketsource.co.uk/rondotheatre/collaborators/e-eqavlp

Labour Party Could Change Star Wars Day to โ€˜Sci-Fiโ€™ Day so to Not Offend Trekkies

If the Labour Party wins this next general election, they could change the name of Star Wars Day to โ€˜Sci-Fiโ€™ Day so as not to offend Trekkies. Although they’ve not said they would or made any mention of it at all, it’s just the kind of woke idiocy you’d expect from them...


It’s high time the Jedi and Sith of this country stand united and use the force against Starfleet; coming into OUR Star Wars universe in their D-class escape pods, getting put up in five-star Holodecks, and now demanding we change OUR traditions of May 4thโ€ฆ..

May 4th is, and always has been a sacred day for Star Wars fans worldwide, and thus it should remain so. We will not stand for spotty Star Trek geeks, with their pointy ears and phasers set to spoil OUR fun.

So, remember, when you tuck into your roasted Ewok, and Porgs in blankets this afternoon, how Jyn Erso, Cassian Andor, and many others of the rebel alliance perished on Scarif. Spare a prayer for Obi-Wan Kenobi, who sacrificed himself so we can live without fear of the Empire.

The cancel culture of our dark side values and traditions must be stopped too, for the sake of the New Order, and Kylo Ren should see to it himself that Keir Starmer is put before Sheev Palpatine for a ruddy good Force lightning strike, boldly going where no man has gone before; right up his Trekkie-obsessed bottom. Let’s see Diane Abbott, in her sixties knee-high boots, tricorder and miniskirt beam him out of that one!

In a reading from the Jedi scriptures, Yoda told of the moment Obi-Wan was reunited with Anakin as Darth Vader, and I believe there’s an important message here to not allow ourselves to succumb to the Starfleet Federation of woke liberals, and that includes allowing Trekkies to interfere with our faith. Do not forget how Jean-Luc Picard was assimilated by the Borgg. It is highly likely Keir Starmer was too, though as of yet, this has not been proven:

โ€œAnd, was it so, that the evil Lord Vader unto said to Obi-Wan โ€˜We meet again, at last. The circle is now complete. When I left you I was but the learner, but now I am the master.โ€™ And thus it was, Obi-Wan Kenobi replied did, โ€˜Only a master of evil, Darth.โ€™ Begun which, it was, commenced a mighty lightsaber battle, whence did Vader taunt Obi-Wan, and said unto him, โ€œyour powers are weak, old man.โ€™

At this point twas, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi defences did he lowered, and said unto Vader, โ€˜you can’t win, Darth. If you strike me down I will become more powerful than you could possibly imagine.โ€™ And was it so, Obi-Wan right so he was, whence he transformed into that bloke from Trainspotting, and Disney did commission a TV series in his name.โ€ Master Yoda, 4 ABY.

We could argue Obi-Wan Kenobi looked a lot like Jeremy Corbyn, and like him, he openly fibbed about not remembering he owned the two droids R2D2 and C3PO, so he is not to be trusted, but if we let Sci-Fi Day happen things could be far worse. Imagine, if that filthy perv, Will Riker got his hands on OUR Princess Leia in her gold bikini; OUR childhood wet dreams would be forever ruined. Imagine if that wet blanket Wesley Crusher was allowed to roam the Star Wars universe freely. He’d probably reintroduce Jar Jar Binks, then what would happen? We’d never see the fourth season of The Mandalorian without Vulcan logic as what to do with baby Yoda, that’s what! Spock would constantly refer to him as Grogu, and that would just confuse my timeline, simples.

Happy Star Wars day, may the force be with you!


Devizes Road Resurfacing Plan Abolished Due to Dinosaur Fossil in Pothole

Wiltshire Councilโ€™s ambitious plans to resurface all the roads in Devizes before the next ice age have been cancelled because rare dinosaur fossils have been found in the potholes on Estcourt Street, by the Morrisons roundaboutโ€ฆ.

Head of Wiltshire Council, Dick Cleaver, a keen fossil finder in his spare time, discovered the fossil of what is believed to be a baby Tyrannosaurus Rex when inspecting the potholes personally. โ€œI’ve always had a keen eye for spotting fossils,โ€ he explained, โ€œthere’s lots of them at County Hall.โ€ 

โ€œWe’ve suspected Devizes had a prehistoric past, a breeding ground for dinosaurs like the T-Rex we’ve found,โ€ Cllr Cleaver continued. โ€œThis is why we’ve deliberately not fixed a single pothole for the last decade or two, but we couldn’t announce the reasoning until we found some concrete evidence.โ€

Now they have, Wiltshire Council have had no choice but to suspend plans to fix the potholes. โ€œThey are of vital archaeological interest,โ€ the councillor expressed, โ€œa freestanding baby Tyrannosaurus Rex fossil perfectly intact like this is an extraordinarily rare find. Who knows what other feeble excuses, oh, sorry, I meant paleontological relics the potholes will unearth? Archaeology excavations are costly, thanks to the potholes we’ve saved crucial spending costs to the taxpayers.โ€

It is thought the dinosaur died from either Sarsan dropstones falling from the melting glacier on Roundway Hill, 65 million years ago to this very day, the 1st of April, or it was hit by a speeding Waltery Rosely butchers delivery driver. Councillor Yan Wallish said, โ€œit is unfortunate that local archaeologist Professor Brian Schmuck, the independent verificator of the discovery sadly has gone mysteriously missing in his brand new Porsche just hours before releasing his report, and the document is password secured on his Speak & Spell.โ€

The contract for excavation of the site has been awarded to Strongishold Global Archaeological Research, a newly-formed subsidiary of John Turnerโ€™s company, partner of local MP Michelle Donenought. Ms Donenought was excited by the news, stating, โ€œthere’s been a decline in requirements for bogus PPE fleecing the NHS, since the end of the pandemic, and Johnny’s profits have felt the crunch; we thought we might have to sell the second yacht. By coincidence SGAR has just been set up for precisely this kind of exciting discovery, so we’re delighted; imagine trying to live with just the one yacht, like Chippenham chavs. Oh, by the way, I can say what I like about anyone now, and if they sue, you the taxpayers cough it up, how fantabulous is that?โ€

Amazingly fortunate, SGAR was registered as a company at London’s Company House, with its banking in the Cayman Islands, just five minutes before the discovery of the fossil. With the potholes already at considerable depth, little further work needs to be done over the next millennium and the company could employ as many as three experts in the field. โ€œExpect an insignificant rise in your council tax to cover the cost,โ€ Cllr Cleaver explained, โ€œfor as little as an extra ยฃ30 a week to the average household, Devizes could become the archeological site of interest for the entire county, especially as we’re wrecking Stonehenge this coming summer. I’m sure residents will be delighted with the news.โ€

Accusations made by Wiltshire’s gutter press, the Wiltshire Hive newsite were quickly dismissed by the council. Editor Kenny J Plebb, alleged the discovery was a hoax, and a feeble excuse for not fixing the potholes, as he spoke with Cllr Cleaver’s mum, who claimed some fossils had recently gone missing from her son’s private collection which he kept in a biscuit tin under his bed. Then she asked the Wiltshire Hive reporter for the fifty quid he offered her, but Kenny just ran away giggling, after showing her his Spiderman underpants.

Councillor Yan Wallish reminded residents that the roads are the property of Wiltshire Council, and anyone found interfering with any archaeological discoveries, by โ€œdriving past them with the expression of a woke loony lefty,โ€ would result in the persons responsible being permanently banned from his Tory bias pornographic Facebook group, Devizes Tissues. โ€œAnd no one wants that to happen,โ€ he expressed, โ€œif they want the free pix of Liz Truss in her undercrackers, that I recently acquired, and who wouldn’t? Corr, I’ve cracked a few out over that, I tell you.โ€

The baby Tyrannosaurus Rex townsfolk are calling โ€œBarney,โ€ was approached for an interview, but as of yet has refused to comment, which is a shame because he would likely make more sense than your average Tory councillor dinosaur. What is becoming clear through these findings is that Devizes was hugely populated with these beasts, but despite the T-Rex left masses of footprints measuring 1.55 feet in length, Devizes roads were significantly smoother during the Jurassic period than they are now. Mum may have gone to Iceland, but it seems T-Rex shopped at Morrisons. The dinosaurs were naรฏve to a bargain, and likely missed out on hotdog stuffed crust pizza and chicken tikka lasagne for a pound fifty each.

The only question remains if the dinosaurs of today’s Devizes are equally as naรฏve to believe any of this April Fools joke. I’d like to think it’s really scraping the bottom of the barrel to expect anyone to fall for this, but the clickbait keywords are all here for a healthy hitting article, like Devizes and pothole, hot topics right now for some unknown reason.


Trending…..

Ha! Let’s Laugh at Hunt Supporters!

Christmas has come early for foxes and normal humans with any slither of compassion remaining, as the government announced the righteous move to banโ€ฆ

Rooks; New Single From M3G

Chippenham folk singer-songwriter, M3G (because she likes a backward โ€œEโ€) has a new single out tomorrow, Friday 19th December. Put your jingly bell cheesyโ€ฆ

Burning the Midday Oil at The Muck

Highest season of goodwill praises must go to Chrissy Chapman today, who raised over ยฃ500 (at the last count) for His Grace Childrenโ€™s Centreโ€ฆ

Lost Dildo in Quakers Walk Needs Reuniting with Owner!

If you go down to Quakers Walk today, you’d better go in disguiseโ€ฆ and perhaps an open mind….

Who’d thought sharing a post about Devizes Town Council’s honest pledge to โ€œreduce plastic waste and create a sustainable future,โ€ would unearth such a remarkable and comical find as this โ€ฆ.a lost neck massager in Quakers Walk? Ooh matron!

We received an exasperated comment on the share, backed up by a second witness, politely claiming they’d possibly overlooked this discarded item, left abandoned for all to view, like a Soho apartment’s coffee table conversation piece, not forgoing a potential playful toy for pet dogs to play fetch with!

Note, though, Ruby and Monty in the picture seemed otherwise preoccupied. Their owners claim they were disinterested, but there’s a few other suspicious claims the dog’s owner made, like โ€˜I went with my friend and her two terriers to look at the bluebells, and for the dogs to have a run, when we came across it in a clearing and laughedโ€ฆโ€ Yeah right, likely story!!

Ah, but is this dipstick a single-use plastic I ask myself, among other concerns?! Surely, if returned to its rightful owner it can be reused as often as a milk bottle, though not necessarily for the same purpose, health and safety would warn us.

Just, you know, it might need a battery change.

Another commenter revealed they found a purple one in the Urchfont woods a few years ago, visible from the road, leading me to realise this is far from an isolated incident. Ladies, why can’t you keep control of these things? There must be easier ways to hint to your boyfriends that you need a larger handbag?!

If you think I’m simply after clicks with this saucy scoop, you couldn’t be further from the truth. Unless it’s intended for communal use, a possibility I am not willing to rule out knowing how filthy the population of Devizes can be at times, I firmly believe it would be just and right to publicise this lost item in hope it is reunited with its original owner. As a community, let’s see if we can do that. It feels like the right thing to do. To think, it’s likely sorely missed!

So, if you’re the owner of this lost item, wondering โ€˜what did I ever do with thatโ€™ it’s in Quakers Walk, Devizes. Do let us know if you find it again; it would make a great, feelgood conclusion to our story! (Please note, though, any images you may send us of yourself reunited with your long lost mechanical bestie may not necessarily be publishable.)


Devizine Review of 2023

Here we are again with another year under our belts and me trying to best sum it up without restraint; I reserve my right to free speech, spliced with a slither of satireโ€ฆ.

2023 was, in a word, wet. ITV reports โ€œsummer 2023 was unusually wet, with 11% more rainfall than average, but it was also recorded as being the eighth warmest on recordโ€ฆ.โ€ I’m not sure I remember that last bit, just the perpetual drizzle, between the three months of April showers and the floods of Autumn! It was this, and my failure to find a suitable Peppa Pig costume preventing the promised second fundraising milk round; hopefully this summer, coupled with a free live music event, watch this muddy puddle!

Bit dodgy!

Freedom of speech is another sour point. I’ve tried to focus on entertainment and arts, and keep Devizine away from politics as much as possible towards the latter half of the year, it’s all too depressing. Yet it seems standing against prejudices and genocide is frowned upon by a few vocal sorts, who deliberately intended to degrade Devizine without the foggiest notion of what weโ€™re about, for which, laughably, had the opposite effect; we reached record breaking stats again this year topping last year’s hits by 35% and reaching beyond the 150K mark. This is great, though points don’t make prizes in this game, it means we’re continuing to reach out to more people.

So letโ€™s not dwell on the negatives, only to add the epicentre of my frustrations doesnโ€™t derive from any particular councillors, as some might think. Certainly, in reporting some blackmarks on local issues and politics, one name in particular appears to recur, but the satire I write is never deliberately directed at anyone personally, only their actions, or inactions on the subject in hand. If this upsets you, try to act more positively. Example; if you publish a post on your own local Facebook group asking for event listings, some people will instinctively suggest Devizine is a possible place to look, being as thatโ€™s the aim of what we do here. To ban them for life for merely uttering the word Devizine, which is what happened and was completely out of my control, is petty and deliberately undermining all my efforts and the efforts of our contributors who work hard for nothing to make Devizine what it is; and you donโ€™t expect this behaviour from a town councillor to frustrate me a smidgen?!

I laugh off such minor issues, rather my annoyances derive at the middle of this year when I happened to be updating our event listings and came across a Katie Hopkins show at Meca in Swindon. Make no mistake, this bitter and twisted celebrity is outward racist, homophobic and spreads her hate through national hollering. I posted on our Facebook page, we would not list such an event as it goes against our principles, not really thinking of the consequences from some who enjoy being xenophobic.

Rather than Newquest picking up on the work we do to promote local venues, artists and businesses, or our fundraising attempts, it decides on highlighting us for clickbait by publishing an article in the Swindon Adver slating us for sticking to our morals. The effect of this was hoards of haters, who hadnโ€™t even heard of us until this moment, flocked to our social media to sound their disapproval. I was inundated with all manner of threats by those who assumed, rather than us simply refusing to list the event, I was part of some imaginary gang defying their freedom of speech to spout racism and homophobia; you canโ€™t make it up, and in turn, is part of the reason we stand on certain principles and moral codes while, it seems, the mainstream media are hell bent on rocking the boat and creating a hateful ethos in this once great, now damned country.

Ah, bollocks to those noisy twats in the minority, in wailing my frustrations a multitude commented how they love what we do, and their compliments far outreach the sort of oddball nutjob who would pay their hard-earned cash on a ticket to see a karen bath up racism in Swindon!

So, let’s go month by month, looking over 2023, shall we? Trying to maintain positivity throughoutโ€ฆ..I said โ€œtry!โ€

January

We started 2023 much like this one, with a review of the past year; I know, Iโ€™m like a stuck record! January saw us preview Ladies Day at the Wharf Theatre, Seize the Day appearing at the Corn Exchange for a Wiltshire Climate Alliance event, the FullTone Festival, Pure Gritโ€™s Devizes Strongest contest, former Devizes resident, the Brave New Broken Hearts Club gig at St Johns, The Exchange nightclub hosting open mic nights, and Bradford Roots Festival at the Wiltshire Music Centre, of which I attended, cherished and reviewed.

Concrete Prairie @ Bradford Roots Festival

One of the funniest interviews Iโ€™ve done was with Marlbroughโ€™s Pants, due to play the final gig for landmark landlord Vyv and Jackie at the Lamb, which happened in Jan, and was hilarious.

These Pants!
Adam Woodhouse at the Three Crowns
We Will Rock You @ Devizes School

Venturing out in January isnโ€™t my cuppa though, truth be told. I broke hibernation to catch Adam Woodhouse at The Three Crowns, and Bill Green gave us a review of Devizes School’s performance of We Will Rock You. Other than this staying in listening to new music is favoured, and we reviewed a new single of the Lost Trades and added their second album announcement, On The Wayside EP by Viduals, and Marvin B Naylor and Rebsie Fairholmโ€™s album Psychedelicat.

On ranting, yes, I told on the billions of untaxed investment under our very feet at Gastardโ€™s wine cellars, and the Old Wharf Cafรฉ not meeting its potential by becoming a meeting room, and, of course, how Devizes Town Councillors lied about bird flu on Crammer, because they did, though seemed to successfully brush it under the carpet, but the high hitter, strangely, was one I wrote on my phone purely for fun, Ten Top Tips for Driving in Devizes. A popular topic, it seems, coming in at the second highest hitter this year.

February

Swindon folk ensemble SGO released a live album from The Southgate, and Devilโ€™s Doorbell did one too, live from the Pump. We also reviewed the studio album Petrichor by The Lost Trades, and Painting With Sound, Will Lawton & The Alchemist’s new EP. This was followed by my first trip to the Pump, to see Will Lawton, with the Lost Trades in support, double-whammy!

Will Lawton & The Alchemists @ The Pump
The Lost Trades @ The Pump

I reported that Jon Amor Trioโ€™s Residency at The Southgate shows no signs of letting up for 2023, and it remains the case to this day. Another unforgettable gig was Adam & His Ants tribute Ant Trouble at the Vic, that was something else. 

Jon Amor Trio at The Southgate with Thomas Atlas
Ant Trouble @ The Vic

Andy gave us a review of the comedy night at The Piggy Bank, Calne, and after previewing the Brave New Broken Hearts Club gig at St Johns being unable to attend it, we found the wonderful writer Helen Edwards, who would continue to write reviews for us throughout the year. Thank you Andy, Helen, and Bill, from last month!

Brave New Broken Hearts Club

We previewed the Wharf Theatreโ€™s Liz Sharman returning with another Shakespeare masterpiece, Measure for Measure, and a night of nostalgia and karaoke at The Castle Inn for the My Dadโ€™s Festival organisers. I also attempted to introduce our regular song of the week piece, songs coming from Deadlight Dance, Atari Pilot, Sienna Wileman and Ajay Srivastav, the latter of whom I was later delighted to hear was coming to Devizes Arts Festival.

Measure For Measure

If the Crammer was a sour point last month, in Feb it got a whole lot worse as another swan died, this time in a road accident. We highlighted the campaign group asking the Devizes Town Council for a safety sign to warn drivers to slow down past the Crammer, they sadly rejected it, putting the aesthetic look of the crammer, already awash with pointless signage, above the wildlife, and risk to drivers.

But outside Devizes matters are serious. Yeah, we covered The Great Pothole Debacle for kicks, but the ongoing hunting scandal was paramount. One town councillor banning me from yet another Facebook group for merely suggesting the Wiltshire Police officer going for a promotion in the rural crime unit when she was an active member of a hunting gang was a tad conflicting, especially being in the same month the Avon Vale Hunt was suspended from the British Hounds Sports Association for posting a video of them killing a fox.

Besides this, Wiltshire Police maintained the officer was not acting illegally, instead tried to turn focus on to youth crime, with the PCC and Wiltshire Council staging a drop-in event in Devizes which targeted only youths at a time youths would be at college or school so unable to defend themselves. Understandably we were critical to all this, cos someone has to be! For light in Feb, I took some old photos of Devizes and added pretend modern comments as if they were posted on social media today, to lighten the overall gloomy happenings in local politics.

March

Well, warming up a tad now, March was my 50th birthday and so I had a little do in the Three Crowns, which if I could remember any of it I would never have forgotten it in my life! I mean, if a jobs worth doing I say, we had Ben Borrill kick us off, followed by Vince Bell, and then Deadlight Dance, and then Talk in Code stepped in, and I only wanted a support act, not four main acts before the main act! Iโ€™m forever grateful to all of them, and to top it all off Ruzz Guitar Trio played us out, and thus, I was half a century old and feeling it!

I felt I shouldn’t really review my own birthday party on Devizine, if I could recall it anyway! But we did preview the Open Day at The Wharf Theatre, and Waking Back to Happiness, and Andy reviewed Measure For Measure, all at the Wharf Theatre. I also found time to preview Devizes Arts Festival, Potterne Festival, and the first Devizes Pride.

Poetika

Andy reviewed Thomas Atlas at Long Street Blues Club, with Ben Borrill in support. I took to an amazing Devizes Concert for Opendoors with Will Blake, PSG Choir Chloe Jordan and Andrew Hurst, and a huge congrats to Dora and the PSG for organising that. I also made it down to The Southgate for Concrete Prairie, and Helen reviewed the Poetika Open Mic Night at The Winchester Gate, Salisbury. 

Opendoors Concert 2023

Songs of the Week came from Talk in Code, Lewis McKale, Lucky Number Seven and Sara Vian. And we celebrated International Womenโ€™s Day by highlighting our favourite local female musicians.

We announced Bradford-on-Avon raising ยฃ250,000 for a new skatepark, we chatted to Catherine Read, the Green Party Parliamentary candidate for Devizes, and Guardian Candidate for the Devizes East byelection, Vanessa Tanner, who won despite pathetic attempts to derail her campaign by the opposition.

Vanessa Tanner

Meanwhile, Guardian Jonathan Hunter hailed Wiltshire Council had โ€œa complete disregard for the residents of Devizes,โ€ the Crammer Working Party asking Devizes Town Council to endorse a most dubious approach to future management of the Crammer, Wiltshire Police praised protesters against the fox hunting officer at Devizes Police HQ like it was ever going to any but peaceful, we took a stark look at Devizes Food Bank with Alex Montegriffo, where I got told off for speaking my mind about the Conservative approach to food banks, but they do seem to wear the idea theyโ€™ve increased the usage of them tenfold as a badge of honour, do they not?!

But the real highlight and top hitter of March was when a resident of Seend noticed a naked bloke rolling in her neighbours muck heap at night!

April

We previewed Chippenham artist Si Griffithsโ€™ Forbidden Carnival Gallery. Girls Like That, and The Railway Children at Devizesโ€™ Wharf Theatre. The Henry Normal and Nigel Planer tour coming to Devizes, The Vintage Bazaar in Devizes, 

Swindon Shuffle, Thirty Years of Dreadzone before playing the Cheese and Grain, King Alfredโ€™s Tower Charity Abseil, Devizes Street Festival, A Beginnerโ€™s Introduction to Oils in All Cannings with Arts Together, a hometown gig for Nothing Rhymes with Orange, and all the local Coronation Celebrations.

NRWO at the Pump

Ben Niamor reported on Carsick, NRWO and Meg at Pump. Helen covered a Bournemouth Writing Festival. Andy provided a review of The Billy Walton Band at Long Street Blues Club. I managed to attend Nothing Rhymes with Orange and support acts in Lavington, one important one will be Dauntsys own Paradigm and I’ll explain why later. Oh, and Jon Amorโ€™s Southgate residency with Leburn Maddox, managed this too.

Jon Amor and Leburn Maddox
Paradigm

Song of the Week included ร…lesund and Nothing Rhymes With Orange, also reviewed Across the Water EP by Paul Lappin, 41 Fords album Not Dead Yet, Frankisoul’s EP on Fire, and Age of the Liar by The Burner Band.

Now, see what I was saying earlier about being better behaved on social and political matters as the year went on? Hardly anything throughout April, save an article titled Gorillas and the Pissed in Bishops Cannings! But when a minority of disgruntled villagers falsely accuse a pub of stealing a gorilla statue from Scotland in order to sabotage their business, well, you cannot expect me not to jump at the opportunity to stir the pot!

And, strangely I never did get a response from the local newspaper when our protocol April Fools joke was headlined Gazette & Herald to Buy Out Devizine, but there you go, I thought it was a good idea.

May

Previews for May included Devizes Arts Festival, Female of the Species, Devizes Scooter Rally and John Watterson keeping the Music of Jake Thackray alive in Pewsey. 

We had Carmelaโ€™s Wonder Wheels Challenge, and our writer Helen Edwards read her poem on BBC Upload. Helen wrote a breathtaking review of Lou Cox’s poignant comedy Having a Baby and the Shit They Don’t Tell You at the Wharf, and I covered the Railway Children.

Ian Diddams reviewed Waiting for Godot at The Mission Theatre, Bath, and The Four Sopranos at Devizes Town Hall.

Ben wrote on Alex Roberts and Fly Yeti Fly at The Barge, Honeystreet, Vince Bell at the Southgate, and Kyla Brox at Long Street Blues Club.

Si’s Forbidden Carnival Gallery in Chippenham opened with the exhibit Hail The Curious, which I attended the opening of, and I reviewed Devizes Street Festival in two daily parts. What a fantastic year it was.

I also took a trip to Frome to see Big Country and Spear of Destiny at the Cheese and Grain. Loved the venue and the vibe of the town, and ended up on a pub crawl with a friend in the know.

Song of the Weeks came from Canuteโ€™s Plastic Army, and Snazzback, but the idea of the feature is starting to wane. We fondly reviewed Deadlight Dance’s debut album Innocent Beginnings, and Nothing Rhymes With Orange released a new single Butterflies.

Still well behaved on the news front, congratulating Vanessa Tanner as the new town councillor, but I did publish a piece called Your Place, or Mine? Devizes Town Council Squabbles Over Meeting Venue!

The top hitting article of the year came in May, How to Tell if Your Parents Were Ravers! It was a fun piece to write, and its universal appeal is likely the reason for its success.

June

In June my daughter sneakily managed to blag a week’s work experience with me, thinking she’d be able to stay in her PJs, but I sent her out to Chippenham to interview young upcoming folk singer-songwriter Meg, and, apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, she did a marvellous job.

As the mainstream local media seemed intent on sensationalising troubles with youth for clickbait, I refused to accept it was nothing more than an issue with a minority of youths. Nothing new, it’s always been this way. Jess’s interview with Meg got the ball rolling in which we would not only cover youth doing good work, bands and artists and others, but also encourage youth to write and photograph them too. I really believe this was the most positive thing to come out of 2023 for Devizine, and to think it stemmed from this negative trend of others publicising this exaggerated notion there’s a youth crime crisis.

In other areas, we previewed the Wharf Theatreโ€™s upcoming season, Keevil Roots Festival, the fantastic CrownFest, CSF Wrestling, The Lavington Community Choir’s Pied Piper, Swindin Shuffle and My Dadโ€™s Bigger Than Your Dad Festival. Ian Diddams previewed Shakespeareโ€™s Henry VI at The Rondo Theatre, Bath. And I did the Devizes Beer & Cider Festival’s music lineup, though by the time the event came around the organisers sadly seemed to neglect our free promotion and gave us a cold shoulder, not sure what we did to upset them and hope to rebuild on this in the future. 

The third highest hitting article of the year was the opening of Tonka Bean in Devizes, proving once again food and drink related stories are popular, still not enough outlets contact us for publicity.

Also we covered Talk In Code’s race to Glastonbury Pilton Party, local artist Clifton Powell commissioned by King Charles for Windrush portrait, and a major step towards revitalising Devizes Assize Court as the new home of Wiltshire Museum. But in all, June was about event reviews.

41 Fords
Devizes Doorbell @ Devizes Sustainable Fair

Starter for ten, we had Devizes Sustainable Fair, 41 Fords at The Southgate, Humdinger at the Three Crowns, Watson and Brown at the Wharf Theatre, which Ian kindly covered, and I sent Helen to the film premiere of Translations in Melksham. 

But real group collaboration covered the entire Devizes Arts Festival, Helen on Carrie Etterโ€™s Poetry Workshop, Ben took Elles Bailey and Will Kirk, Ian took The Sisters and The Brothers at the British Lion, and I managed three, Ajay Srivastav, Malavita and Noble Jacks.

Malavita at Devizes Arts Festival 2023

It really was a packed program so thanks to everyone for contributing reviews, but no more than Andy, who virtually squatted the festival, providing words on Christian Garrick & The Budapest Cafรฉ Orchestra, Hawes & Catlow, Chris Ingham Trio, Clive Anderson, Lois Pryce, Marcus Brigstocke, Lucy Stevens, Aglica Trio, Onarole Theatreโ€™s Jesus My Boy, Texas Tick Fever, Sir Willard White, Sue Stockdale, and Tango Calor. 

Songs of The Week from Beskar which featured vocals from local singer Chrissy aka One Trick Pony, and Ruzz Guitar Blues Revue. I reviewed albums by Danni W, and Liddington Hill. 

Liddington Hill

We had some fun with my Top Tips to Survive a Muddy Glastonbury Festival, and another called Wiltshire Council Replicate Table Mountain in Devizes Pothole!

But poor WC, when Devizes New Chair to Area Board of Wiltshire Council was announced I got my knickers in nearly as much twist as Danny Kruger’s did over an Affordable Housing Development in Devizes, but I admit I jumped the gun on that one, but eat humble pie, na, not me. There’s too much other terrible rightwingy crap happening to focus on minor errors, like the counter protest to a drag queen reading stories at Swindon library. 

July

Devizes Pride
Mantonfest 2023

Previewed Box Rocks, Embrace All,  Swindonโ€™s festival for disabled, and Matchbox Mutiny, Ben Borrill & Pat Wardโ€™s new duo debut at The Gate, but previews are so springtime, reviews are what was happening in July, and lots of them! Devizes Scooter Rally, CrownFest, Devizes Pride, Mantonfest, and Karen Cannings guest reviewed Lavington Community Choirs The Pied Piper of Hamelin.  

Bob Marley Experience @ CrownFest
Devizes Scooter Rally

Two art exhibits reviewed, Anna Dillonโ€™s Wessex Airscapes at Wiltshire Museum and Alexander Kaiโ€™s Figures in Focus at St Maryโ€™s Devizes.

Alexander Kai at St. Mary’s

New tunes from Subject A and Beskar featuring Huntr/s, an album by Onika Venus. But on the subject of youth participation, July was exactly what we wanted. The Pump called for young talent with its Future Sound of Trowbridge project, we had a new tune from Nothing Rhymes With Orange, and I reviewed their gig at the Barge, but couldnโ€™t make the one at Devizes Corn Exchange. This is where the drummer of Paradigm, Florence Lee came in, remember I said weโ€™d mention them again? Well, Flo reviewed the gig and Kiesha Films supplied photography. This is precisely what weโ€™re looking for, youth reviewing and capturing their own generationโ€™s gigs.

NRWO @ The Corn Exchange

Flo did such a grand job I sent her on two historic bear hunts, to report on a Sound Knowledge gig in Marlborough with William The Conqueror and Michael Rosen Hunt at The Cheese & Grain, thank you Florence and Kiesha. Other youth interactions came with The Wharf Theatreโ€™s youth production of Girls Like That, a feature on RAE, and a review of Becca Mauleโ€™s Teenage Things EP.

Becca Maule

My only rant was on the subject of the overworked bus driver who fell asleep at the wheel.

August

Soupchick launching a falafel stall, Wharf Writersโ€™ Group first Podcast, Whereโ€™s the Cat? Chloe Jordan playing the Southgate, the return of the Imberbus, and My Dadโ€™s Festival raising ยฃ9,000 for Prospect Hospice were hot topics in August.

Fulltone Festival 2023

The Fulltone Festival was covered with words by Jemma herself, and double-reviewed by Helen and myself. I also managed HoneyFest, Meg at The Neeld in Chippenham, Beyond Chippenham Streets exhibit, ran a general piece on open mic nights, and went salsa dancing with Devizes Salsa; Eso!

Devizes Salsa

Songs of the Week from Paul Lappin and Ruzz Guitarโ€™s Blues Revue. New singles from The Scribes and Atari Pilot, and Sally Dobsonโ€™s new project Foxbaroque. Albums came in from Dylan Smith, The Radio Makers and Junkyard Dogs.

Mr Tea & The Minions at HoneyFest

I managed one rant on the New Devizes-Melksham Constituency, taking a critical look at  Michelle Donelan; harmless banter, you understand?

September

Devizes Food & Drink Festival in September, Ian reviewed Di, Viv & Rose at Wharf Theatre. I ran previews of Omega Nebula at the Muck & Dunder, Swindon Rocks for Children In Need, The Big Sleep Out In aid of Devizes Opendoors, and produced a podcast episode too!

We reported on The Future Smiths, Devizes Parish Wins Prestigious Award for Future Plans, and Watching the Winter Solstice at Stonehenge or Avebury: How to Prepare was an advertorial piece I confess, but while I try not to do these, it paid for this yearโ€™s website fees with some pennies left to put on a gig with.

Songs of The Week from Meg, and Canuteโ€™s Plastic Army. Beyond Reverence, Deadlight Danceโ€™s debut album was reviewed.

I donโ€™t usually report crime, but the headline Epic Fail, Devizes Burglar Steals Doormat was too funny not to run! Herein lies my frustrations though when I reported on Swindon’s MECA defending its right to promote racism, and I stand by my guns whatever the outcome, because we really donโ€™t need this behaviour on the hospitality industry already at its knees.

October

A Typical Saturday of Live Music in Devizes is a Beautiful Thing! Was the headline, again me trotting around three pubs in town to include all gigs in one night! Then there was Seendโ€™s own Live Aid, The Female of the Species, what a night.

The Female of the Species

Retro Relics Games Cafe opened in Lavington, 4Youth: New Street-Based Youth Project for Devizes begun, Devizes Libraryโ€™s hopes to start a Lego Club, New Organ Arrives in Devizes Like โ€œA Phoenix Rising from the Ashes,โ€ Devizes Teenagers Give Up Spare Time to Help Community Gardening Project, and Devizes Town Council Pledge on Single-Use Plastics.

I previewed Shakespeare Liveโ€™s Autumn tour, World War One play The Last Post at The Wharf Theatre, Calne Music & Arts Festival Stand-Up Comedy Night, a Palestine Solidarity March in Swindon, took two trips to the Pump, one for Amelia Coburn, Ruby Darbyshire and M3G, the second for Professor Elemental and Devilโ€™s Doorbell. Andy provided words on the White Horse Operaโ€™s Gala Concert and Blood Brothers at Long Street Blues Club, and I managed to get down there one night too, to see the Billy Walton Band.

M3G @ the Pump

Mick Brian reviewed Happy Jack at The Wharf Theatre, NervEndings launched a scathing attack on the music industryโ€™s chancers and charlatans, Nothing Rhymes With Orange frontman Elijah released a solo tune I paid a visit to the The Healthy Life Company, and we had an interview with Steve Vick, having renewed their sponsorship of Wiltshireโ€™s Youth Orchestras at Wiltshire Music Centre.

For a giggle I answered Wiltshire Councilโ€™s Public Transport Survey, and I wrote a Halloween gag about Eddie Cochranโ€™s ghost in Chippenham!

November

Mick Joggerโ€™s Devizes gig got a preview, 12 Bars Later popped into The Badger Set, 

Ruby Darbyshire

Ruby Darbyshire played Glasgowโ€™s Barrowlands with The Charlatans, and Gail and I met  Henry Normal and Nigel Planer at Devizes Town Hall; heavy!

With Nigel Planer @ Devizes Town Hall
James Hollingsworth at The Southgate

Chicago Blues and Russ Ballard gigs at Long Street Blues Club were covered by Andy, and James Hollingsworth at The Southgate too. Ian did TITICOโ€™s The Pirates of Penzance at the Corn Exchange.

Pirates!
Jess Self and cast of Jack & The Beanstalk at the Wharf

I did Jack & The Beanstalk at the Wharf Theatre, and loved it. I skanked in the Muck with Omega Nebula, DOCA Winter Festival and lantern parade, and attended the duo exhibits at Wiltshire Museum opening event. 

Omega Nebula

We spoke highly of the Wiltshire Music Centre, and took a look at what was happening over Christmas in Devizes. Wicked Weather Watch launched a campaign to empower youth on climate action.

Winter Festival Devizes by Simon Folkard

We reviewed new tunes from The Scribesโ€™ Jonny Steele, and the Dirty Smooth, and an album by the Two Man Travelling Medicine Show.

December

Illingworth at the Three Crowns

Previewed the Bradford on Avon Green Man Festival, reviewed Barrelhouse at the Southgate and Illingworth at the Three Crowns, and a most memorable gig at theย Wiltshire Music Centre with Kasai Masai.

We had new singles from M3G, Billy in the Lowground, and the Viduals,and an album review of Cephid.

Weโ€™re continuing to highlight local festivals for 2024, and yes, Pewsey took a bit of criticism for the Tedworth Hunt parading without permission this Boxing Day. But, I did go all out on a satirical rant about the roadworks situation in Devizes, and got on my high horse with Councillor Iain Wallis, which some people thought was a little OTT.

NRWO at the Southgate

What I didnโ€™t mention was it was through personal frustration the piece was reflected. Having given myself over forty extra minutes to cross town to get my autistic son to his disabilities football session at Wiltshire FA in Green Lane, we were still fifteen minutes late; punctuality key to his meltdown in the car. For Iain to then take to his social media group defending the appalling coordination of Wiltshire Council and turning comments off, which could have been fair suggestions as to how to solve the issue of future roadworks planning, was counterproductive, so he got a little bashing for his actions, as is all what he and anyone else here has ever got here, criticism for their actions or inactions on the subject weโ€™re covering. It was not, and has never been a personal attack, much as he claims it is. But I do take all the opinions cast under my wing and the result was me getting rather frustrated and annoyed with it all. I believe if the actions of anyone in a position of power, such as an MP or councillor are dubious they deserve to be called out for it, and besides, it is only ever with a shrewd slice of satire which we do it with, not to be taken so seriously.

I threw my teddies from the pram, yes, and suggested giving Devizine up. I slept on it while a load of comments praising what we do here flooded our Facebook page, and this gave me a fresh perspective, running a quick photo article joking that,of course, I wouldnโ€™t give it up, only to receive comments from someone who was previous supportive of Devizine stating I duped them into thinking I would quit; you cannot win! I can only assure you, the feeling was real, all these nasty folk who seem to want to derail us, mock us for standing up for what is right, they do get to me, and do make me feel like quitting, that much is true and the joke was it was all a joke, because it wasnโ€™t. My god, why am I pouring my heart out over this silliness; if you like Devizine read it, if you donโ€™t like Devizine, donโ€™t read it, but donโ€™t parade around slagging us off like youโ€™re the victim, which I took the test of then and there myself and it does inflate the ego; simples!!  

I wish you all a happy new year and sincerely hope we donโ€™t need to go down this avenue again, I hope we can provide a platform to promote talented locals, venues, the arts and all, but tell me I cannot spice it up with a little controversial satire, whatโ€™s the point in me doing it I ask you?! 2023 has been a great year, with lots going on, lots to report and so many people Iโ€™m grateful for, for their contributions, input, advice and support, for they far outnumber the oddballs who seem to think weโ€™re stifling creativity or backing some imaginary concept like cancel culture. The simple fact is, no other local media is highlighting and promoting local arts, it depends on the individual social media presence, and somewhere to combine and collate it all, I believe, is a positive thing. Rant over……

……Happy new year one and all!ย 


This ain’t no upwardly mobile freeway; Oh no, this is the road to Devizes

Ha! And you all thought ‘Driving Home for Christmas’ would be the go-to Chris Rea song while getting across Devizes, but in fact it’s ‘The Road to Hell!’

If you had the bizarre notion that engineering works were supposed to be coordinated by county councils, please seek medical attention, allowing yourself an extra millennium or three for your journey time to the quacks. Small mercies though, it seems, venting your frustrations on the Devizes Issues Facebook group will see you in social media exile, and that could be the breath of fresh air you really need right now!

If Wiltshire Council are coordinating road works they’re doing so with a game of Kerplunk. Driving through Devizes in rush-hour this week is enough to make Jeremy Clarkson consider joining Extinction Rebellion. Roadworks causing commuting chaos in Devizes is hardly news, but this is the first time the number of sets of traffic lights has outnumbered the population of the town!

We have to accept the rolling Wessex Water works providing essential new piping, ongoing until the second coming of the age of Aquarius, but right now they’ve reached the handy junction of Long Street and Sheep Street, closing this cheeky detour off. And given there’s an ongoing issue with piping on Nursteed Road too, perhaps it’s not the best time to lob a third set of traffic lights into the equation at the crucial junction of New Park Street and Northgate Street, basically your only escape route west, especially being this is to accommodate a new build, so no one is affected if it was to wait, save the building contractor.

Enter the ever proactive Wiltshire Council with the genius solution; one more set of traffic lights isn’t going to amount to a hill of beans, not Heniz 33 variety anyway. It was high time for them to suddenly repair just the one of the ten bazillion (that’s a gazillion jillions to you) drain-hole-cover-caused moon crater fashioned potholes, bang outside the Town Hall, which was reported months ago according to a commenter on the Devizes Issues Facebook groupโ€ฆ.ooo, controversial, I’m not supposed to be poking my snout in there. Somebody chastise me with a blue rosette.

All hail the mighty one, for he hath spoken on his all-powerful Facebook page. Defending the indefensible, the happy chappy no one seems to see any conflict of interests in being both a town and county councillor, plus ruling a popular local social media group with an iron fist, laughably lobbed his toys far from his pram at those understandably venting their frustrations there for the unnecessary logjam, apparently. I wouldn’t know, for speaking my mind got me banned. Anyone with a functioning brain cell to realise the true test to know mein fรผhrer Yan Wallish has lost the argument is when he adds, as he did on this occasion, โ€œcomments are going off!โ€ suffers the same treatment. Off with their heads!

It’s enough to wonder why the smeg he administers a discussion group, if it wasn’t for the numerous occasions he’s blatantly used it to fib and derail competing electoral opposition.

Though this isn’t a rant at any individual, you know me better than to do that, it does relate to the worm who turned, being a few years ago while a businessman in town, rather than a busybody councillor with a penchant to tinpot dictate, he would’ve sided with the frustrations of local shopkeepers who will undoubtedly lose out.

For their sake I’ve refrained from whining about the congestion issue in Devizes, but as the incompetence of Wiltshire Council to update our infrastructure accordingly and coordinate roadworks, has caused Captain Kirk to move to red alert, the elephant in the room is now an elephant sanctuary. Now it is criminal not to raise concern, as I believe sitting in your car for an hour, seeing red, or dangerously clogging our unsuitable village rattrap alternative routes will cause accidents. 

I beg you try your best to keep calm, despite being aware it’s easier said than done. The roadworks aren’t going away anytime soon, so we must adapt, plan accordingly. 

We have to generally reduce our car usage whenever possible. Be united and courteous when driving around the town, car share wherever possible, maybe buy next year’s Christmas gifts at the same time as this year’s, take a sleeping bag, emergency food and water supplies when trekking more than a quarter of a millimetre, or a laptop to rework War & Peace!

It’s obvious when comments are turned off from debating the issue by those in a position to speak out for us, speaking out for us will transmodify into the usual brown-tonguing exercise and nothing will ever be done to improve the problem.


You Wonโ€™t Believe What Happened to Me in Chippenham!

Hoping to bring you a review of the Beatles tribute in Bath last night, but I thought I’d explain the strange thing which happened on the way back home, because while I accept there’s some weird people in Chippenham, this guy was off his rockerโ€ฆ.

I suppose there’s a lesson to be learned. I’m not getting any younger, and trekking from one gig to review to another is taking its toll. I’m tired, but was keen to catch the last few songs at a gig in Devizes, so I confess, I was putting my foot down. The road was wet, and though usually I’m a careful driver, I guess I just had a momentary lapse of reason. I can’t explain why, I just lost control of the car I guess, on the Bath Road near Rowden Hill.

In those split seconds when fear grips you, I was careening off the road. A lampost abruptly came into my headlights and I was heading straight towards it. There was a moment when I assumed I would hit it and braced myself. That’s when this white figure of a young man stepped out from nowhere, like, from behind the lampost. Noting him there, though he surprised me, I yanked the steering wheel with one final hope to serve away from both him and the lamppost.

The thing was he didn’t seem too alarmed, or particularly concerned I nearly hit him. Oddly upon noticing me he kind of waved his arms, as if willing my car away from the imminent collision. The car spun suddenly, far further than I expected given the full lock, skidding away from the guy and post, I managed to regain control to brake to a halt. It was kind of hard to explain, but as if the guy’s kinetic energy willed the car to safety.

At least I was okay, but really shaken. I felt a chill run through me. Regaining my senses I figured I should find the man, thank him, and check if he was okay. By the time my shivering hand went to open the door he had approached it. A good looking fellow, I guess early twenties. He wore a brown leather jacket with a fluffy collar and underneath it I noted a rather neat pin-stripe suit. His blonde quiff blew as if in a zephyr, even though it didn’t seem windy out there. As I rolled the window down he put two ice cold hands on the descending window and protruded his head into my vehicle.

He seemed understandably agitated and a little confused, I mean I get that, right, given the circumstances, but before I could ask him if he was okay, he asked me if I’d seen someone called “Sheeley,” with a desperation in his rich, Northern American accent. Confused, I said no, being there was no one else around. In this he asked again, for two people called Pat, or Gene, but it was obvious Sheeley was the one he was most concerned about.

He wasn’t happy with me at all, there was frustration in his tone, claiming I had hit his taxi, but there were no other cars involved, or even nearby. It didn’t help that I pointed this out to him, as he expressed a need to get to Heathrow for an early flight home. I know and accept, anyone hanging around this area just outside Chippenham at this time of night is likely a weirdo, right, I mean there’s no clubs or pubs nearby, but there was something eerie about this whole guy’s persona, a lost, almost ghostly presence.

Frustrated, he told me it was his last gig here, he had just played the Bristol Hippodrome, in what he deemed “a backward country which wouldn’t know rock n roll if it slapped you in the face.” I disagreed, and told him I had just seen a great tribute act to the Beatles, who although weren’t exactly the originals, were pretty good. All I recieved was a confused reply; can you believe it, clearly he’s a musician and even if he’s American, he said, “who?” The guy hadn’t even heard of The Beatles! He quipped it was a stupid name for a band, so I asked him who he played for, thinking he might like a gig at Melksham’s rock n roll club. 

He didn’t answer, clearly not the time nor place for smalltalk, he continued to look around him, occasionally turning his head to yell, “Sheeley!” Sauntering around he left my car and continued his imaginary search, kicking into the bracken looking for them and desperately calling their names, adding “c’mon everybody,” almost in hollow chanting melody, he cried out, “let’s get together tonight, I got some money in my jeans, and I’m really gonna spend it right!” Like I said, totally off his rocker.

Clearly he was either drugged up or schizophrenic, and blaming me for, apparently, hitting his taxi. I felt obliged to humour him, lest he might get dangerous, so I called the Chippenham police.

Sorry I did now, I mean I know the force is under pressure from cuts and so on, and Chippenham is hardly state-of-the-art, but this Rover P6 police car turned up with some long-haired youngster who’s uniform belonged in a museum! Calling himself “Dave Dee,” of all things, he didn’t even engage with the Yankie nutjob, it was as if he couldn’t see him. He just searched the bushes, unbelievably pulled out a broken Gretsch guitar, and, chuffed with himself, told me how he was going to fix it up and start a band, then got in his battered panda and drove off. Typical, useless copper!

If something’s worth doing it’s best to do it yourself, right? There’s no help from the police these days, so as Dave the copper’s rear lights faded into the night, I thought I’d have to see if I can settle the mind of this American crazy youngster. I mean, he seemed like a great guy, very interesting, and someone I could’ve easily got along with if we’d met under different circumstances. Maybe I could appeal to his better nature?

I sighed and crossed my fingers, opening the car door to find him, but he had gone, completely vanished. I looked everywhere, took my phone torch to the area, there was no sign he was ever there. The bracken he was rumbling in was undisturbed, which is more than can be said for me! I shivered as finally, a cold wind blew down the street, and so I hurried back to my car.

I got into the driver’s seat, feeling frozen and spooked. Gripping the wheel with white knuckles I started the engine and looked out to the road ahead. Slowly I pulled out of there, telling myself repeatedly it was just some prankster playing a joke on me. When I get home I’ll just draft up a review of the gig and try to forget this happened.

Until I got to the bottom of Derry Hill I drove in silent contemplation, but feeling lonely and a tad afraid, I thought I’d bluetooth my phone to the car stereo and just shuffle some tunes. The first song sang out, “Well, when you hear that music, you can’t sit still, If your brother won’t rock, then your sister will, Ooh, c’mon everybody!”

I recall this song, from one of my mum’s rock n roll compilations, but I’ve never downloaded it to my phone, and checking my playlists when I got home, it wasn’t on there. So I checked what was on at the Bristol Hippodrome last night too, there’s no rock n roll show at all, they’re hosting Pretty Woman the Musical!

Freaked out, I went straight to bed, the better half was sound asleep next to me. She suddenly woke up, screamed, “the house’ll be shakin’ from the bare feet a-slappin’ the floor!” And then she promptly went back to sleep. Me, I couldn’t sleep a wink, and she had no recollection of saying anything of the sort in her sleep. And oh, by the wayโ€ฆ. Happy Halloween; Muahahaha!!!!


Of course, I ‘m full of bull, a little spooky fun on Halloween! But the idea came from an eerie blogpost from the Horses of the Gods, taking an article by Albie Morris, first published in the July 1980 edition of โ€œThe Delirium Curiosumโ€ a now defunct, Wiltshire based underground cultural newspaper which started in 1971 and was dedicated to avant-garde poetry, wyrd folklore, ghost stories, hippy philosophy, Eastern mysticism and other ideas associated with the counterculture.

It suggests a few people have witnessed the ghost of Eddie Cochran at his tragic accident spot in Chippenham, including a chap called Mick Harris from Devizes. Do give it a read, fascinating stuff, and spooky too!

โ€œHereโ€™s to Windwhistle and places of dread, is there nothing to fear from the living or dead?โ€

The Horses of the Gods are West Country folk duo, Mike Ballard and Matty Bane, and they are remembering their debut album, We Wish You Health which was released on 31st of October 2020. We fondly reviewed it HERE, and it makes the perfect Halloween listen! They told Devizine a while ago they were working on a second album, which had some folklore references to Devizes, and we very much look forward to hearing it.

Wiltshire Councilโ€™s Public Transport Survey, Answered!

Wiltshire Council are asking public transport users, residents, businesses and visitors in the county to take part in a public transport review, to help shape the future of sustainable public transport in Wiltshire. โ€œHave your say on the future of bus services in Wiltshire,โ€ they said, okay, I will thank youโ€ฆ..

I was hoping for questions such as, โ€œfor how many days do you usually camp by the bus stop waiting for the number 33?โ€ or โ€œif two quid can get you anywhere on a bus, ever wondered why we run one to Calne?!โ€ but shamefully, they simply didnโ€™t come up.

See, radical as it may be to Wiltshire Council, but I strongly believe, and always have, that the wheels on the bus should go round and round, round and round, round and round. But here’s the clinch in the deal, the wheels on the bus go round and round, as they should, all day long, and not, as they currently do, run until half-past four and stop wherever it happens to be at that point! Night buses; a thing other councils have. Here, they couldn’t imagine why anyone would require a bus after the ungodly hours of  five pm, as you should all be safe and warm in your houses by such a time, masticating on Aldi cheesy puffs and watching a TV show with Ant and Dec in.

Secondly, the people on the bus go up and down, up and down, up and down, the people on the bus go up and down, because the roads are rife with potholes and defects the size of moon craters, where Wiltshire Council has failed dismally to keep up with the repair of them, assuming we can all afford a Chelsea tractor like them. No, we have not been hit by a meteor shower, and we don’t require Bruce Willis’s drilling team, just some councillors who give a toss.

Now, if the wipers on the bus go swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, it’s because it’s always chucking it down, and unfortunately this is something I cannot blame Wiltshire Council for, but if I could find a valid reason, I would, just for the crack.

Hey, am I right in thinking, the boy on the bus waves his hand, waves his hand, waves his hand, the boy on the bus waves his hand, because he’s futilely attempting to waft away carbon monoxide fumes coming in through the dust and dirt layered window? Many other county councils have graduated to electric buses, ours wait until Salisbury has a coastline before acting to protect the environment. The boy must be waving at his own reflection, as the windows on the bus havenโ€™t seen a clean rag since the nineteen eighties.

I’ve also be told, the horn on the bus goes beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, the horn on the bus goes beep, beep, beep, because sensible infrastructure planning in local towns is far too proactive and intelligent for councillors who need instructions on shampoo bottles; congestion solutions are for girls!

If indeed, the doors on the bus go open and shut, open and shut, open and shut, and the doors on the bus go open and shut, all day long, it must be a fault in the hydraulics somewhere, because itโ€™s not so popular really, is it, getting a bus around here? The only people who can afford a bus here are the ones who don’t need a bus.

So, the baby on the bus goes wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, and if you politely sigh you’re likely to get a gob-full from some Karen. The mother on the bus going hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, is an outright lie, isn’t it? If she dedicated the same time to her baby as she has TikTok the poor little one wouldn’t be going wah, wah, wah, now, would it? Personally, Iโ€™m sceptical about this entire verse. How did the baby get on the bus? By the time the bus arrives at their stop the baby will be off to college. 

Now, go figure why using Wiltshire buses is the last desperate resource for many, and aren’t gathering any popularity anytime soon, but if you fancy it, the survey is HERE! The consultation begins on Tuesday 3 October and ends at 23:59 on Friday 10 November, which is, coincidently, a quicker service than the 49 from Swindon!

Seriously though, we’ve a lovely bus service really, you know I’m only kidding….. answer the survey, sensibly!


Trending…..

For Now, Anyway; Gus White’s Debut Album

Featured Image: Barbora Mrazkova My apologies, for Marlboroughโ€™s singer-songwriter Gus Whiteโ€™s debut album For Now, Anyway has been sitting on the backburner, and itโ€™s moreโ€ฆ

Butane Skies Not Releasing a Christmas Song!

No, I didnโ€™t imagine for a second they would, but upcoming Take the Stage winners, alt-rock emo four-piece, Butane Skies have released their second song,โ€ฆ

One Of Us; New Single From Lady Nade

Featured Image by Giulia Spadafora Ooo, a handclap uncomplicated chorus is the hook in Lady Ladeโ€™s latest offering of soulful pop. Itโ€™s timelessly cool andโ€ฆ

Large Unlicensed Music Event Alert!

On the first day of advent, a time of peace and joy to the world et al, Devizes Police report on a โ€œlarge unlicenced musicโ€ฆ

Winter Festival/Christmas/Whatever!

This is why I love you, my readers, see?! At the beginning of the week I put out an article highlighting DOCAโ€™s Winter Festival, andโ€ฆ

Devizes Winter Festival This Friday and More!

Whoโ€™s ready for walking in the winter wonderland?! Devizes sets to magically transform into a winter wonderland this Friday when The Winter Festival and Lanternโ€ฆ

Epic Fail, Devizes Burglar Steals Doormat!

Okay so, we’ve had the cat burglar, now we’ve got the mat burglar! In a Facebook post to make you wonder if you’ve travelled back in time to April 1st, Devizes Police reported an appeal for identification of a man who attempted a burglary in the early hours of August 27th at Lower Wharf. His surprised looking mug was caught on door-cam, best guess causing him to flee without gaining entry to the property. But not wanting to go home empty-handed, the guy made off with just the doormat!

Anyone with information should call 101 and quote reference number 54230090420, and though we shouldn’t joke about the incident, being burglary is no laughing matter, and our sympathies go out to the persons affected, the end result of this story is too tempting not to. Unless, of course, the burglar is Aladdin and this was his getaway vehicle, I can’t see the logic in taking the doormat, only out of spite for the homeowner having a camera to deter him, perhaps.

All morning I’ve been trying to put myself in his clown shoes to understand why I would think in that circumstance, “ah-ha a doormat, I’m having that!” But fear, a town with a Wilkos no longer, this was bound to happen at some point. Are doormats now a sought-after item on the black market? Has anyone approached you to ask you if you want to buy a doormat recently?!

But most concerning of all is the way of the world today, seemingly living by social media trends; could this entice copycat, or copymat, even crimes? Should we do more to protect our doormats? They are, after all, loyal servants to our dirty boots, and should yours go mysteriously missing, would it cause you great upset? The mind boggles, least mine does!


Top Tips to Survive a Muddy Glastonbury Festival

Don’t hold your breath, I’m having an Uncle Albert momentโ€ฆback  in my day, which wasn’t as long ago as you whippersnappers, with your lime vapes and Taylor Shift Spottyfly playlists, might imagine, media coverage of Glastonbury was far less. TV was left up to Katie Puckrik in pigtails on Channel 4, until a couple of off years when it pissed it downโ€ฆ..

Bad weather has become synonymous with the worldโ€™s legendary festival, and the press rub their hands together when it happens; a golden opportunity to sensationalise a negative stereotype of counterculture and youthfulness; double-whammy.

Every media outlet known to man jumped on the bandwagon to show selective imagery of a handful of intoxicated nutjobs WWF mud wrestling in a negative light, and tarnished every reveller with the same anti-bac j-cloth. 90,000 attended Glastonbury in 1997, officially, the first year it rained for a decade, if you saw x-amount of them on the telebox and assumed everyone was at it you just marginalised thousands with a miniscule percentage, and fell hook, line and sinker for their intentional misconception.

The further rightwing their sway, the more negative they were, “look at those filthy hippies rolling in their own faeces like swine,” and misguided Daily Mail bullshit akin. The truth is, once you’re in there is no going back, and try as you might to stay clean and dry, there comes a breaking point whereby even the fussiest among us realise they’re beaten. Rarely is it up to choice, as the media might portray.

But it put the festival in the media spotlight and television upped their game to show the festival in a positive light. The festival itself prevented the travellers attending and commercialised the experience into what it is today. It was do or die. Similar to our hero desperately trying to keep dry, the Evis family had no choice.

From 89 onwards I did twelve Glastonburys and the sun had his hat on every year until 97. It had rained the week leading up to the fateful day. I put my hefty work boots by my front door while I packed the rest in my car, as I didn’t want to drive in them, and forgot them!

I was left with a pair of designer pumps with all the grip of a Spiny Softshell Turtle, and by the time I arrived at the gate I was Elvis Costello; couldn’t stand up for falling down. My first job was to aim myself, best I could, towards a stall selling wellies. The stallowner was busy and in his element; delighted to rip half my Glastonbury budget off me and a multitude of other disorganised wallies, for a pair, while the guy next door flogging sunscreen considered selling his children to medical science.

My first top tip for a muddy Glastonbury then is rather obvious and perhaps a bit mumsie, but based on a bad experience.

A stout pair of walking boots is essential, and maybe plastic carrier bags as liners. If you forget the rest make sure you don’t be like me, Torvil or Dean. The boots were gone by the time I returned home; in fairness though, they were quality Doc Martins and I did live in Swindon.

The other footwear tip is no matter how drunk you get, to take your boots off before you get inside your tent. I would imagine the once quite common nakedness at Glasto is less trendy these days as millennials tend to be prudish. So spare clothes are your friends, but don’t overpack because you have to carry that shit. But most of all, never tell your friends about your other friends, the dry clothes in your backpack, I shouldn’t have to explain why. If word gets out, one dry sock is equal to seven hundred blaggers befriending you.

Clothing in general is common sense really, a fluffy bra or propellerhead hat can be fun when the weather is on your side, but at a wet one the catwalk is swapped for survival of the fittest, practical is the new fashion. Glitter is out, pac-a-macs are in! Waterproof trozzers will make you the envy of all, even if at a sunnier Glasto you’d be laughed off the site for wearing.

If you’re the driver, take a pair of scissors and leave them in the glovebox. I did this in 98, your jeans will be caked with mud, get ’em off when you reach the car, cut them into shorts, it is easier to drive home. Otherwise you’re driving home in your undercrackers, and as a service station supply top up will be a deffo, psychologically scarring small children for life is never looked upon as a clever thing by their parents.ย A grade A soccer mum Karen whinging at you in the Leigh Delamere carpark while you stand in your four day old pants and a headful of post-festival blues is never welcomed.

Plastic bags have many uses, see photographic evidence of a much younger me; because at first I was afraid, I was petrified, Kept thinking I could never survive without a plastic bag by my side, but I survived and lived to tell the tale through Gloria Gaynor parodies.

Walking the site is tiring when dry, sludging through ankle-high mud is a million times worse and you need to take breaks. If no seating is available, you can’t just plonk down on the grass, you need your bag like Arthur Dent needs his towel.

Honestly, one muddy year I crowned a guy “the genius of Glastonbury,” as he duck-taped an inflatable chair, when inflatable chairs were a thing, to his torso, so wherever he went he could sit in comfort at will. I’m not advising you to do similar, merely pointing out forward thinking, for it was not without its drawbacks discovered over time, like reflating and navigation, though for altications from sharp bramble, he had a bicycle repair kit on his person, further confirming his genius.

But a genius you don’t need to be to survive a muddy Glastonbury, just common sense. Like consuming laxatives, Mexican food or baked beans prior, and ensuring you have a big clearout in the loo before you depart. Do not eat anything which might stimulate your bowels while there. Going to the loo is an experience best avoided at Glastonbury whatever the weather, at a muddy one you take your life in your own hands. You will see things you’d rather have not, things defying medical research, and you could be emotionally scarred for life. If you must go, and if possible, take a licensed therapist with you to the loo as well as a toilet roll and weapons suitable for a zombie apocalypse, and never, I repeat, never, use port-a-loos.

Timing is of the essence when deciding to poo. The later you leave it the worse it will get, a simple motto. Hedgerows and ditches can be your friends at a sunny Glasto, but avoid them like typhoid if wet, unless you happen to welcome typhoid. They are below hell itself as the last place you would want to slip into. Horrifically, I have seen it happen, observed folk laughing too, and felt sorry for the individual, but too afraid to approach them to offer a hand. You’ll be Billy-no-mates if you slip into a ditch thirty thousand drunken hooligans have taken a shit in, no one will aid your escape.

Sign up anyone with a campervan bathroom or VIP access onto your bestie list, shower them with gifts and follow them wherever they go. But, gift buying, especially breakable objects is the stupidest idea in the history of stupid ideas, you are not at B&M. I’ve seen record stalls selling vinyl, glass blowing workshops and various other such insane shopping options. As much as you believe your gran would like a commemorative china plate of Glastonbury, remember you could be several days before you find your tent again, and/or have to pass the main stage area while Slipknot are playing. 

The rule for a muddy Glastonbury is simple, take only what you need, buy only what you forgot to bring or realise you might meet your maker if you don’t. No one wants a three tier Victoria sponge caked in mud polluted by 210,000 nutjobs all desperate for a poo.

Now I’ve said all this, it seems like the weather is going to be alright-ish anyway, so you can forget it allโ€ฆ.for this year, and have enough fun there for me and you. Remember, final top tip for any weather; avoid TV cameras if you’re pulling a sicky from work; your boss will be watching. 


Wiltshire Council Replicate Table Mountain in Devizes Potholeโ€ฆ

โ€ฆ..and other niggly countywide troubles doner meat and chips from Chick-o-Land will stop me ranting aboutโ€ฆ..

Speculation arises if the entire additional ยฃ3.6m awarded to Wiltshire Council from the Department for Transportโ€™s Pothole Fund, has been used to fix just the one pothole on Gains Lane, Devizes, opposite Sainsburys, because there’s bugger all sign of it being used elsewhereโ€ฆ.

Miraculously, the single pothole amidst a multitude of other serious road defects in the county with the fifth worst local authority for fixing potholes, has been filled inโ€ฆ over abundantly, leading residents pondering if the county council are trying to attract tourism by replicating Cape Town’s most renowned landmark,Table Mountain.

Spot the difference!

The road defect on Gains Lane, Devizes
Table Mountain, Cape Town

The hilarious irony is, Wiltshire Council are doing the precise opposite when it comes to tourism, and are hellbent on wiping our county off the tourist track all together, inadvertently risking the future of all leisure facilities too.

But, oopsy daisy, you weren’t supposed to know about the grave concerns expressed to town and parish councils by the Chief Executive of Visit Wiltshire on the Governmentโ€™s new national structure for tourism, which will see the introduction of countywide accredited Local Visitor Economy Partnerships, and as result, Wiltshire Council announcing they will be withdrawing their funding from Visit Wiltshire from April 2024, because withdrawing funding leaves Wiltshire no longer able to meet eligibility criteria to have an accredited LVEP, and it will be effectively ripped off the tourism map of England. Ha, that barrel of laughs is for another place, another time, and I apologise to Wiltshire Council for any accidental leakage until such a time you can illegally trash Stonehenge’s world heritage status by tunnelling a road underneath it, my tongue just runs off with itself sometimes.

Don’t be outraged, there’s time yet to devise a plan as cunning as Baldrick’s to act as a smokescreen and make you believe it’s all for “the greater good.” Cue a certain local Facebook tintop dictator, my very own ineffective fact checker with a penchant for anything corrupt provided it’s suggested by a straight chap with a blue rosette; please try to recognise satire when it stares you in the face.

Not that I’d advise taking business advice from me, but if you own a small business in Wiltshire which relies on tourism, I would only buy stock to last until April if I were you, and consider a crash course in supermarket shelf-filing. Baby-face Danny K, get us a railway station six miles out of town, let’s escape together, we can exchange homophobic gags on the way, step on it!

Anyway, I digress, I shouldn’t worry my silly little head about the vanity of this ease of backhanding futile construction permits once we’re free of tourism, we were rapping about the tarmac on the singular entity on Gains Lane, Devizes, which is so vastly overpacked its convex is an equal malformation to the concave of the original pothole, which, face it, like many locally had the potential of a black hole to suck light, electromagnetic waves and randomly selected solar systems into it. The effect, rather than your wheel dropping into it and smashing suspension, coils, anti-roll bars, et al (which is, even funnier, impossible to prove over the “wear and tear” loophole) is now like navigating a tepuis, or table top mountain in a shopping trolley; hit it and you’re likely to bust open the headliner and bonnet of your vehicle, with your head.

If it happened to you, you may feel a tad dizzy, and confused enough to vote for these councillors again come council elections, which could well be the reasoning behind it. Perhaps it could lead to further famous table mountains being replicated in our county’s potholes, like Mount Roraima, the most famous tepui in Venezuela, or the Canyonlands of Utah; now, wouldn’t that be nice?

Of course, this is purely satirical speculation for amusement purposes only, and it is more conceivable that the council worker simply couldn’t be arsed to flatten it out, let alone use the surplus tarmac to fill the upteen other potholes nearby it, for that would be far too proactive and because it’s highly likely they’ve forgotten what a pay rise is.

Fact is, as Cabinet Member for Transport Caroline Thomas has, in the drone of a weatherman on dope, blamed the annual 400% increase in potholes on “a combination of a long dry summer followed by periods of very wet and then freezing conditions,” we should take her word for it, as it’s not like we’ve experienced seasonal weather changes since, I dunno, eternity, is it? And we should stop bothering them as there are far more pressing issues, such as forgetting to take one’s expenses form when frequenting that trendy wine bar. 

The Cape Town Tourism website says Table Top Mountain has attracted 24 million visitors since it opened in 1929. Not that I’m the kinda guy wondering how you open a mountain, let alone with the restricted technology back in 1929, but perhaps it’s something worth considering before all tourists are left wondering whatever happened to that place between Berkshire and Somerset, and they could all nip into Chick-o-Land and pick me up some doner meat and chips; might shut me up for a bit.


How to Tell if Your Parents Were Ravers!

Suh Gen Z? U might think U is well dank two-footing pensionerโ€™s doors for TikTok followers, n U might think U snatched the kiki, vibing n vaping through a Taylor Swift concert, polishing off a whole bag of Haribo, U total ledge. But I have wig for U about your so-called โ€œboomerโ€ parents; your slang is wonky at best, mate, they ainโ€™t boomers at all, theyโ€™re more likely the wicked, jilted generation X, and it might just be fact that in a time of yore, before you were a twinkle in your daddyโ€™s dilated pupils, they secretly partied harder, faster and longer in an hour than you will ever hope to achieve throughout your entire life…..

Big yikes, tho, donโ€™t get salty, Iโ€™m not out to diss U, so donโ€™t ghost me, Iโ€™m here to give you the tea on how to find out if your parents were what we deemed in the nineties as โ€œravers.โ€

Now, U might assume you know what this entails, but I can assure you, soz, but you have absolutely no clue at all. To rave in the nineties wasnโ€™t clubbing in soft play centres covered in neon glow sticks and daring to drink six Primes, like it might be today. Raving back then was mostly illegal, multitudes gathering in fields and disused warehouses across the UK, all of which wouldnโ€™t pass modern health and safety regulations; but this is only the tip of the iceberg, the rest will knock you the fuck out like you is Chris Rock at the Grammys, and these facts are Will Smith.

Yep, they might be dictating and demanding now, stamping their control over you, preaching right from wrong, and bigging up their own behaviour by comparison, but I ask, how well do you really know them, what secrets might they be hiding about their own misspent youth? Were your parents party to this outrageous trend? Did they gyrate like broken robots with eyes the size of saucers, masticating the shit out of a Wrigleyโ€™s Juicy Fruit?

Here are some tell-tale signs to help you discover if, in some long-forgotten past, your parents made some fucking noise, and if they secretly, knew the score (you may need to Google these archaic expressions):


1: Ask Your Grandparents

Grandparents might hold several clues but may not think it wise to let you in on them. Try asking them about what time your parents would get home after going out on a Friday evening. If they answer โ€œusually around 1 or 2am,โ€ you are off the hook. If they answer โ€œsometime on Tuesday evening, and then they slept until Thursday,โ€ then it’s a reason for suspicion.

If fortunate enough your grandparents still live in the same house as they did when your parent in question was young, go to their former bedroom and carefully peel back the wallpaper. Should you discover hundreds of blue smears, that will be blu-tac remains, and it’s very possible they adorned their walls with a thing called “flyers.” These were basically adverts for forthcoming raves. It was the carbon footprint fire insurance write-off done thing at the time, though collecting flyers doesn’t constitute they actually attended raves, it could’ve been a bluff to look cool and gain a shag, but it’s a good starting clue. Take some wallpaper paste to avoid detection.


2: Check for Jawbone Structure and Oral Hygiene 

If you think it likely your grandparents would’ve taught good oral hygiene, yet your dad’s teeth looks like someone threw a grenade into Wookey Hole, chances are he was gurning his face off in a field somewhere, long before you were an itch in his โ€œbaggies,โ€ and this is the aftermath. 

Remember, donโ€™t ask why, but the jawbone structure of Johnny Bravo and the teeth of Gollum is your gateway to enlightenment on the issue; I think it best you follow further instructions as your Dad sounds like the kind of right cheesy quaver who were dubbed โ€œthe white gloveโ€ brigade. Again, it was a thing at the time.


3: Blowdry your Hair and other Audio Clues

More simply, blowdry your hair. If they start dancing to the sound of the hairdryer it’s time to prepare for the worst; it sounds like they were officially on a โ€œpukka one,โ€ at more than one point in their life.

Attend a football match or other sporting event, should the refereeโ€™s whistle evoke blissful memories and your parents respond thus: โ€œwhistle posse!โ€ you should be concerned.


4: Shout Outs

Shout out โ€œI’ll take your brain to another dimension,โ€ from the top of the stairs, and repeat three times. If they reply, โ€œwhat the devil are you on about now, foolish child?โ€ then youโ€™re back in the safe zone. If, however, in a glorious screech of reminiscence they respond, โ€œpay close attention!โ€ Then it’s a pretty safe bet Iโ€™m afraid.

Alternatively, you could try the rave mantra, โ€œtop one, nice one,โ€ and they should respond with โ€œget sorted!โ€ If that doesn’t trigger them nothing is likely to, and you can be safe in the knowledge they probably listened to boy bands in the nineties, the sad acts.


5: Search for Photographic Evidence and Pop Music Knowledge 

Time for some research. You should note your parents are not of your generation who feel the need to photographically document every second of their lives on social media. In fact, pulling out a camera at a rave would be seriously frowned upon, so a decade gap of photographs in the famโ€™s archive of your parents might hold a clue. If all you find are the odd snap of a family occasion, where your parent can be seen snoozing on a sun-lounger in the background with a grin like the Cheshire Cat, or a photograph of them standing next to their XR3i or 3.0 Capri turbo, you should be wary.

Give your parents a pop quiz starting off with chart hits of the eighties, then the nineties. If they come up all chicken dinner with the eighties questions but fail like Joey Essex on Mastermind on the nineties ones, it’s because ravers forgot all about pop hits and chart positions when they first reached for the skies and got mullered at a rave party, fact. 


6: Suspicious Purchases 

If your mum neglects to buy you the bitesize GCSE maths book you’ve been asking for, but instead gets you a pair of Technics and a mixer, something is definitely amiss, and there’s a likelihood they want you to be the life and soul to a hopeful resurrection of the trend. Say โ€œno, I’m not Carl Cox, I only want to pass my exams.โ€


7: The Obvious Final Exam

Only attempt this if your parents have scored high in all the above tests, and never, I repeat never question why; there are some skeletons in closets you really donโ€™t want to uncover. For this final exam you will need a packet of M&Ms, favourably of the plain old chocolate variety. Take the sweets out of their packet, place them in a money bag and offer one to your old folks. The correct response from the average parent should be something along the lines of, โ€œoh, no thank you, itโ€™s very kind, but you eat them my love.โ€

However, should your mum or dad respond with a sniff, and a โ€œna, sorted mate!โ€ itโ€™s pretty much concrete that your parents have had equal if not more โ€rave accessoriesโ€ than Bez of the Happy Mondays, (Google him and prepare yo bad self.)


The bottom line is to never worry too much about it, okay so your parents were hardcore, but you do not need counselling, itโ€™s not biggie, really; just ensure they are comfortable and never throw out any of these things pictured below. They are called cassette tapes, and they might be the only fragments left of a long-forgotten youth culture very sentimental to them. You should note, the times were vastly different from today, we had an economic recession and were dictated to with an iron fist, by the last desperate attempts of a failing conservative government, but at least we didnโ€™t have Ed Sheeran. You cannot judge your parents by the order of things today, this is not Minority bloody Report.


If Old Photos of Devizes Were Posted on Social Media Today…..

Looking at old photos of Devizes can be a pleasurable way to spend a Sunday morning, such a beautiful and historic market town we live in, and things haven’t changed all that much…. architecturally….

But what if these photographs were posted on local Facebook groups today? What would the comments be? Our non-roving reporter, Karen McKarenson, speculates….

Is this where I stand 4 the 49 bus? Ive bin waiting 4 ages nuthin, bloody council – tia #devizesbusserviceisrubbish
Saw this van 2day in market plice – derty travellers parked in disabled bay. Where b the police? No bluddy where!
Look at that teenager just sittin on the bridge – where R his parents? Probably vapping as well- Sumbuddy needs to call the police #teenagersrunriotindevizes
Dunt no bout u but im fed up of peeple tryin to turn right at shanes castle – look at this twat #muppetdrivindevizes
Nun of these lot paid 4 parkin with the iphone app 2day – dole scroungers leftie woke whingers git a job
Wat idot put this up? Askin 4 a friend who neerly crashed his fiat into it #health&saftee in #devizes is a joke
Still cee murderous kids killin ducks by feedin them on the crammer wen they no its all infected wif bird flu cos that trusty councillor said it was – sumbuddy needs to string em up #deathtodevizeskidsfeedinducks
Smelly eco actavists rammed market plice 2day – nowhere 2 park the audi to go 2 greggs how wee supposed to #supportlocalbiznis wif these lot stickin there faces to the market X?
Why build up kids hopes of escapin only 2 knock em down – they’ll be waiting here for a while yet. #youthof2day numpties – get yr dad 2 giv u a lift!

Hope you like them, if you know of any more send them in or add them in the comments of social media shares – oh, the irony!


Ten Top Tips for Driving in Devizes

Having trouble driving in Devizes? We’re not surprised, it’s got the infrastructure designed by a six-year-old given some Lego road plates. There are rules, on a need-to-know basis, if you’re not local you will get no sympathy for your negligence of them. So, here’s some advice to follow if passing through our lovely town…you don’t have to thank me, I just overtook you because you were foolish enough to believe the red light at London Road’s traffic lights actually means you have to stop!

1- Even if you escape and head down Caen Hill like a Tie-fighter launching off the Death Star, congestion in town is always a problem. If you need to get across town in a hurry, simply type a post on a local Facebook group with the word “issue” in its title, pretending that the road you require is closed, and hey presto, within minutes you’ll be like Will Smith in “I Am Legend.”

2- Lethal potholes are rife throughout the town, it wouldn’t be a Wiltshire town without them. You need to be financially able to purchase either a 4×4, tractor or monster truck, the latter can be helpful too for on-street parking. If you wish your street to be resurfaced regularly consider moving to a street where a Wiltshire Councillor lives.

3- Safety at roundabouts. Devizes has it’s own rules for roundabouts you need to be aware of. You must give way to the driver with the most expensive vehicle, at all times. Aside this, every roundabout has its own unique rules, points 4, 5 and 6, are just three of the most bizarre.

4- Indicating right at the Castle Hotel roundabout. You should be aware, anyone indicating right whilst coming out of the one-way system on Maryport Street and onto the mini roundabout, codger or not, are bluffing, and are actually intending to go straight over. Check their poker face before bothering to stop.

5- Pick a lane at the Cannings Hill roundabout, but don’t let anyone see it. Even the first roundabout you hit if heading into town from the east, Swindon/Marlborough direction, is a David Blaine fashioned illusion. The turning on the far right is bogus, there’s two left turnings proir to the main route into town, so in theory you should be in the right lane if heading to the town centre. But anyone who does is snarled at and given the mid-digit, so most don’t bother. Best option is to straddle both lanes and wind the windows up if easily offended.

6- Roses Roundabout. Unlike Swindon, names of roundabouts are unofficial, we just name them after a nearby landmark so grumpy old gits can whinge in pubs about them, and other grunpy old gigs listening know to which they refer. The roundabout meeting Estcourt, New Park Streets and Southbroom Road, usually dubbed after the longstanding hardware shop, but also reffered to as Dominoes Pizza or Kwik-Fit roundabout, is our Arc de Triomphe, and is a complete free-for-all. Best method to win right of way on this one is to adopt the expression of a lunatic on a day out of the funny farm, and shove your way out, otherwise a stalemate will occur while everyone looks at everyone else, contemplating who the maddest bastard is. Note; butcher’s vans generally 3-60, and vistors to the vets should also consider booking a doctor’s appointment too.

7- The Shane’s Castle hairpin manoeuvre. It’s as dodgy as a plumper advertising on The Devizes Issues (but better,) but the infamous Shane’s Castle hairpin manoeuvre can be pulled off with practice. Anyone there struggling and red-in-face is an outsider, blindingly following a sat-nav, and needs to be laughed at hysterically. The mind-boggling concept of putting a no right turn sign on Dunkirk Hill is the stuff of Tolkien style fiction to a town planner, so for now, it’s free game. The best technique is simply to close both eyes and swing it wildly around, there is no room neither time for caution.

8- The St Johns Street-Market Place zebra crossing. Unofficially the singlemost stupidest place to place a zebra crossing in the universal history of stupid places to place a zebra crossing. It’s the kinda zebra crossing even zebras say “I ain’t crossing there, buddy.” Be wary of this one unless you are Immortan Joe, especially when Spoons kicks out. You might view it as natural selection but the police won’t see it the same way.

9- Do Hopton Industrial Estate like a Boss. Queuing from Newbury because it’s shift change at the factories on Hopton Industrial Estate, and they’ve got the right of way at the roundabout? Stop. Think. If you can’t beat the them, join them, and turn right on the dual carriageway no matter what restrictions or pavements are there. Be like a boss, and beat the traffic, you can even bag yoursef an all day breakfast baguette on the way through, and still get in front of the 49 bus.

10- There is No Law, at least none worth the weight of the paper their payslips are printed on. Yes, Devizes maybe the headquarters of Wiltshire Police, and it may boast its pivotal role in operation Julie, the biggest worldwide illegal drug bust in history, but face it, that was near on fifty years ago and likely their last success story.

Honestly, being so close to the Salisbury Plains, you could roll down New Park Street in a fleet of Russian T-4 combat tanks lobbing molotov cocktails at the Shambles carpark, and if they can be arsed they might yet send a rookie officer to give you a stern telling off.

Otherwise, you’re pretty much free to do whatever traffic violation you deem suitable to get you through the congestion, safe in the knowledge traffic police seldom come out of their doughnut filled hobby holes to investigate. Just don’t confuse a camera-yeilding bloke who, though might look like Noel Edmonds, is no friend of Mr Blobby, rather the Ingsoc of Devizes, and you answer to him as if you were Winston Smith in room 101. So, ensure you are always in the right hand lane at the Wadworth roundabout if wishing to go into the Market Place, anything else is your own perogative, just don’t look for a bypass; Roundway Hill is NOT the Hammersmith flyover!

Devizine Review of 2022!

Featured Image by Simon Folkard Photography

Happy New Year from Wiltshire’s wackiest what’s-on website. It’s that time again when I waffle on endlessly in hope of summing up an entire year on Devizine. What can I say? It helps me grasp the ups and downs, highlights the things we could’ve done better but most of all, the things that went down well in 2022. And you get to see for yourself, our local area is awash with so many great events, so much great talent, and few things of concernโ€ฆโ€ฆ

Though I’m reserved to the fact, Santa’s good list starts afresh as early as January, so those who deliberately go out of their way to spoil the wellbeing of others and upset public peace will be called out accordingly, regardless of what position of power they might think they hold over others; Santa reads Devizine and Devizine states the facts, fact! See? It just did!

For the most part, though, Devizine is a happy place. If I must pick a favourite article I wrote this year, I’ve chosen an interview with John Petty, the brainchild of Devizesโ€™ legendary event, the Boto-X. But it’s a rare thing for us to be retrospective, most coverage is about the here and now, and there’s so many highlights to mention, advance apologies for waffling!

January, I was still reviewing international music releases, as per-lockdown when we scrambled somewhat in the dark for content. It put me between a rock and hard place, the ol’ melon twister as to what exactly Devizine is; a music review blog, or a site dedicated to local affairs. While it straddled between the two for a while, I made the executive decision that Devizine is, first and foremost, a local affair, for local people, therefore if you’re not local the “things for you here” have been greatly reduced this year, as I’m sworn to dedicate it to the first and foremost.

Not to suggest I didn’t appreciate receiving new tunes from afar, and if I can make a tenacious link to something local, such as bands including a local venue on their tour, I will. The biggest niggle has been time, and time is key to decisions I’ve needed to make with content. As Devizine grows and lockdown is archived to the history books, I get inundated with enough local content to keep me busy, therefore reviewing international music has been put on the back-burner. Though reviewing locally produced music is still something we relish in, please send them in to us.

If I had the time, I’d consider reintroducing it, and in that there’s a reason to brainstorm how I balance my in-tray with working full-time and spending quality time with the family.

Part of this begun end of last year, when Christmas saw my son gain a “gamer’s corner” of our lounge, and to create the space I relocated my PC to my bedroom. At first, I admit I liked the idea, gave me office type space to think, but as the year went on, I realised I was missing family time, upstairs like a hermit. This meant I was either rushing out content fast as I could, or attempting to create content on my phone app, which doesn’t work quite as well. The new year’s resolution, then, is to acquire a shiny new laptop, allowing me to disappear upstairs when I need to concentrate, but create content and update the event calendar far more efficiently while still spending time downstairs with the family.

If I used the term “Devizine Towers” to make you believe we’ve a Trump-like office block, employing staff in various departments, (mostly in the complaints department) it was a big fat fib for humorous effect. But you’re no fool, I guess you knew this anyway.

Fact is, Devizine is a non-profit labour of love. Though this notion hasn’t put more folk off contributing and helping to make Devizine comprehensive in coverage. I’m eternally grateful for everyone who has helped in this, from longstanding reporter, Mr Andy Fawthrop, to Ian Diddams, Ben and Vicky, Lorraine, and the few other occasional contributors.

Take the “Devi” bit away, and you’re left with “zine,” and that’s the ethos we run with, a free press, DIY concept without the confines of mainstream publishing; ergo, we can publish whatever we see fit, and anyone and everyone is welcome to submit anything for consideration. This transpires to you all, if you go to a gig, for example, and think “everyone needs to know how fantastic this band are,” please consider jotting down a few words on the subject, snap a couple of wobbly photos on your phone, and send it to us. You don’t need to be Shakespeare, we are not your English teacher, and can even edit any spelling or grammatical mishaps to the best of our ability!

To stats and all that mathematical malarkey. 2021 we received well over double the hits to the site, but to double it again felt a little ambitious. We didn’t achieve it, but we did get 23% above the record-breaking 2021 with a further +18K, so again we’re heading up the right direction, with 100K hits seeming like an achievable target this year. To have achieved this, being I feel I slacked off slightly with supplying regular content sometimes through the year, I think is amazing, and I appreciate everyone who enjoys reading Devizine; thank you all, blinking love yer, group hug!

The best hitting article this year was from May, when immediately after DOCA’s Street Festival, I highlighted all the forthcoming big events coming in Devizes, headlining it “The Big Ones; Forthcoming Summer Events in Devizes.” Strange how, going on the success of this, in December I published a second “Big Ones” piece, this time highlighting on a wider scale, the best large-scale events and festivals locally over the entire 2023, incorporating anything deemed conceivable to travel to from here. But this was not nearly as successful on hits. Pondering why, I must consider we’re Devizes based, ergo content about Devizes seems to get most attention. Start to venture any further than the Lavingtons and that’s foreign soil!

Yeah, I’m aware the name Devizine directly links to Devizes, but I like the name, it’s grounded now, besides, I believe it’s important to let folk from other local areas know, Devizine’s boundaries are flexible, incorporate anywhere conceivable to travel to for an event, so ideally from Salisbury to Swindon, Bath to Marlborough, but hey, like I say, we’re flexible and I’m not going to hold it against you if you live in Newbury!

In fact, even if I often loiter sober, Billy-no-mates fashion, I’ve enjoyed my voyages of discovery outside of D-town most of all. Particularly Swindon Shuffle, MantonFest, Trowbridge Town Hall, Seend Community Centre for The Female of the Species gig, a trip to Aldbourne to see Painted Bird and Deadlight Dance, and especially the fond memory of going on the road to a Portsmouth gig with Talk in Code. It also goes a long way in the introduction of acts from elsewhere, who often find gigs in town after we’ve featured them playing elsewhere, or within an album review.

Fair to point out at this conjunction, our preview of The Party For Life organised Suicide Prevention gig at Melksham Town FC was the second highest hitting article this year, blowing my Devizes-only theory out of the water, and forgoing the best hit articles are often based upon how many people share and re-Tweet social media posts. The organisers of this one was so pleased to get some press coverage, in an area where the mainstream press seem more interested in national headlines and celebrity click-bait tosh, they rarely support local affairs, especially in entertainment.

This is what gives me the motivation to continue with Devizine, despite some criticism of a completely fictional political sway, or knickers twisted from the few we’ve had to call out the behaviour of. To know we’re appreciated, to hear stories of how we helped, be it a venue finding a band, or visa-versa, or a charity able to reach out, these things are what keeps our spirits up.

Feel-good articles, you know? That’s the ticket, so when young local actress Jess Self won Vernon Kay’s Talent Nation in November, people flocked to our coverage, making it our third best-hitting article this year. These bring the person(s) of the subject delight and joy, and that’s really what it’s all about, smiles on faces, people, smiles all round.

And given this, I really don’t understand why some people want to criticise us, ban us from their petty, clique social media groups, but they will, and that’s life. I got a name for them, I won’t spell it out here today; smiles on faces, remember?!

The fourth best-hit article of the year was a 30th anniversary piece on the Castlemorton free rave, a personal reflection on the historic event and the impact it had on society. But more importantly should be local current affairs, and when we broke the story of pollution in the water of The Crammer Pond in Devizes, well that became our fifth best hitter. Sadly, I really thought we’d made an impact here, and plans were afoot to address the unsuitability of the pond for wildlife and what can be done to rectify it by the town council.

Unfortunately, the issue has raised its ugly head again after the death of some wildfowl during December’s freezing conditions, of which bird flu was blamed but never proven. Nevertheless, no bird has died since a rise in temperature, bird flu is being used to politically point score and to suit other agendas by the powers that be. Is there nothing off limits to boost their egos, not even the deaths of wild animals?

Apparently not, as we continue to assist in campaigns against animal cruelty, especially of blood sports, the badger cull, and expose the trial hunt as the smokescreen it is. So, not only did we cover Lacock’s violence at Boxing Day perpetrated by the Avon Vale Hunt, when it came to light, the single police officer was a member of the hunt and did little to keep the peace, but other suspicious factors too, such as the proposed closure of Savernake Forest. Allowing only for a few set paths to be accessible around the Postern Hill site, environmental benefits to the forest were used in excuse, but residents were suspicious it’d give game hunters unrestricted access without the watchful eye of ramblers.

I cover these issues because I believe in them, and we don’t see enough being done to tackle the issues in, not only other local media sources, but within Wiltshire Police too, who’s fall into special measures surely proves what we’ve always said; the bogus re-election of a PCC in order to sustain totalitarianism for the Conservative Party has resulted in a candidate completely unsuitable for the role, a lack of motivation within the force, and people’s conviction in the Police in general.

I strive to wish to help any such organisations, to illustrate what they are doing to improve, should they wish to, but if it’s fluff they seek, they’re in the wrong place. Our services, our schools and charities are suffering from the incompetence of an uncaring government, we continue the fight for the everyman. That is not political sway, that’s common sense.

We will be reporting the facts of the Crammer debate as opinion pieces here, if you disagree that’s no issue, we won’t hold it against you, for it’s a close one to call. Much less certain councillors have decided their way or the highway. Okay, whatever hidden agendas lie there, but if you convince others to take matters into their own hands, resulting in children being harassed and verbally abused simply for feeding ducks, what have we become, blindly taking the word of someone with a popular Facebook page?!! Well, more’s the pity for them when I call them out on it.

On a happier note, sixth most popular article announced; George Ezra coming to Trowbridge, in what must’ve been the highlight of many young faces in our area. The response was overwhelming, and special thanks goes to Roger of Sound Knowledge, Marlborough and Kieran Moore of Sheer Music for making that happen. Bringing a top act like this to our area, without the need of an extortionate price, or ticket stub of festival proportions, allowing children and teenagers to catch a glimpse of live music by an inspiring popular act like Ezra was nothing short of miraculous, and I had a great time too!!

Something which doesn’t bother me as much as it seems to for a majority, the news DOCA have reset the date of Devizes carnival to the traditional date to the 2nd September was our 7th most popular article. MantonFest revealing their 2022 line-up came 8th, and what a brilliant festival it was, tickets for this year’s are on sale now, though I’ve procrastinated on a preview for the line-up, save inclusion on our aforementioned “Big Ones” article. Something we’re sure to knock up as soon as, because 2023โ€™s line-up sounds equally as great.

From a proposal raised at a Devizes Town Council meeting by national organisers, the idea of a Devizes Cheese & Chilli Festival proved popular, being our 9th most popular article of 2022. Though, did this ever actually happen?! I certainly don’t recall hearing any more about it. Fact is though, Devizes already has our regular Devizes Food & Drink Festival, and that is well-established and as popular as ever. Dates for this year are to be confirmed, cheese and chilli I’m sure will be included, all you must do is support it.

The 10th most popular article of 2022 was concerned with Wax Palace, who held an officially licensed “rave festival” near Erlestoke. Much to the preconceptions of locals concerned, we spoke to organiser Harry, the man who ingeniously got a rave approved by Wiltshire Council, but when chatting to him it became clear how he managed it.

After this the sheer mountain of content we published continued, the day-to-day reviews of nights down our favourite venues, the concerns of public interest, and some silliness to boot! Though I must say, our cheeky, satirical pieces I’ve laid off from recently; must try harder!

Always popular, though not as previous years, like the very notion a McDonald’s would come to Devizes, was our essential April Fools joke. Our 11th most popular article this year, when I suggested Devizes Market Place will be pedestrianised; oh, the very thought of environmental progression angered gammons from afar, but seriously struck a chord with campaigners like Sustainable Devizes, and when you think about it, might yet be an environmentally sensible solution.

Yet, last year I struggled with an April Fools joke, while previous years were founded long before the date, I’m pleased to whisper to those brave enough to have read this far, I’ve already got a killer for this year, and it came to me immediately after All Fools Day 2022. On this though, no one seemed to have noticed the service road on my diagram was deliberately shaped like a small penis; a gag failed, maybe because clearly, none of you own a small penis!

But what of the importance of stats and popularity against our own personal enjoyment of attending events and giving our tuppence on them? Speaking to Andy about what we should or shouldn’t attend, I stressed, as we’re far from professional here, our focus should be on enjoying ourselves rather than seeing ourselves as pro-journalists, having to cover events we might not enjoy. Our objective therefore is surely to enjoy ourselves foremost; so, mine is a pint of scrumpy when you see me, cheers! Excuse the wobbly photos, we should view this as enjoyable or it’s not worth doing.

Taxing Andy’s superior mind for his most memorable events of 2022, off the top of his head, and in no particular order, he suggested: when Tankus The Henge played Devizes Arts Festival, and the Darius Brubeck Quartet too. Longcroft’s Lachy Doley gig in December, and Jazz Sabbath in November. Long Street Blues Club also features understandably high in his hitlist, noting April’s Carl Palmer, Skinny Molly, and March’s Soft Machine gigs. For me, both the Birdmen and the Errol Linton Band were my most memorable nights at Long Street, up skanking with the town councillor! Our gratitude to Ian and Liz for perhaps the most interesting and diverse programme at Long Street, ever!

As for Devizes Arts Festival, Andy became part of the furniture there, not missing a gig. I, on the other hand, skived, apologise profusely, and regret it too. Although, to catch Baila La Cumbia, or simply to have cumbia in Devizes was something I couldn’t miss, and must be one of my favourite gigs of 2022. That said, on my venturing out of Devizes note, I was welcomed over to Calne for their Arts Festival, to see one my new favourite things after fondly reviewing their debut album, and that is Concrete Prairie, who I’m glad to say, come to the Southgate on Saturday 25th March, do not miss it.

On our dependable Southgate, there’s too much to type about, again proving itself for another year to be the stalwart in providing regular live music, and simply for being such a fantastic watering hole. Andy notes the first Sunday of the month residences of Jon Amor, and I cannot possibly argue against this, reviewed them too, and even Ian Diddams stepped in to write his take on it.

I mean, right, bringing Beaux Gris Gris to the jam, who also played at Long Street is nothing short of awesome. Andy also gave honourable mentions of Southgate gigs to the Sarah C Ryan Band, Eddie Martin, and Jack Grace. Ben and Victoria noted the Cracked Machine gig at The Gate, whereas for me, SGO, again, Eddie Martin, but also 12 Bars Later, The Worried Men and Barrelhouse, all provided my most memorable evenings at this wonderful tavern.

Though despite working his little socks off at the Stealth bar, Andy was also quick to mention the Full-Tone Festival, which goes without saying. Such a marvellous annual event on our calendar, we had a fantastic time Full-Tone, thank you. Think classical festival, I’ll give you, but with Kirsty Clinch breezing the sunny Sunday vibes with her brand of pop-folk, or James Threlfall up there on the wheels of steel, how can we possibly now marginalise this? It’s incorporating everything, aside their love of classical, to the point the only part of the word classical we need to sum it up with is the beginning part; class.

Image: Gail Foster
Image: Simon Folkard

Time for tiny niggle, then, for Full-Tone comes at a price, a price you’ll see where your money goes should you attend, but with this in mind, the most fantastic event in Devizes must remain as the free-for-all DOCA Street Festival. This year I took a taster in volunteering to help, and consequently saw how much hard work goes into putting this on. All this said, I still partied, cider in one hand, clearing the bins in the other! And must say, throughout the wealth of talent present, the circus acts, and musical activities, which are too many to mention here, Mr Tea and the Minions rocked my world, and Loz’s farewell gift to Devizes, the Ceres display by Bassline Circus, was nothing short of the most breath-taking, inspiring, and apt thing I’ve EVER seen happen in Devizes.

Image Simon Folkard

But Devizes has seen the most amazing year for entertainment events in general, post lockdown, we are celebrating big stylee! Just think, I’ve written all this without even mentioning CAMRA’s Devizes Beer and Cider Festival yet, and that was phenomenal this year. With Ben and Vicky taking on the music task, they did a spectator job, Dr Zebo’s, I give you, Vince Bell giving it “you ain’t ever leaving,” and why would we? With Triple JDโ€™s Hendrix-fashioned brilliance, followed by a reggae jam with Knati P and Nick; wowzers! Yes, it was so good I did fall into the flowerbed; thanks to my rescuers!

And while Wadworth gave us a free mini-fest, supporting local acts like Ben Borrill and The Roughcuts, Ruzz Guitar and the gang rocked Saddleback, which after a plethora of acts from Derby, turned into a full-scale dance event for an apt charitable cause. And The Crown at Bishop’s Cannings pulled out all the stops, giving us the inaugural CrownFest, something so utterly spectacular, I shit you not, Freddie Mercury mingled with the crowd!

Outside our area, I did MantonFest, which was a beauty, and later witnessed a Noddy-a-like yell “it’s Christmassss” at Marlborough College, while trips to Trowbridge Town Hall blessed me with meeting Gecko, and The Scribes, and wow, if Professor Elemental didn’t host a fantastic night with Boom Boom Racoon and The Real Cheesemakers. Nights I’ll never forget.

To bring hip hop to Trowvegas is one thing, to do it in Devizes is another, and though I sadly missed James Threlfall’s BBC Introducing night at the Muck and Dunder, I tip my straw hat to the rum bar, not just for presenting diversity to Devizes’ music events, but doing it in such style it bought the house down. I am, of course referring to the incredible Scribes visiting us in November, wow, that was a pina colada level of cool!

As far back as February, People Like Us played a packed Three Crowns in Devizes, affirming the pub’s reputation as a firm player on our live music scene. It’s always a great night, universally welcoming. Thinking back to The Roughcut Rebels playing a blinder one summery August, to the point, I’m basing my birthday down there on 4th March. Free to all, just turn up, we’ve hopefully some acoustic music in the afternoon followed by Talk in Code and the Ruzz Guitar Trio.

There’s just so much great, great stuff which happened last year, apologies if I missed mentioning your favourite bit, the article is going to epic proportions now and I need to put a cork in it. I just get so excited noting all these great happenings, it gives me great pleasure to be the happy chappy who helps to inform you about them.

I mean, look, I’ve not even mentioned our fabulous Wharf Theatre yet, who I’m delighted to really touch base with this year, and be invited to dress rehearsals, so we can get our views out on the performances prior to you delving into your purse for. Andy, Ian, and myself have given you the lowdown on TITCO’s The Dinner Party, Picnic at Hanging Rock, Hedda Gabler, Lovesong, but my favourite most was when Georgina Claridge played a Dorothy-type character in a most thoughtful, homemade children’s play by Helen Langford, called The World Under the Wood. We love the Wharf!

We had a feast at Soupchick, helped save Furlong Close, we told you about Swindon Paint Fest, we said about Midlife Krisis raving at the Vic in a milk float, we went to the Art Heist in Chippenham, we released a second volume of our 4 Julia’s House compilation albums, which you still NEED to buy, we even went down the “Bin” for UB40 tribute Johnny2Bad, but on bad, we cannot sing the praises of everyone, for that’s simply not realistic. The naughty list is open to invitation!

It was a shame to have to report how popular local Facebook group, Devizes Issues, administered by Tory town councillor Iain Wallis has seen it fit to block and ban Devizine for absolutely no given reason, as it has done with many individuals and even a local Covid support group. Nothing to do with a failed, laughable attempt to set up their own what’s on guide, (which only includes town council organised events,) no, of course not! It seems to enjoy regular culls of anyone who holds an alternative opinion to those of the admin’s, despite inviting members to participate in political debate on both local and national scales. So be it, we’re not looking back… the GB News of Devizes!!

We haven’t banned anyone from our social media pages, you can still enjoy the apolitical Devizine whatever side of the fence you sit on. We are an entertainment events and what’s on guide, ergo, there’s no need to include our personal political views, so we don’t. Why some think we should or shouldnโ€™t do are shit stirrers from both sides, and we don’t play ball with shit stirrers. If you think different that’s your own issue, seek a doctor’s advice, not mine!

What a shame, that had to be said, but I feel it did. I’m not going out like that! For the most part Devizine continues to be the Time Out of Wiltshire, and I’m proud of this, and I’m eternally grateful to everyone who supports it. So, here’s to 2023, hoping it will be as good as last year, hoping we’ll get to cover more of it, be as comprehensive as possible, to not rise to witch hunts against us, and be the go-to website for the free-thinking local.

I urge you to tell us your story, inform us of your events, give us the scoops to cover, tell us about your talented family member, tell us about a niggly issue in need of exposure. Yeah, you can rant on Facebook or Twitter, but you won’t get the same level of attention, we are here to shake up the area, we are here to bring you the news on how great-a-place this is. If this means we’re the black sheep because we refuse to comply, so be it.

Devizine for 2023, I say, though I would, wouldnโ€™t I?! We want to host some events too, btw, we want to raise some funds for charities, and we want to have a good time doing it! Do not get in our way of this simple ethos, with your pathetic and frankly perverse urge to kiss arse!


Devizine Christmas Podcast!

I’ve only gone and done another podcast, and I apologise. But it is in keeping with the season…..

Please note: this podcast contains adult themes and language, and is NOT for children.

Here we are then, bar humbug, my second monthly podcast goes all Christmassy…. sort of, as I discuss shopping, Christmas meal deals, the hype, and the true meaning of Christmas, the big day itself, and have myself a teary-eyed temper tantrum!

Gathering local Christmas songs, moaning about them grumpily, and having a seasonal ska mix at the end. With songs from Tickle Your Fancy, The Lost Trades, Timid Deer, Danni W, Illingworth, Tom Harris, Eddie Mole, and Knati P, and our ska mix from Baked-A-La-Ska, Sir Jay & The Skatanauts and The Copacetics. Have a merry Christmas one all all!

Thanks to everyone who sent me a song, even if you didn’t expect it to be on such an appalling podcast as this!!


Devizine 5th Birthday!

Right then you lot, Devizine is five years old today, or at least it was when I begun this monumental mission of reminiscing on how, why and what the hell I was thinking when I started it in the first place. Question is, do you want the short story, or the long, drawn-out one?

Oh well, that’s just tough luck then, isn’t it?! You can’t stop me in full shit stream, because, everyone’s good at something, mine is endlessly waffling on about crap, so that’s what I’m going to do. In the words of the unforgettable Lesley Gore, it’s my party I can waffle on about crap if I want to, or something like that.

In consolation, I’ve sprinkled this piece with a lot of lovely photos, well, itโ€™s been five years and weโ€™ve a lot to show off about. And what a wonderful ride it’s been; dancing, dodging, meeting so many wonderful and talented people, rattling a few cages, and I hope it will continue to be so, if I do say so myself.

Best, if any, place to start is childhood aspirations. Note, I never had any dreams of writing, let alone journalism. English at school was a pet hate, like every other subject, especially spelling, I was atrochous…… atreechois…. really bad at it.

Though I have to humour the media industry, I’d grow to detest Fleet Street wank-stains. To be a cartoonist was the thing for me, the like of Charles Schultz or Jim Davis favourably, they did, after all, make the most money. But I’d write for magazines, zines and FINs I submitted cartoon strips for in support, because they needed writers…. bloody slave drivers.

As time moved on and I created my own comic, reviewing works of other creative types within it was an aid to networking, and, most importantly, getting freebies. I also suffered with a lack of writers but plenty of artists, so I’d script for them, and gradually the writing took prominence over the artwork.

Self-publishing is a labour of love, and any excuse for procrastination was on the cards. Unpredictably stumbling upon family life was the perfect excuse for giving it up; there were nappies which needed changing before cross-hatching a nudy caricature of Cameron Diaz, and besides, I’d grown out of the psychedelic nature of the zine; fatherhood can change a lad. Word of warning, whippersnappers.

But once bitten, the creative cannot help but create, that’s why they call them creatives, see? I picked self-publishing up again when eBooks came around, as it was easy, and not so time consuming. As an author I spaffed out more books than Boris Johnson did lies, happy as a method of improving my writing skills; though it’s still a learning cuve…. curth… bendy thing. And okay, that’s the same joke, get used to it.

Devizine came about simply for looking at other avenues in which to offload my wobbly words to the unfortunate world. I pitched to satirical, (or “fake news,” to gammons of which satire is above their understanding) websites, but was only sporadically successful, even lesser-so my attempt to create my own satirical website, called Poop Scoop. Until I noticed a new local news-site called Index;Wiltshire. There, finally through this insane waffling lies the kingpin to Devizine.

The editor wrote to me, “you’re the most powerful person in Devizes,” as my weekly rant column amassed a thousandfold more hits than MP James Gray’s did. Dishonest flattery works; I marched on, slagging off everything that was shit about Devizes as I could possibly think of, for humorous effect, you understand? Some didn’t, and Monday morning hate-mail filled my inbox, which was amusing to start with but being grew tedious.

Aside common complaints from any medium-sized market town, the joke wore thin due to decreasing ammo. Devizes is actually a great place to live; could be better, like freewheeling Frome, or like Tijuana, the murder capital of the world, it could be worse. The need to keep the ideas flowing caused me to post a gathering material question on a local Facebook group. It was Jemma Brown who raised the most important point: why didn’t I focus on the positives about living in Devizes? Of course, she was bang on the money, but it simply wouldn’t do, for that’s not the nature of satire, that’s not the idea of “No Surprises Living in Devizes.”

At the time, I’d just crawled out from my hermit hole and seen for myself talent lurking in the mists of this Tory haven. Richie Triangle played The Black Swan, spurring me to meet Tamsin Quin, who was crowdfunding for a debut album. Jemma, naturally was aiming my attention to her productions, as the TITCO theatre company. I wrote of my findings in an ever-increasingly heavily edited version of my rant column, claiming I was spinning the negatives around, though it was lagging in ethos, because to know me is to know I’m happy-go-lucky, and I couldn’t keep the pretence of being some kind of left-wing Alf Garnett any longer.

The column suddenly became more about what events were forthcoming in Devizes, rather then ranting about how rubbish everything was. I think at one point I joked, โ€œwhat do I look like, some kind of event guide now?!โ€ Not realising Iโ€™d predicted the outcome.

Frustrated the column was so heavily edited, now a new editor took over, I took to publishing them on a personal blog, but blogs need love and attention, in other words shameless self-promotion. Devizine though, as I came to knock up a new blog with the idea of doing precisely what we do now, promotes itself, as featured creative types share the fact they’ve been featured, and generally, people seemed to flock to this gap in the market. The first ever article was an unedited version of the that weekโ€™s column, the second was about Tamsinโ€™s Crowdfunder.

I never understood, and probably never will, why aside perpetual splashes on national news stories as an aid to fund submissions to scoop sites, regional newspapers here couldn’t at least mention, or give credit to all the talented people here too. There’s room in a newspaper for both surely? But their downfall is our triumph. Devizine is now the go-to to what to do, the rest of it is me just mucking about!

This, coupled with our policy of brute honesty, will always be why Devizine has become something of a (slightly) respectable local institution. Though it may not have started out this way, because a few who were supposed to be responsible for what’s on sections of local media outlets fell short of lifting a finger, and thought it better to sought to trash Devizine’s pending reputation. Funny world, I thought Devizine would be welcomed, and I opened, and still do, my arms to the chances to work with them regardless; c’est la vie.

I believe it’s levelled now. Hardly anyone posts on local Facebook groups, “any live music going on tonight?” And if they do, rather than being directed to Devizine by yours truly, someone else beats me to the recommendation. Which brings me nicely on to the ten zillion quintillion thank you accreditations.

For aside my waffling, the bulk of this article is nothing more than a tedious clip show, which has taken longer to load up than I planned, probably be the sixth birthday by the time I publish it! Maybe we’ll refer to it as a โ€œphoto gallery in dial-up connection speed!โ€

Cider in one hand trying applause without spillages, my photography skills are best avoided whenever possible. Though I do believe I’m getting better, nothing illustrates a review better than a professional or semi-pro photographer. We’ve used and abused so many, and other than Nick Padmore, who makes me sit on his knee, most of them allow us to use their wonderful snaps for free! Which is handy, cos Devizine has not made millionaires out of us, quite yet.

So, a massive thank you, which would deserve a huge hug, if I wasnโ€™t to wonder if that was a zoom lens in their pockets, rather than them being pleased to see me, and also an apology, there’s so many photos here it’d be a minefield wracking my miniscule mind recalling who took what, so excuse me, I hope that you donโ€™t mind, I’ve not been able to credit them individually. Take it as red, though, the out of focus ones are likely from me. The rest I owe to so many photographers, some mentioned here and now: Gail Foster, Nick Padmore, Simon Folkard, Helen PolarPix, Ruth Wordly, Matthew Hennessy, Abbie Asadi, and Chris Dunn of Inscope Design. Please give them a virtual applause and go check out their work via their websites and social media.

But everyone needs a thank you, donโ€™t they? So many good people have come to my rescue, submitted reviews, scoops and content, to make Devizine both comprehensive, and how I see it; a community-led, erm, thingy. I’d appreciate any help I can get, I’m totally overloaded here, and apologise to things I’ve missed, but Mrs Miggins has to get her pint of semi, also. You know you run a what’s on guide when Facebook pings the notification, “you have 55 events this weekend!”

Sporadically then writers have contributed, and I have Ian Diddams, Jemma Brown, TD Rose, Jenny Dalton, Phil Bradley, and Helen Robertson to sincerely thank too. But none more than our esteemed man in the field, the brilliant Andy Fawthrop, for his constant bombardment of most excellent reviews have been a godsend, to the point we need a statue of the good fellow here, front and centre of the lobby in the prestigious Devizine Towers. Seriously, if I cannot get hold of any marble, though, it might have to be made of paper cups.

All I have to say now is thanks everyone, everyone who has supported us, everyone I missed on the roll-call, contributed in some way, and that’s a long list, folk like the ones who’ve helped us out with technical bobs and bits; Ida McConnell, and musically, Dean Czerwionka, Mike Barham, Cath, Gouldy and the DayBreakers, Clifton Powell and Nick Newman, Daydream Runaways and The Roughcut Rebels.

Or those who’ve given their time to play for us at one of our fundraising gigs, the above mentioned, plus, Chole Jordan, Will Foulstone, Tamsin Quin, Phil Cooper, Jamie R Hawkins, George Wilding, Bryony Cox, Lottie Jenkins, Mirko Pangrazzi, Bran Kerdhynen, Finley Trusler and Sam Bishop.

And I think I’ve waffled enough; sorry if I missed anyone, but they know who they are. Bloody love ’em too, I do; group hug.

Being the Wiltshire Air Ambulance bear, touring homemade breweries, the Palace cinema, spending a day with Clifton Powell with Arts Together, going behind the scenes with DOCA, a day on tour with Talk in Code, press screening of Follow the Crows, riding an E-bike with Sustainable Devizes, meeting Neville Staple backstage, plus all the event invites, and so much more my brain is aching, there’s been so many fond memories, but I think, if you had to ask me to pick just one, it’d have to be the time I did my milk round in my Spiderman onesie and met with Carmela Chillery-Watson and her lovely family. A day I’ll never forget.

It leaves me now, to sign off, you must be tired looking at all those people having fun, but I did pre-warn you about my waffling! Enjoy the remaining pictures in our picture show, maybe you’ve spotted yourself in there, five or less years younger. If so, I want you to know, you’re still that gorgeous, gorgeous for showing us your support and partying with us; here’s to another five years, gorgeous!!

Trivia: What is the most popular article on Devizine to-date?

A: The April Fools Day joke 2021, when I announced, McDonalds was coming to Devizes. I believe that one broke the internet! Sad, but true.

Trivia: When did you first force Andy Fawthrop against his will and better judgement, to write reviews?

A: I believe it was October 2018, and the first review was Joe Hicks at the Three Crowns; I maybe wrong, I often am.

Trivia: Who was that country looking gent who used mascot on Devizine?

A: I donโ€™t know, stop hassling me with inane questions like a fanboy at a Star Trek convention!

Captain Councillor V The Pigeons From Hell

Jonathan Livingston Seagull came to. Through bloodshot eyes he regained just enough bearing to recall his whereabouts. His wings tied with rope, behind a hardbacked chair, his feet were tied to the legs. Out of focus a stumpy, bearded fellow sneered face-to-face with him, grasping two electrodes. “Sch-sch-should, I shock him again, oh master?” he sniggered.

A deep voice bellowed from the rotund shadow in the background, his ghastly features only visible for a second when he thrusted a Crammar Watch postcard marked with all the postcodes of honest folk who wished to see something done about their poullted town pond, into the fire, and lit his cigar with it. “A word in your shell-like, gull. Refuse to answer and you will be banned from my Facebook group, capiche;? Now, who shate on my Greggs sausage and bean melt?!”

As the first unkindly fellow moved the electrodes closer to his temple, Livingston screamed out, “please, do not exclude me from such a fine, unbais Facebook group; I’ll squawk, I’ll tell, but please, anything but that! It, it, it was the pigeons, they did it!”

Two weeks later….

Honestly, if you’re wondering what happened at the Devizes Town Council meeting last night, when the dynamic duo unleased their devestating plan against pigeons in the Market Place, I dare not ask.

Is this the kind of “important issues” we were advised by Danny K to focus on, rather than partygate? Or just perhaps it’s a distraction from the pollution in the Crammar issue, you know, the other occasion when these two cross-party councillors mobbed up to spread misinformation. Far from me to shoot that in the foot, by pondering the pigeons who’ve abandoned the Crammer, that if there was the natural food source we’ve been campaigning for, perhaps the pigeons would be more evenly dispersed across town, rather than congregating for easy pickings, but I wouldn’t dare suggest such a thing.

There is no evidence of pollution in the Crammar,” it’s said they claimed, and here’s a CGI video our tech guys at Devizine Towers just knocked up; honestly, it’s like Pixar around here!

Of course, it was rightly pointed out by one of our dynamic duo, that the rescue charity Swan Support actually polluted the unpolluted pond when one of them wadded in for a few moments, before giving up and going for the canoe option. Because, of course, Swan Support always rock up to clean water and steal swans from their natural environment for no good reason.

Ha, and we all thought it was because there’s a runoff drain from the busy road adjacent! Silly us, what do we know, after all we weren’t even there to witness it, probably at home watching Come Dine With Me. The councillors were the ones in the perpetual drizzle rescuing the swans, one even posted a photo of them holding a swan to prove it, it’s been said, the photo circa 2017, on his timeline photos. That’s what being a timelord from Gallifrey is useful for.

Moving the silt in the water is what’s poullting it, they claim, and then they had a toy boat race, for the Queen.

Now, of course, they point out the Crammar is Town Council property, ergo everything in the water is too; including the non-polluting pollution I have to presume. And anyone wadding in to rescue oil-slicked wildlife is liable; which is a nice way of resolving the issue and moving onto a few pigeons in the Market Place.

In a week where a Marlborough councillor tried to convince me the whopping taxpayer’s bill to blockade the ridgeway over solstice, causing chaos for miles, was only to protect nesting birds. Being here in the Vizes councillors are hell bent on destroying birds, hardly gives anyone the confidence Wiltshire tories are keen ornithologists, or give a finger of fudge about any wildlife really, on account of Wiltshire PCCs blind eye to fox hunting. “Look away from the Crammer, and feast your eyes on the site of our future railway station, six miles out of town!”

Yeah, we’re supposed to feel the need, the need for speed; getting Danny K to Parliament on time is the difference it makes, because favours for who gets their tongue furthest up Bojo’s anus are handed out on a first-come-first-served basis. While many taxpayers coughing up for the vanity project won’t be able to afford the bus journey to the station, let alone a railway ticket. Anyway, I digress, who cares about peasants?

What will be done to reduce the slight pigeon population in Devizes; poison in the nests, armed response unit, one-way ticket to Rwanda for these naturally homing flying rats? The latter might get you an allowance to touch Priti Patel’s petticoat, imagine what a semi that’ll produce.

Here’s an article explaining culling pigeons is totally ineffective and actually counterproductive, it will only make matters worse. The best soultion is education, it suggests. No, not the pigeons, though it might be helpful to our education system to replace a few headteachers around these parts for pigeons, it meant educating the public. Because, here’s the bottom line, it’s a monster of our own making, and only Captain Councillor and his trusty sidekick can save us now!

Yes indeedy, hence my narrative at the top, try reading the bottom comment in this screenshot below without taking on an east London gangster type accent. “The gulls are being worked on!” Give me strength, who do they think they are? Hale & Pace doing The Firm?!

I’ve no idea, but they seem to me nothing more than Dastardly and Muttley. How in the bejeezus is a poll conducted on a Facebook group where anyone with a differing opinion from the one-man town council admin is promptly banned, considered a consensus of public opinion and presented before the council as damning evidence?

Whatever happened to democracy, much less live and let live? Pigeon infestations are annoying, so is tory ones in my opinion, but I don’t campaign for their cull. Let’s all be good Christians and sing, “All Things Bright and Beautiful,” shall we, then slaughter a mass of those blasted creatures lord god made?

Can I give up now? Is the hypocrisy showing yet? First world problems for little Englanders, like the verbal war in Bishop’s Cannings over a pub painting its shed purple, perpetrated by keyboard warriors in tow with our dynamic duo, but not quite on city level. Take the slave trader they convicted, in Bristol of all places, where they condone slavery! A city with a council who try to fine folk for taking a statue of a slave trader down! Oh my years, the wonky reasoning went along the lines of “you canโ€™t erase history, we keep the statue to remind us of the atrocities so they won’t happen again.” Yeah, right, the bastard really took notice of that, didn’t he? By that logic you should be erecting a statue of him for future generations to look up to and say, “right, deffo this time, it won’t happen again.”

It might be a world apart, but the same ballpark, all hypocrisy together as one pile of steaming bullshit.

Death to all pigeons will mean we get other species of birds, rats, and other pests taking their place; do we mow down everything in our path in a Mad Max stylee? Or do we just have to get on with our lives, try to live in unity with nature, before the apocalypse?

This duo are a kind of anti-David Attenborough, aren’t they? A knight showing you how dinosaurs gained feathers and evolved into birds when we were but scrurrying rodents in the sand, on the telebox, yet seems these over-inflated egotistical power-hungry councillors think they’re above the natural order of things; because of digital watches, Douglas Adams might conclude.

You can use netting, paint owl eyes on windows as a deterrent, you can cover up food for sale outside or keep a watch over them. You can diversify and defeat, peacefully. Pigeons have a brain capability slightly lesser than councillors, you can outwit them.

It must’ve really helped local shop-owners when the dynamic duo blabbed to Wiltshire Times, for example, how “traders in the little Brittox are concerned by the number of pigeons in the area as they believe the droppings are making the footpath unsafe and are contaminating food and products on display.” Good thinking, guys, that’s not put me off buying produce from there at all. Just another day for Captain Councillor and his trusty sidekick!

Ten Best Pubs to Hide in When the Volcano in Devizes Erupts Tomorrow

Here it is then, being we’re all buried in ten feet of snow today, your handy guide to the ten best pubs in Wiltshire, who, honestly, haven’t paid us a penny, in which to take refuge in when Mount Devizes volcano erupts, due tomorrow, after elevenses.…..

Wait for the reactions when this is shared on Facebook; “that’s not even a picture of the Devizes volcano, that’s Krakator!” “What poor research, Devizes has a few mounds, but no volcano!” “Other than the headline this article doesnt even mention Devizes,” or better still, “my USGS Volcano Hazards Program app doesn’t predict the Devizes volcano will erupt till next Thursday.”

And I thank them all for bumping the post up the newsfeed and engaging in the perpetual stream of nonsense from those who fail to comprehend how advertorials work. Yet I ask, please excuse me but I’ve no intention of interacting to any comments as I’m busy sharing the same article with all the different Wiltshire town’s Facebook pages, and changing the title to suit them accordingly. And not because I couldn’t give a toss if you believe it, or not, read it, or not, provided you click on the link.

And all for the sake of that very failure to acknowledge clickbait when a majority see it, which makes them work, and why companies spend so much money on them.

Of course, there’s many forms of clickbait, for you to believe are real, and increase our hits, so we can dazzle potential advertisers with stats; we’re just happy going with the flow, doing what other local media are doing, deceiving the general public to increase stats. Not mentioning names, naturally, but when it does erupt in Wiltshire, we’ll be Live on the scene with the other clowns.

Here at Devizine Towers we never tire at perpetually spewing sensationisling nonsense and disguising it as localised current affairs. One ickle scoop is all we need to exaggerate a slight dodgy weather forecast into a headline claiming (enter relevant town name) will be knee-deep in a snowstorm akin to the Star Wars planet Hoth, or one rumble in our high street and our market town has become Belarus overnight.

Or better still, if Brexiteer ‘I’m not paying my staff during lockdown, but please bail me out bestest buddy Boris’ boss, Martin Tim, or whatever which way his two fornames happen to fit, happens to lob a fat cheque in our direction, we will of course kowtow to his every word and publish numerous advertorials, singing his pub chain’s praises, but sneakly disguising them as news.

Here at Devizine, we love the fact the entire modern media is one big Sunday Sport, and look forward to reporting Wiltshire buses found on the moon, and how Danny Kruger ate our hamster.

But, for fear of you realising this is a biting piece of satire, and nothing really to do with the possible volcanic eruption of an imaginary volcano right here in Devizes, I feel impelled to actually tell you the best pubs of which to hide in. Or so help me, they’ll be complaining.

Incidently, these will also be the same best pubs in Wiltshire in which to hide in next week, when the zombie apocalypse hits, predicted to be on Friday.

1 The Silk Mercer, Devizes

2 The Bear, Melksham

3 The Bridge House, Chippenham

4 The Albany Palace, Trowbridge

5 The Bath Arms, Warminster

6 The Sir Daniel Arms, Swindon

8 The Savoy, Swindon

9 The Bell, Salisbury

10 The Reece, Witherspoon

Any connection with these pubs is purely coincidental and nothing to do with backhanders from R Witherspoons inc, thank you, and take care out there, the floor is either lava or snow, whatever,  we’re way past caring; just click on our links or another cute unicorn will be beheaded.

Devizine Review of 2021; Marginally Better than 2020!

If we recently reviewed Ian Diddams and friends meeting at the Vaults for their annual festive Jackanory, the first article of 2021 was the very same funny fellow reciting his yarn as a live stream from his mocked garden grotto, and in that, surely displays how far weโ€™ve come from the restrictions of lockdown we entered the year with. Though not without the same notion as last Christmas looming over us, like a dirty black shroud, that it was, perhaps, all too soon, and weโ€™ve not seen the backside of the Covid19 yet.

Summarising, 2021 was marginally better than 2020; there were gung-ho moments of throwing caution to the wind, and there were others to make us stop and ponder the consequences of our actions. Thereโ€™s little doubt the world will never be the same for decades to come; social interaction, shopping, even work practises; but we did get to party on occasions, and when it was good, it was really good.

And if it ended with a Boxing Day brawl, I suspect some wished for the bash-a-sab fest. Even police it seems, who would likely send in The Wealdstone Raider to crowd control a Wealdstone V Whitehawk FC game, if given the assignment. Did I predict this when I said โ€œmake no mistake, thereโ€™s a civil war under our noses, which comes to an apex when blood-thirsty predators triumphantly parade their wrongdoing on a day when most of us struggle out of bed to reach the fridge?โ€

Hardly crystal ball stuff, tensions at their highest for rural Wiltshireโ€™s most contradictory dispute, it was on the cards since day dot; when the county voted in a foxhunting Police Crime Commissioner, whose misadventures in drink driving caused him to pull out at a cost of millions to the taxpayer. A calamity most shrugged off with โ€œoh, ha-ha, those naughty Tories, bless โ€˜em.โ€


Allowed Out to Play

It was May before I set foot in a pub, lockdown eased and live music was back on the agenda, albeit with hefty restrictions; early ending times, remain seated, table service, no mingling outside of โ€œbubbles,โ€ and deffo no dancing or singing. It felt awkward to begin with, not quite the same, but it was a start, and who better to kick off proceedings than the brilliant Daybreakers, gracing the trusty Southgate? One could sense the joy from Cath, Gouldy et al, to be singing to an audience once again, proving their dedication to the cause. A handclap emoji just isnโ€™t the same.

For a while then The Southgate remained the only venue in Devizes providing live music, and we thank Deborah, Dave and all staff for working within the rules to create a safe space to be blessed with music; it was like they were on roller-skates at times, up and down the beer garden, ensuring not a mouth was left dry!  

I also ventured out to the Barge at Honeystreet, to see how they were coping with the boundaries too. And what a show The Boot Hill All Stars put on there, under a spacious marquee, so tempting to get up and dance, but couldnโ€™t; mastered foot-tapping though.

The return to some normality for many in Devizes came in clement early June, when Devizes Lions held a fantastic car show, plus, on the Green. With side stalls aplenty, nervously folk began to socially distanced mingle; it was a breath of fresh air and a testament to what can be safely achieved with forward thinking and dedication.

Image by Nick Padmore

By July I made it out a few times, the idea of Vince Bell teaming with the individual performers of The Lost Trades, Phil, Jamie and Tamsin was too much of an irresistible hoedown of local talent to miss, and a third trip to the trusty Southgate to tick TwoManTing off my must-do list also proved to be a memorable evening.

The beginning of August I ventured to TrowVegas to tick another off said list, catching those Roughcut Rebels with new frontman Finley Trusler. They blasted the Greyhound, and didnโ€™t disappoint. The month shifted gear for many, and things simply blossomed like there never was a lockdown. Back-to-back weekends saw both my favourite largescale of 2021, the single-most amazing festival near Marlborough; MantonFest is a real gem, professionally done with a real communal atmosphere, the type perpetual drizzle couldnโ€™t put a downer on. This event wowed.

Back in Devizes, the events of the year were the weekend which followed, sitting nicely between a stripped back version of DOCAโ€™s International Street Festival sprinkled across town, was of course, The Full Tone Festival. Without the refreshing emergence of folk out of lockdown, this would have still been something for the townโ€™s history books, but being as it was, the opportunity to head back out and enjoy life once again, the timing, the best weather, the whole ambience was electric. The time and work gone into pulling this off was absolutely outstanding, and for which folk of Devizes will forever mark it as a celebration of post lockdown.

Awakenings even drew Andy out of hiding by September, and I was overjoyed to have him back on the team, without putting his bag and coat on the hook, he went out to play, reviewing Devizes Musical Theatreโ€™s Gallery of Rogues, and Devizes Town Bandโ€™s Proms in Hillworth Park. Meanwhile I was delighted to see The Wharf Theatre reopen with a fantastic performance of Jesus Christ Superstar.

September also saw the welcome return of Devizes Comedy at the Corn Exchange, and The Long Street Blues Club, who, kicking off with Creedence Clearwater Review, wasted no time catching up with their rescheduled programme of the most excellent blues nights money can buy. Andy covered these, while I ventured to see Kieran J Mooreโ€™s new digs at Trowbridge Town Hall. After a brilliant street art exhibit from Tom Miller, I went to taste the music there, with a most memorable evening from Onika Venus. I returned to the scene in November, for a great gig from ร…lesund with support from Agata.

Other than a trip to the White Horse Opera and Southgate to see Jon Amorโ€™s King Street Turnaround, Andy pitched a tent at Long Street Blues Club, one time shipped out to the Corn Exchange in late November for Focus, which Andy crowned best gig of the year. I made it out to the Cross Keys in Rowde for The Life of Brian Band, and to the Southgate see Strange Folk again, since their fantastic set on Vinyl Realmโ€™s stage at a Street Festival of yore. But October held my best gig of the year, the reasons manyfold, and Iโ€™m lay them on the lineโ€ฆ.

For the outstanding fundraising efforts of the Civic award-winning local supergroup, The Female of the Species, I hold them all up as my heroines, therefore the chance to see them again at Melkshamโ€™s fantastic Assembly Hall too much to miss, and the fact theyโ€™d chosen this time to raise funds for another of my local heroines, Carmela Chillery-Watson, was almost too much to take! With an electric night of awesome danceable covers and a massive raffle, they raised a staggering ยฃ1,763 for Carmelaโ€™s Therapy Fund.

It will never cease to amaze me the selfless lengths our musicians will go to for fundraising. Even after a year and half of closed hospitality and no bread-and-butter gigs, they continue to offer their precious time to help. While events blossomed late this year, and November saw the return of TITCO, and Devizes Arts Festival added a spellbinding mini-autumn-festival with Ronnie Scottโ€™s Jazz Club, Sally Barker and Motown Gold, Devizine continued also to preview events and do what we had being doing to find content during lockdown. Yeah, we rattled some cages with social and political opinion pieces, tasted some great takeaway tucker, and we reviewed recorded music further afield as well as local, but we had a number of feelgood stories, most memorable being things like our snowman competition in January, but there was a project which highlighted the sterling effort from musicians to fundraise, and it will be something Iโ€™ll never forget.

Image: Gail Foster

So, in April I announced we would be putting together a compilation album, fundraising for Juliaโ€™s House Childrenโ€™s Hospices and by late June it was a thing. It was hard work to put together, but Iโ€™m astounded by the plethora of great bands and artists who took the time to send us a tune for inclusion. Knowing time was precious for artists popping out of lockdown, in need to source bookings and rehearse, I only asked them to provide us with an existing tune to prompt their albums, but some went beyond this, giving us exclusive outtakes such as the brilliant Richard Davis & the Dissidents, or some even recorded new songs, like Blondie & Ska, Tom Harris and Neonian.

I picked a staggering forty-six tracks to bind together, to create a boxset so humongous it would need far too many CDs to make it actual, so due to this and the expense of outlaying, it exists as a download on Bandcamp. Think of it as a teaser for the many great acts weโ€™ve supported and reviewed over the years, and for a tenner, it works out under 5p a tune.

For me this was a momentous achievement, and canโ€™t thank them enough. While Iโ€™ve put it out to the right places, to the Gazette & Herald and Fantasy, and airtime on West Wilts Radioโ€™s fantastic Sounds of Wilderness Show, there is obviously more I need to do to get the message out there, as sales have been slow, unfortunately.

I could fathom a number of reasons for this, but in all, weโ€™ve raised approximately ยฃ177 for Juliaโ€™s House, hoping to reach a ยฃ200 target before we send them the money, still sales have waivered off so significantly I feel I need to send what weโ€™ve had so far. Please help us to up the total if youโ€™ve not already bought this fantastic album. Gloom aside I will say Iโ€™m planning a second volume, and already have a few contributions from incredible acts such as Nick Harper, Onika Venus and Catfish.

Returning to events for the last part of the year, While Andy fondly reviewed Focus, I popped into the Corn Exchange for a quick interview with The Lost Trades, and left to attend a great art show at the Shambles. That weekend the Full-Tone Orchestra played Swindonโ€™s Wyvern, and Iโ€™m grateful to Ian Diddams for his review. This is what we need, people, we cannot cover everything, but if youโ€™ve a few words to say about an event or anything local, please, help to make Devizine a comprehensive community, erm, thing!

Of course, one delightful addition to our team TD Rose has been submitting some lovey features, firstly of ramblings, and more recently she made friends with Wiltshire Museum, and reviewed DOCAโ€™s Winter Festival. Thank you so much Tyg, Iโ€™ve yet to meet, but we need to arrange this for the new year.

Image: Chris Dunn

Towards the end of November Andy remained seated at Long Street, I did the rum bar thing. Such a refreshing addition to Devizes, The Muck & Dundar pulled off a blinder with Bristol DJs, The Allergies. This was one smooth funky night, best for an age, and it was great to shake my greying tailfeathers. Both Andy and I finished off the year with a Boot Hill bash at the Southgate, where hip hop misfits Monkey Bizzle supported, and was shocked by Andyโ€™s positive reaction, being more my cup of cheddar, this was an awesome night too!

Kossoff played Long Street, Andy also went to White Horse Operaโ€™s Winter Concert and other than the hugely successful Tractor & Tinsel Run, weโ€™re back to where we started with an Ian Diddamsโ€™ spoken word showdown the Vaults!


On Stats and Boring Stuff

Our Annual Stats Doubled from Last Year!

Having live music back, no matter the limitations was a breath of fresh air. Prior to it I was still scrambling around in the dark as I was in 2020, hunting for something to write about. But I guess a year of lockdown had given me time to contemplate and improve on the content. This boosted the stats, for if 2020 saw a drop in readership, I hoped to better it, and Iโ€™m pleased to announce we had a record amount, well over doubling the figures of 2020. This is awesome news, and I thank everyone for keeping the faith in us, and continuing to support Devizine.

I keep looking at the bar graph of stats, not believing the skyscraper which is 2021. How much weโ€™ve grown, become a โ€œthingโ€ now. Itโ€™s fantastic and I hope we will continue to entertain you. I must stress though, we donโ€™t harass you to subscribe or any rubbish like this, we keep advertising to a minimum, and nothing should pop up and distract your reading, and we uphold the ethos features should be free to the end user.

Yet we do need to maintain some budget to keep the site going. Thatโ€™s currently around ยฃ60 a year; we fund our own beer money, thank you, weโ€™re not MPs, we have no expense forms! So please consider donating to keep Devizine afloat, please donate when sending us an advert, unless it is fundraising. Iโ€™d really like to build up a small fund to get some charity events off the ground, as I believe the artists should be paid for their time considering their predicament too. So, anything extra will go towards this, and promoting the Juliaโ€™s House album.

What can we expect from Devizine in 2022, you might ask; well, if itโ€™s not brokenโ€ฆ…letโ€™s happily bash on shall we?! Thank you all so much for your support over 2021, the stats show weโ€™re heading in the right direction.


On Food

Said this before, but I take pride in repeating myself; food reviews get an enormous response, yet still eateries seem reluctant to come forward. A food review here will do wonders for your sales, and Iโ€™m not just saying that because Iโ€™m a greedy so-and-so. Places weโ€™ve eaten out or takeaways weโ€™ve had which failed to live up to our expectations have not been mentioned. Iโ€™m no Gordon Ramsey and Iโ€™m not about to publish a slagging off. Iโ€™d rather tell you to your face why Iโ€™m not reviewing it!

During lockdowns the takeaway became essential part of a weekend treat for families with nought else to do, and new establishments opened, while pre-existing ones flourished. In January we praised the Massimosโ€™ Pizza, and the following month saw me queuing halfway down a frozzled Nursteed Road for a rather tasty Greek Gyro from the Cosy Kitchen mobile van; such was the popularity of these mobile units during the bleakest of times.

When things begun to open up in April I went for my first vaccination jab, where they told me not to drive for fifteen minutes. They didnโ€™t say go find a new Indian lunchtime takeaway in the Brittox, but we did, and long should Naan Guru live on!

Not much further into the same month, I tracked down The Feisty Fish, a fish n chips van like no other. They donโ€™t come into town being thereโ€™s chip shops here, but track these guys down for the single best gourmet fish n chips you will ever taste, I tell no lie!

June saw a second IndieDay, organised by InDevizes, and prompted people to get out and shop with a bustling farmerโ€™s market, in which I discovered the rosy cheeked benefits of Lavington’s Rutts Lane Cider, and merrily made my way home on the bus! I also had to mention, unsurprisingly to those who know me, that month, that Plankโ€™s Dairies introduced a new locally-sourced organic milk, yogurt and juice range, in sizable and reusable glass bottles, which has proved hugely popular.

Naturally, without a main stage this year, there was a greater interest in the food market at The Devizes Street Festival in August, and the following month we mentioned Devizes Food & Drink Festivalโ€™s Market, where I was reunited with Rutts!

It was July when we discovered Thai-day Friday, and that was just delicious!

Mildly amusing than most, I offered a Battle of the Best Devizes Breakfast, in November, something we need to follow up on when the kids are back in school, as Round One, The Condado Lounge Vs New Society was a popular post. I bloominโ€™ love food, me, yโ€™know, invite me to your cafรฉ, pub or restaurant and Iโ€™ll give you my honest opinion, except I donโ€™t do eggs or liquorice; yuck!


On Music

If Iโ€™ve already mentioned our awesome 4 Juliaโ€™s House project, and all the artists who contributed are in my good books, we also covered a whole heap of new releases. Plus, we started a Song of the Day, where we post a YouTube link for your pleasure, and generally donโ€™t say much else about it, rather waffle on a tangent! But mostly recorded sound reviews waned when live music reopened, still we strive to continue telling you what we like.

Will Lawton

Will Lawton proposed to open a music school, JMW held a lockdown festival in support of musicians, Wiltshire Council asked Gecko for a Road Crossing song and video, and Wiltshire Rural Musicโ€™s announced producing live steams from Trowbridge Town Hall.

Kirsty Clinch announced her music school and book plans, and covered Swindonโ€™s sound system Mid Life Krisisโ€™s live streams. We chatted to The Scribes, announced The Lost Trades Live Stream in Advance of Album Launch, and The Ruzz Guitar Sessions, and Asa Murphy returning to Devizes.

We announced Sheerโ€™s Salem gig, the Dear John Concert Album for War Child, and the bid to help Calne Central. Announced Sheerโ€™s Frank Turner gig at the Cheese & Grain, chatted to Blondie & Ska. Announced Wharf Theatreโ€™s Youth Theatre, Pound Arts Blue Sky Festival, My Dadโ€™s Bigger than Your Dad Festival in tribute to Dave Young. This list goes on, but most enjoyable recently, meeting up with Visual Arts Radio who moved from Frome to Devizes.

We reviewed Terry Edwards Best of Box Set, Ainโ€™t Nobodyโ€™s Business by Ruzz Guitar Blues Revue and Pete Gage, Skates & Wagons, Kirsty Clinch, Small Town Tigers, Django Django, Chole Glover, Araluen and Ariel Posen. Trowbridge DJ and producer Neonian, The Direct Hits, Andy J Williams, Erin Bardwell, Nigel G Lowndes, Mike Clerk, Cutsmith, Timid Deer, and Cult Figures.

Horses of the Gods, Lone Ark & The 18th Parallel, Longcoats, Black Market Dub and The Lost Trades.

Brainiac 5, Sitting Tenants, Stockwell, Storm Jae and Nory, Sam Bishop, Longcoats, The Bakeseys and Elli de Mon.

Liddington Hill, Boom Boom Racoon, Longcoats, Girls Go Ska and Daisy Chapman.

Monkey Bizzle, Webb, The Hawks, Captain Accident & The Disasters, Onika Venus, Death of Guitar Pop, The Burner Band, Mr. B The Gentleman Rhymer, and Scott Lavene.

Spearmint, Captain Rico & The Ghost Band, Sonny Vincent, Freya Beer, Near Jazz Experience, Beans on Toast, Old Habits, and most recently, Paul Lappin! That enough for you?!ย 


On the Social and Political Side

The fate of every nation depended on how their governments dealt with the pandemic, and how the public responded to them. Iโ€™m not here to dwell on international or even national politics, for this is a review of Devizine, what I define loosely as โ€œan entertainment news and events guide,โ€ for the locality of Wiltshire, focussing particularly on our base, Devizes. Yet tenaciously it is linked, undeniably affecting limitations to what we could and couldnโ€™t do. By the very appalling national statistics, despite rolling out vaccinations like no other country, it revealed true horrors of conflicting government decisions, their general disrespect and selfishness for the public theyโ€™re supposed to serve, and the publicโ€™s reaction to them.

Like a blind vacuum, sucking in every government blame game, it never ceases to amaze me keyboard warriors on social media turning culpability onto mainstream media, when their task is purely to report news, and capture the mood of the nation. The mainstream media is ruled by the elite, funding the government, theyโ€™re in bed together, literally. To publicise shortage of goods is informing of a potential issue, they didnโ€™t enforce panic buying, the public did; chicken and egg. Equally, to publish mood change in the majority lost faith in government, is because thereโ€™s a mood change; weโ€™ve lost faith in government.

Iโ€™m not here to say I told you so; Iโ€™ve not lost faith in this government, I had none to start with!

Take the last set of pandemic announcements, made only hours after government-controlled media broke news of Downing Street Christmas parties, best part of twelve months earlier. A day where the public felt betrayed, even those who voted for Bojo and his cronies held their heads in shame and had to confess it was all too much for a government to break rulings it set itself, and party on while the public suffered, and died. The mood was understandably bleak; why should we do what they say when they clearly donโ€™t?

Why, you ask, for crying out loud? To protect ourselves from a global pandemic, numpty! Government announcements are fed counsel from health organisations and medical experts, skewered by bent politics, naturally, but the bullet points are there. It is not the same self-entitled buffoons, theyโ€™re voiceover artists on this occasion; given free reign theyโ€™d have โ€œherd immunity,โ€ against WHO advise.

Can you not see through the wool? The government press released the Downing Street Christmas Party scandal themselves, bang on cue of an announcement, so we would all think precisely that, why should we do what they say when they clearly donโ€™t? If we rebel from their restrictions, weโ€™ve only got ourselves to blame when the virus spreads. The government gets what they always wanted, herd immunity, and theyโ€™ve shifted the blame away from them and onto you, me, and everyone else.

Therefore, we need to take precautions ourselves, be a community, care for others around us. No hard and fast lockdown is needed, if common bloody sense prevailed, but government seem intent to rinse it from our craniums. Weโ€™re not self-service tills, do not robotise us!

We know now how to prevent the virus spreading; keep your distance from others, wear facemasks in public places, follow NHS guidelines in testing and get vaccinated as soon as possible, whether they tell you to or not.

These things should be commonplace, but whenever restrictions ease, like a naughty school-boy triumphantly marching out of detention only to offend again, we forget everything weโ€™ve learned and pay the cost for it. Iโ€™m not preaching like a saint, caged too, I urged for a pint, to lob my facemask into the air, hug, and flaunt the rules when the rules relaxed, at times reflecting if we did the right thing, least if we did it too soon. But itโ€™s done now and we canโ€™t turn the hands of time. If we could, Iโ€™d still be on Castlemorton Common.

Old Skool Rave

In this, one series of articles I was proud of this summer was in reminiscence of my youth, being the thirtieth anniversary of 1991, an explosion for the rave scene. But another similar premise based on news of illegal raves happening in lockdown, was to ask those old skool ravers if theyโ€™d still go raving if there was a similar pandemic in the nineties; with interesting results.

Return of the Rave

And if it sounded like I was defending mainstream media, I wasnโ€™t, only applying a smidgen of sympathy. With Facebook, Twitter et al, media is everyone now; Iโ€™m living proof any idiot can publish a blog and make look it like reputable news! Reason why, I guess, criticising other local outlets always brings hits, the occasion I felt the need to defend Devizes against the sharp eye of local gutter-press Wiltshire Live, proved to be our third most popular article of the year.

Devizes is a great place to live, Tory top-heavy, but thatโ€™s something anyone with an alternative opinion has to unfortunately suck up. Our fourth most popular article this year was in January, breaking the news Tory PCC candidate for Wiltshire, Johnathan Seed, was a bad card. Something as more evidence came to light, namely drink-driving offences, proved to be true, at the time I put my finger on something conflicting in his chat with us, calling anyone who cared to address fox hunting a โ€œtroll,โ€ but requesting we talk on his trespass pledges, blatantly linked to restrict the movement of sabs, the only folk we see actually policing this disgusting and unbelievable smokescreen of trail hunting. Something we covered more recently, suggesting Boxing Day Hunts need better policing.

Moan Iโ€™m bias, yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Do I attempt to hide it like others? Why the hell should I side with anyone butchering wildlife for so-called sport, and in that, why the hell would you?! But hey, I remained impartial during local elections, giving each and every candidate a platform, so there!

Never has a PCC election run with such controversy. Aggravation between sides fired, and we did more than blow the lid off Seedyโ€™s bogus campaign, causing some alarming revelations in local social media bias. Tories back Tories, no matter what theyโ€™ve done wrong, itโ€™s an allegiance to admire, even if you feel itโ€™s malicious. As well as chatting with Lib Dem candidate Liz Webster and independent Mike Rees, we tried a few spoofs: Play the Wiltshire PCC Game, Basil Brush Missing, and upon the Tories hustling in an alternative candidate by stalling the re-election, we ran a short story The Adventures of Police Crime Commissioner Wilko, which was based upon a better received satire, a long-running mock of Wiltshire Council, in The Adventures of Councillor Yellowhead.

At times Mike seemed such a threat to Wiltshireโ€™s Tory totalitarianism, a media attack seemed the best method to deflect people taking the common-sense vote. The first bout came in January, when Mike was barred from volunteering to administer lateral flow Covid tests, the second in July affected me personally as the Devizes Issues Facebook group revealed its fiercely denied bias, by banning me for using a George Orwell quote to express my concern at the taxpayer having to fork four million quid for a re-election which was clearly the Conservative Partyโ€™s fault! Iโ€™m adamant it was justified.

Nineteen-eighty-four was supposed to be a warning, not a fucking self-help guide.

Annoyed, I struck out, naturally, and was begged back, after the full-gone conclusion a Wiltshire majority blindly vote for the blue rosette no matter what! But it was a month after the ban, the smear reached its apex, with all posts about the independent candidate immediately banned and deleted on the popular Facebook group, and anyone complaining were blamed by members for the downfall in Mikeโ€™s success! You canโ€™t make up hypocrisy that nasty.ย 

Tory Devizes Town Councillor Iain Wallis on โ€œthe Devizes Issues.โ€

Itโ€™s not the politics which bothers me as much as the kind of world they envision. Stories of injustice swamped Devizine this year, more than ever before, even our April Foolโ€™s Joke had stark repercussions. 

Every minute an adolescent arm reaches out of a window, unceremoniously handing a bag of fast food to a driver, they nod a thanks, and leave. That seemed to me to be the maximum social interaction of 2020, yet commonplace in modern living, pandemic or not. I recalled going to a Tesco, paid at the pump, masked expressions as I sauntered the aisles, paid at the self-service till and on the way out considered one could live their life in modern times completely unnoticed, months need pass without human contact. My mind meanders if thatโ€™s something young folk actually want, or if theyโ€™ve been robotised, or if itโ€™s an age thing leaving me in a care-home for terminally bewildered.

The best hitting article of the year was again, our April Foolโ€™s Day joke, where this time I misleadingly announced the opening of a McDonalds in Devizes. Maliciously planned, it broke the local internet, and despite suggesting it was All Fools Day in the piece, comments and messages flooded in from headline scanners. In favour of it or not, the debate is such popular the joke was lost on many desperate souls dying for a McFlurry; causing faith, just like Chippenhamโ€™s recent pandemonium for a bucket of battery chicken in gravy, yes, Aldous Huxley was bang-on, many folks do want to live in this commercialised bubble, void of individualism.


On Everything Else

Individualism, free thinking and fair and just causes we stand for here, it is not my fault the many attempts to counteract this seem to come from a conservative ethos, and therefore get criticised for it. Iโ€™m not dead against conservativism, but they seem dead against me, as if weโ€™re supposed to know our place tip our hat and reply, โ€œvery good guvnor, Iโ€™ll bail your shit for a shilling!โ€

My god, how they hate common people who can articulate, thatโ€™sโ€™ why they slash away like Freddy Kruger at the education budget while back the grammar school relaunch. Then keyboard warriors whinge at juvenile delinquency like itโ€™s a new thing and something stringing them up for will somehow solve. Weโ€™re heading into days as dark as the early eighties, perhaps medieval for some, days I remember with a horror in my heart.

The audacious legacy building bashes on with grand and glorious plans, I reported Stonehenge had been saved by the High Court, but they operate above the law and continue to ignore the justice system, plotting to bury a road underneath it, shaking it to ruin, least knocking it of the World Heritage List, for the sake of knocking minutes off commuting times.

I criticised the reality of building a whole new train station miles out of Devizes, against popular opinion, cos Iโ€™ll believe it when I see it, and furthermore, I feel thereโ€™s more pressing issues which looking at. If not our terrible infrastructure, the state of our roads, and the endless chain of bureaucratic nonsense to get the simplest of notions pushed through bumbling pompousness of councillors and apparent do-gooders, itโ€™s the increasing homeless on our streets, the need for Food Banks which the Tories selfishly assume is a good thing, the poverty level submerging a continuous population and the outright condoning of racist, sexist and homophobic acts. Sort them out, and Iโ€™ll gladly stand on Devizes Parkway platform with you, or any other brazen legacy-building pledge you dream up!

Every time Iโ€™m duped, I feel like an idiot, unable to get my message through the red tape. You want a train station, yet I reported the dangerous state of a Wiltshire Council playpark in Rowde, FIVE years ago, and I have to seriously throw my toys out of the pram to get anyone to pay it any attention. In February this year I was delighted, based on my article, Councillor Laura Mayes secured ยฃ20,000 from WC to re-design the playground and she proudly used it to publicise her election pledge.

But still the playpark remains in the same state of disrepair, not a penny pledged has been spent. Whether this is WCโ€™s fault or the Parish Council I donโ€™t know, they got what I suspect they wanted, a successful election result, and my whinging reduced too. Iโ€™ve just lost all faith and interest in continuing to bother with it. You want a train station, huh? Traffic lights at the Black Dog crossroads? A no left turn sign at the top of Dunkirk Hill? Yeah, good luck with that, weโ€™re moving into six years for them to fix a dangerous baseplate of a bouncy chicken in a playpark!

Yet perseverance can pay off; we loved it when Rab Hardie of Duck N Curver broke into Stonehenge to raise awareness of his wish to film a video inside the stone circle, we asked if the Fire & Rescue Service were Cutting Vital Flood Equipment, defended Wiltshire Police from keyboard warriors upset they used a rainbow as their Facebook logo during Pride Month, wished Devizes Lions a happy 50th, supported Joe Brindle on his campaign to save Drews Pond Wood, attended Save Furlong Close protests, added some reflection on the Travellers based in Bromham, praised local artist, Clifton Powell when he was commissioned for English Heritage Exhibition, The African Diaspora in England, had a great time at Breakout, Chippenhamโ€™s Alternative Art Show, congratulated the award-winning British Lion. Crickey, the list goes on; the vast array of subjects weโ€™ve covered, even war memorials which look like bins!

I must be boring you into an early grave, which isnโ€™t the best way to start a new year!

One last thing, we did plenty of spoofs and satirical pieces, too many to name, yet, allโ€™s fair in love and war, and it was a great year; hereโ€™s to 2022! I leave it there before your head explodes!


Wiltshire to Freeze in Ice Age Temperatures, Especially Devizes!

We’ve teamed up with Wiltshire Live to bring you this clickbait and vastly overemphasised weather warning exclusive.….

The MET Office (MET stands for my exaggerated template) forecasts plummeting temperatures are to hit Wiltshire this week, as if it was December or something.

Being our friends at Wiltshire Live detest murder capital of the world, Devizes, so much, I’ve agreed to announce, in our own little fantasy, Devizes will be hit the most of all by the worst snowstorm since the Late Paleozoic ice age, 360 million years ago; so take a scarf if you’re going out.

Iain Wallis’s internet connection froze

Traffic will be severely disrupted, but do not worry, the Wiltshire Live editor and I will be pointlessly live at the scenes of any congestion, adding to the congestion, and proudly wearing the thermal long-johns we bought with the advertising revenue from our last weather warning scare story.

The canal and Crammer will freeze over, taps will cease up, and town councillors are advising not to wee outside like they do, or at least, take the piss.

Ruth and Doug on Monday Market Street, this morning.

The good news is, Greggs say their sausage rolls will be no colder than they usually are. Remember, buy Greggs sausage rolls, because they’re really great and no local small patisery businesses exist, so don’t bother looking for them. This has nothing to do with any sponsorship deal I have with them, and you are liable for suggesting it is, so, see you in court if you think you is a playa and wanna play me, brah.

Rising levels of oxygen during this cold spell, similar to the late Paleozoic icehouse, are due to have major effects on the evolution of plants and animals. Higher oxygen concentration and accompanying higher atmospheric pressure, will enable energetic metabolic processes which will encourage evolution of large land-dwelling and flight vertebrates. This is true, right, and not something I copied and pasted off Wikipedia.

You can expect your pet dogs to super-evolve into woolly mammoths and your cats into saber-toothed tigers by Friday. Teenage door-kicking Tik-Tokkers be warned.

Average Devizes teenage Tik-Tokker meets their match at Hillworth Park ealier this morning

You can expect to see aerial predators evolve in places such as Sidmouth Street, dragonfly-like Meganeura, with a wingspan of 60 to 75 cm, and fangs as sharp as the Wiltshire Live Editor’s wit. These carnivores will eat anything to survive, so keep your eye on your Chick-o-Land kebab at all times if eating outside.

Remember to stay safe by clicking on every article of ours you see shared on Facebook, and don’t forget to comment on our phishing posts, such as find out your eskimo name by adding your first pet’s name with the last 3 digits on the back of your credit card, and your date of birth.

We will be back with another update by this afternoon, whether or not any changes occur, because we have to appease our advertisers.

Battle of the Best Devizes Breakfast Round 1; The Condado Lounge Vs New Society!

Ladies and gentlemen, live from the Market Place, through ongoing bouts, it’s high time to discover who will be the title holder for the heavyweight Devizes breakfast champion. Tonight, in the Little Brittox corner, a newcomer to the competition, weighing in at twelve pounds seventy-five pee, all the way from the The Condado Lounge, the Big Lounge Breakfast!

And in the erm, middling corner, the undefeated heavyweight champion of Devizesโ€™ breakfasts, weighing in at nine pounds and seventy-five pee, ladies and gentlemen, I give you, all the way from New Society, the High Society Breakfast; let’s get belly to rumble!

No messing around, we want a good, clean, fight. There’s gonna be blood, sweat, toast, and perhaps a few tears, but my belly and I are determined to, by left hook or crook, find the best breakfast in ol’ Devizes town; or die trying.

And I feel it goes without saying, first rule of breakfast club, is we talk about breakfast, and secondly, breakfast means breakfast. If I’m patriotic about only one thing, I stipulate it HAS to be a full English breakfast, a large one, without avocado or maple syrup, plated, not squelching from the sides of a bread roll.

Donโ€™t get me wrong, I like pancakes, on Shrove Tuesday, I like a pain au chocolat, as a snack, I like a selection of marmalades, cooked meats and bouncy cheese, for lunch. And for breakfast, yeah, I do every cereal from muesli to Coco-Pops, at home. But when I’m out to eat, in the a.m., there isnโ€™t, and never will be, anything better, worldwide, than a full English cholesterol-hugging breakfast. Correct me if I’m wrong, pancake consuming Yankee-doodle-do.

With something to prove, new kid on the block, The Condado Lounge came out fighting. A wide, open-plan restaurant with dรฉcor a fusion of English pub furnishings and Mexican design, itโ€™s colourful and welcoming. Thereโ€™s comfy sofas and generously distributed seating.

Putting up their dรฉcor guard, New Society is equally welcoming, with a cross between wine bar and grand home kitchen, the partial antique look is wonderfully fitting with the town, and includes the stunning stained-glass window bearing the Devizes crest; evidence this was once the tourist information building. Yet they never did serve sausages, so to hell with them. It is as it has been since it opened its doors two years ago, homely and snug.

The Big Lounge Breakfast dealt some serious body-blows; this was an exceptionally tasty breakfast, tomatoes sprinkled with basil, it struck out with herby double-sausage, eggs and bacon combo, with black pudding, mushrooms, toast on the side and that little pot of baked beans. I must say, all these weโ€™re cooked to perfection. Though it promised hash browns, they didnโ€™t deliver, thus the Big Lounge Breakfast left itself open for retaliation.

Please note, I was too hungry to time out and take snaps, these images are taken from the respective websites and Facebook pages!

Spotting its opportunity, the High Society Breakfast served up a less spiced but equally scrumptious breakfast, with precisely the same items, but posher condiments. While it was clear this was going to be a tough fight, it managed to deliver everything it sworn to, and low and behold, with the addition of hash browns, especially when so crunchy and golden-brownly cooked, it put the Big Lounge Breakfast on the ropes.

But for our first time in there, we were welcomed at the Condado by manager Joel, who expressed his dedication to his customers and staff; the hospitality was convivial despite the busyness. This forced the boxers to the centre of the ring, clinching.

For a moment there was a notion of level-pegging, being New Society also put their baked beans in a pot. I sigh, seemingly standardised practice these days. Warming to concept I originally deemed sacrilege, on the grounds tipping them out is optional. Which I did at the Lounge, to soak up the goodness and bind the meal with their sauce. Though I figured I give leaving them in the vessel a try at New Society, it only ended with flaking bits of dipped hash brown floating in the pot, which was uninvited; Iโ€™m tipping them from now on! Fat was good for you, then it wasn’t, now it is again, who knows what’s what, and when in consumption of a full English, who really cares?

The main thing is taste, and Iโ€™m having trouble deciding, both were great, and both replaced the eggs I donโ€™t care for with another item of my choice, without asking, and this is always a point-scorer for me. But admittedly my tummy felt fuller at New Society, and itโ€™s a biggish one to fill! The Big Lounge Breakfast is forced to the ropes once more!

It is a shame, because The Big Lounge Breakfast put up a good fight, but price-tag has to come into play, and for the consistency in baking a splendid breakfast, it could have gone either way. It must be said, heftily weighing in at ยฃ12.75 against the middle-weight ยฃ9.75, three quid goes a long way in the finale. Therefore, New Societyโ€™s knockout High Society Breakfast dealt the final uppercut, sadly, The Big Lounge Breakfast hit the deck with a thud, the ref threw the baked-bean-stained towel in, and in assuming the hash browns watched helplessly from the kitchen, it was all over, save those cores of the tomato which no one finishes.

Please note, I was too hungry to time out and take snaps, these images are taken from the respective websites and Facebook pages! This is the vegan breakfast at New Society. Very unprofessional of me, I accept, but I didn’t know at the time I would write this; blame a slow news week!

An impressive bout puts New Society top of our leader board, and will go up against the winner of round two, which maybe sometime what with the cost of Christmas to cough up. Unless, of course, your Devizes cafรฉ or restaurant wishes to rise to the challenge sooner and can invite my better half and me to taste your lovely breakfast; do let me know, before I prep porridge!

Wherever there are sausages, you will find me. Wherever bacon is suffering from being undercooked, we’ll be there. Wherever liberty is threatened by beans in pot, you will find… Devizineโ€™s Battle of the Best Devizes Breakfast; it’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it.


Trending….

Snow White Delight: Panto at The Wharf

Treated to a sneaky dress rehearsal of this year’s pantomime at Devizesโ€™ one and only Wharf Theatre last night, if forced to sum it upโ€ฆ

Chatting With Burn The Midnight Oil

Itโ€™s nice to hear when our features attract attention. Salisburyโ€™s Radio Odstock ย picked up on our interview with Devizes band Burn the Midnight Oil andโ€ฆ

Facebookland, Really?

Iโ€™d always imagined a virtual reality internet, but honestly, with Facebook, sorry Meta, (which incidentally sounds like the name of a hard rock magazine,) announcing it will create one, has to bring about an element of slight concern. Itโ€™s not just since Zuckerberg has made the billionaire club his liberal stance has warped into the ultimate conservatism, rather judging by the content and actions of users on Facebook, theyโ€™re best hidden behind a screen.

Donโ€™t get me wrong, I love Facebook, addicted to the bloody thing, canโ€™t keep my fingers off it. I check it at breakfast, lunch and tea. I check it on the loo; if I liked your status today, I probably didnโ€™t actually read it, rather I accidently clicked it while rescuing my phone from the u-bend. I check it night and day, and when Iโ€™m asleep my dreams come over as a newsfeed.

Like many others my initial reaction to the news was jaw-dropping, I was held in awe. The more I think about it, though, I beg you consider, your Facebook feed, in realityโ€ฆ…

If an actual place, Facebookland would be, best guess, an irrelevantly violent place, with a lot of obnoxious bigots. Think how many peopleโ€™s comments you read make you wish you could punch them on the nose, praise be the day you could do it.

As soon as you arrive in Facebookland numpties will be thrusting dishes of food in your face, not offering you any, rather just to show you what theyโ€™re eating. โ€œLook at what my wife made!โ€ Theyโ€™ll bellow, โ€œlook at what I got at Nandos;โ€ for crying out loud.

Cats and other pets will be everywhere, doing cute stunts, and people will demand you watch them. The skyline will be filled with billboards of misinformation and propaganda in block capitals and primary school grammatical errors. Every book or newspaper will be in emoji, everyone will be shouting, few people somehow liking, but not really listening, because theyโ€™re too busy doing their own shouting.

Opinionated keyboard warriors you can punch, Facebookland would resemble a Tekken tag team tournament more than real life. Iโ€™d give Greta Thunberg about thirty seconds in there. Endless chains of people, stopping you to ask if you know what time Lidl is open, can you recommend a carpet fitter, or asking if you know what the handbrake light on their car means. If anything, the internet has lessened idle chitchat between strangers on the street, and you want to head back into a virtual realm where it perpetually occurs? Youโ€™ll be late for work every morning.

Late for work because fifty people stopped you on the street to thrust a photograph of a renowned philosopher in your face, only to ramble off some supposed inspirational quote you doubt they even said. Late because you had a dying need to discover your Star Wars bounty hunter name, by melding letters from your postcode with the name of your first pet, and returning home to find someone ransacked your flat and emptied your piggy bank.

No need for a police force, face it, everyone is a cop, everyone is a robber. Power-hungry group admins acting like bouncers at the door of a nightclub, spammers saunter town like chuggers, eavesdropping your every word. Whisper the word trampoline, I double-dare you, and a hundred frenzied trampoline salesmen will mob you.

My last Facebook Messenger request was a message from a total stranger who felt the need to tell me her โ€œvagina was very beautiful.โ€ For reasons of account privacy, I ignored it, I get similar messages racing through my spam filter daily. Another one said, โ€œIโ€™m naked, without my clothes,โ€ which in itself is either presumptuous, assuming I donโ€™t know the definition of the word naked, or they have devised some ingenious method of being clothed and naked simultaneously. Imagine these in real life, itโ€™d be harder to ignore. Youโ€™re walking with the wife, and a woman saunters up to you to tell you her vagina was beautiful; where do you look?

Alongside this constant red-light district, life for the beautiful would be an endless building site, where wolf-whistles and chauvinistic taunts ring out perpetually. Thereโ€™s a cathedral of far-right knuckle-draggers and a flat Earth theorists beach cafรฉ; are they the kind of Facebook users I really wish to bump into on the street?

Child free too, Facebookland, teenagers all live separately in Instagramville and Tik-Tok Town, twerking and kicking each otherโ€™s doors. The entire day spent in the park choregraphing a Kayne West move, where bikini-clad chicks are pranked by a twentysomething so-called magician, else trying to craft a diamond sword in a pixilated universe, while a Superman skin is kicking the butts of innocent bystanders on an urban street.

Guess youโ€™ll find me at the gig, where I donโ€™t need put my beer down to clap at the end of the song, just fire off a handclapping emoji. And every so often, people ignore you, because theyโ€™re busy checking their real self in some far-off realm called reality, where everyone lives in a plastic box floating in the ocean; itโ€™ll never catch on, least not until 2030.

And weโ€™ll eat, imaginary humus and iceberg lettuce, drink nettle tea and be merrily, liking each otherโ€™s status updates in real time, remembering those sadly passed over to the other side, Twitter Island; we had to let him go, by the end he was talking in hashtags.

And you thought a holographic Abba concert was annoyingly cutting edge.


Trending…….

The Lost Trades Float on New Single

Iโ€™ve got some gorgeous vocal harmonies currently floating into my ears, as The Lost Trades release their first single since the replacement of Tamsin Quinโ€ฆ

Barrelhouse are Open for Business with New Album

Rolling out a Barrelhouse of fun, you can have blues on the run, tomorrow (7th November) when Marlborough’s finest groovy vintage blues virtuosos Barrelhouse releaseโ€ฆ

Ruzz Guitar Swings With The Dirty Boogie

Bristolโ€™s regular Johnny B Goode, Ruzz Guitar Blues Revue goes full on swing with a new single, a take on The Brian Setzer Orchestraโ€™s 1998โ€ฆ

Real Cheesemakers go Head-to-Head with Professor Elemental in Chippenham

So, youโ€™re planning to go out-out, the decision rests on music or a night of comedy. An unnecessary dilemma, no need for a crystal ball, tarot cards or Paul the psychic octopus, you can do both in the land of chips n ham. In fact, if you happen to own a psychic octopus, this will be right up your street.

Iโ€™ve been waffling on the subject of comical music of recent, reviewing release from Monkey Bizzle, Death of Guitar Pop, Mr B, and Scott Lavene, but hereโ€™s an evening not to be missed for your dancing shoes and funny bone alike.

Professor Elemental

Lord of whimsy himself, Brightonโ€™s steampunk chap-hop artist Professor Elemental, whoโ€™s been in a friendly feud with the very same Mr. B The Gentleman Rhymer, goes head-to-head with Calneโ€™s nonsensical Real Cheesemakers, and the ref will be Chippenhamโ€™s own legend and Edinburgh Festival favourite Wil Hodgson in a night not to be missed or dissed.

The Real Cheesemakers

One randomly selected lyric of Professor Elemental might whet your appetite, โ€œthis oneโ€™s for the crusty festivals and shows, where a fan tries to hug me and I get a dreadlock up my nose,โ€ and honey, heโ€™s got rhymes you havenโ€™t heard yet. Expect hilarity at the Old Town Tavern on 16th October, demand trousers, horses and dinosaurs, tickets are eight quid, a brown one on the door. Facebook yo bad self, tell ’em you want in.


Win 2 free Tickets HERE

Trending…..

Joyrobber Didn’t Want Your Stupid Job Anyway

A second track from local anonymous songwriter Joyrobber has mysteriously appeared online, and heโ€™s bitter about not getting his dream jobโ€ฆ.. If this mysterious dudeโ€™sโ€ฆ

Devizes Chamber Choir Christmas Concert

Itโ€™s not Christmas until the choir sings, and Devizes Chamber Choir intend to do precisely this by announcing their Christmas Concert, as they have doneโ€ฆ

Steatopygous go Septic

If you believe AI, TikTok and the rest of it all suppress Gen Zโ€™s outlets to convey anger and rage, resulting in a generation ofโ€ฆ

The Wurzels To Play At FullTone 2026!

If Devizesโ€™ celebrated FullTone Festival is to relocate to Whistley Roadโ€™s Park Farm for next summerโ€™s extravaganza, what better way to give it the rusticโ€ฆ

DOCAโ€™s Young Urban Digitals

In association with PF Events, Devizes Outdoor Celebratory Arts introduces a Young Urban Digitals course in video mapping and projection mapping for sixteen to twentyโ€ฆ

The Adventures of Police Crime Commissioner Wilko

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.


The Case of the Missing ยฃ1.5 Million. Chapter 1.

Stealthily, he crouched down to Samโ€™s eyelevel, fingered a small pot of black boot polish and smeared the contents unwillingly over Samโ€™s face. โ€œNumpty night ops, I need you in full kit, infra-red goggles, the works,โ€ he ordered. โ€œThis is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill.โ€

In his hard-back chair, Sam reeled back from the new leader, not knowing he was going to be this hands-on. He fearfully mumbled something about pen-pushing, but his trembling made it inaudible to the remaining members of the team.

Wilko stood back up, reached for his war-stick, swung it wildly above the heads of the troops and shaved the last few strands of hair from the top of Daviesโ€™ balding crown. While Davies locked in shock, Wilko bought the baton down firmly on the table-map of Miltshire, precisely landing it close to the village of Potshot.

With swift and certain drive, he manoeuvred ten plastic M4 Sherman tanks across the map to face the centre of the village. โ€œBattalion five CPA, stand by at the pond, 51.3492ยฐ N, 1.9927ยฐ W is that clear?โ€ he commanded, any question was interrogation, rhetorical anyway, fail to comprehend it and you will be called a numpty, or better still, shot.

โ€œGround troops will move in at 06:02, synchronise watches, and back up with battalion six,โ€ he continued, โ€œany of you bender boys cut the shit and bail, I will personally slice you a new arsehole, is that clear?!โ€

All in attendance remained hushed, just nodding with dread.

โ€œNow, Combat Search and Rescue squadrons, Apache, Sikorsky HH-60 Pave Hawk, I need you guys held back by the A362, MRI the surface, carpet bomb, shoot to kill any survivors, joggers and dog walkers; they might be in on it.โ€  

Police chief Andrews sighed, โ€œweโ€™ve only got the one Bell 429 GlobalRanger, and thatโ€™s kind of broken at the moment, thanks to Martin for jumping on the skids.โ€

Sitting in the back, colouring in a Jimbo and the Jetset colouring-in book, Martin giggled, โ€œwas funny thoughโ€ฆ.โ€

โ€œI was just going to send in Sandra,โ€ Andrews explained.

โ€œSandra? Really?โ€ Wilko looked sternly at him, โ€œa woman? Have you lost your balls as well as your mind, Andrews? State your number!โ€

โ€œSir!โ€ Sandra protested.

Wilko pointed at her, โ€œisnโ€™t there some mugs and doughnut plates need washing up in the staff kitchen?!โ€

โ€œWith all due respect, sir,โ€ Andrews retorted, as Sandra threw her jacket on the floor and left, mumbling some rather strong words about how she felt about the new PCC, and about quitting too. โ€œIt is only a teenager who nicked a pork pie from the village community shop!โ€ he added.

โ€œCrime is a disease, chief numpty,โ€ Wilko responded in anger, โ€œI am Miltshireโ€™s cure! First a pork pie, next a full pack of six pasties, then who knows what, the scum will suicide-bomb the Ginstersโ€™ factory. Evidently, you have underestimated the gravity of this crime, as the numpty you quite clearly are. The village of Potshot, chief numpty, what does this suggest to you?โ€

โ€œA, ermโ€ฆ.โ€ Andrews started.

โ€œAn open invitation for junkie scum to congregate,โ€ Wilko rudely interrupted, โ€œthatโ€™s what! This stoned-out dissident has quite obviously been radicalised by far-leftie woke parish councillors, thinks he can satisfy his munchie cravings by outright robbery, and I will not stand idly by while he terrorises good conservative villagers with inexcusable pie theft!โ€

The police force sat silently, with either expressions of confusion, shock or plain astonishment.

โ€œTheft of savoury snacks is equally as significant as smoking crack!โ€ Wilko added.

โ€œTee-hee,โ€ Martin giggled, โ€œyou said crack!โ€

Wilko drew his pistol and open fired, placing a bullet in Martinโ€™s temple, his head collapsing onto the desk in a pool of blood.

โ€œWell, done,โ€ Andrews said, โ€œhe was getting the next round in tonight down the Dog N Duck.โ€

Wilko shifted over to Andrewsโ€™ back, placing his hands gently but threateningly around his neck, โ€œHelmand province, October 18th, 2001; one private, the joker of the pack, told a joke about a man going to the doctors with a bright orange cock, the punchline, something about watching porn and eating Wotzits, caused a recalcitrant uproar within the troop. While they laughed, rebels snuck in, killing two of my best men, chief numpty. With a gunshot to my left leg, I carried their mutilated bodies over my shoulders, across the barren plains of Karabakshi to Turkmenbashi, took control of a Turkish civilian vessel by force, charted passage back to the UK, where I marched nonstop to their respective hometowns of Hull and Newcastle to deliver their remains to their families. As I watched their children break down and cry, deciding it was in their best interest, given their grief, to shoot them and put them out of their misery. So, you see, I will not stand for jokers in my battalion, numpty, they are a liability!โ€

โ€œI erm,โ€ Andrew was lost for words, โ€œI donโ€™t think that sort of thing will happen here, though, just, like, you know, saying?โ€

โ€œAre you disrespecting the service of these men, chief?โ€ Wilko angered.

โ€œNo,โ€ he answered nervously, โ€œmerely saying, itโ€™s just a kid, pinched a porkpie, is all. We need to think intuitively, about the negligeableโ€ฆ…โ€

Receptionist Becky called from the hallway and broke the awkwardness of the moment, โ€œPolice Commissioner, Iโ€™ve a James Seedless on line one for you, sir! He says thereโ€™s been a murder in Broomhamton!โ€

Wiko frowned, โ€œperhaps you think Iโ€™m being unfair, chief numpty? I will not have a man down on my watch, take the thief out by use of extreme force, if necessary or not, itโ€™s the way things will be around here, and if youโ€™re too woke chickenshit, I suggest you join the girl guides instead.โ€

Sincerely sounding, yet in a mocking way, he bowed down to Andrewโ€™s level, โ€œOnce the mission is complete, and the target is eliminated, you will find I am not such a bad person after all, numpty. We shall drink to our new union triumphant, and I will personally pay for some oriental whores, for all of my battalion, from any brothel in Miltshire, your choice.โ€ Producing a digestive biscuit from his top pocket he smiled, โ€œnow, the last one to cover this digestive in their own spunk gets to buy the first round, I need to take this callโ€ฆโ€

About foot, he marched ardently from the room, smashing Davies on his now completely bald head and pointing at the lifeless body of Martin. โ€œYou, numpty, clear up that mess you made!โ€

To be continued……..


Play the Wiltshire PCC Game; Fun for All the Family!

Hereโ€™s a fun and free game to play for all the family over the school holidays, where you can find out which one of you will be the new Wiltshire Police Crime Commissioner!

Well, actually, itโ€™s a bit rubbish. But face it, once our council tax hits the roof to pay the ยฃ1.4 million for another PCC election, after the Tories made what is technically known as a cock-up, you wonโ€™t have the spare cash to buy another board game, so you might just as well print out this game board and make do.

You need five people to play the game, each player decides to take the role of a candidate respectively, no arguing now, not everyone can be Mike.

You will need to find a dice, who do I look like? Rich Uncle Pennybags? This isnโ€™t Waddingtonโ€™s you know. Oh, and some counters too, one for each of the following colour codes:

Blue: Conservative

Red: Labour

Yellow: Lib Dem

Orange: Independent

Murky Grey: Reform

Put your counters at the start and the first to roll a six, starts. Move around the board and the winner is the one who reaches the end first, democratic huh? But beware, if you land on a square corresponding to the colour of your candidate, you must obey the command written on it without question, as real police would. No Dirty Harrys here please; play fair, just like all the real candidates.

Best of luck, and have fun. Just think this could be the first Wiltshire election where the Tories donโ€™t win hands down, but I doubt it, they paid me a backhander to rig the game! If you do win remember to whoop whoop, because that IS da sound of da police.

Gull Able Part 2

Continuing from last week, here’s the second episode of our crime-drama, Gull Able…. if only Netflix was reading this we’d have ourselves a hit series quicker than you can say “mummy, that nasty seagull shate in my ice cream.”


To be continued next Sunday…..if I can be bothered.


Gull Able

Ah, hope you enjoy my new Sunday series, something a little different….

To Be Continued………

How to Discourage a Tory from Coming to your Party!

Now lockdown restrictions are looking to be eased, you might be considering hosting a party.

Given the last thing you need is for a conservative supporter to gate-crash and ruin the atmosphere, weโ€™ve ten handy top tips on how to discourage a tory from attending your bash.

History proves conservative thinkers wouldnโ€™t know a party if it came up to them holding balloons, cracking party poppers and wearing a large and loud T-shirt with โ€œhello, Iโ€™m a party,โ€ written on it in bold, unmistakable letters, unless itโ€™s holding a bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild.

Incredibly thick-skinned at the best of times, if we remember what the best of times was once like, theyโ€™re renowned for failing to comprehend exactly how repugnant and deplorable their ethos generally is. If they sniff a party going on, they might want to attend, if a new series of Game of Thrones hasnโ€™t started on Netflix, blind to the notion theyโ€™re as much wanted there as a touchy-feely leper, or a starved sabre-toothed tiger.  

You know they’ll eat all but one vol-a-vaunt and flaunt about how they’re allowing that one to trickle down. You understand they’ll be loudly scoffing and chortling at anyone unable to afford a tux, or anyone who might arrive in anything less than a seventy-plate Chelsea tractor. You can take it as red, theyโ€™ll boast about their luxurious holidays, and why everyone needs to go to Hilltop Villa, for the sake of the indigenous people of Fiji, and waffle on tedious random tangents about their charity donations are tax deductible, how the footsie 100 is bearing up against their shares, or why everyone should invest in a tax-free wine collection.

Theyโ€™ll gush piffle phrases of management speak and hypocritical twaddle until your other guests excuse themselves and leave, or are physically ill. At its basic level, the majority of Tories are killjoys, fact. You donโ€™t need that, your guests donโ€™t need that either, so we’ve produced a list of budget ideas and accessories to dissuade tory scum from infiltrating your party.

Perhaps you could think of some more; join the tory-bashing fun until they Tweet how theyโ€™re not as wealthy some might think, and were tormented so much they had to book an emergency flight to their Caribbean beach condo for rehab. We can at least hope, but donโ€™t overdo it, lockdown has been hard on them too, furloughed on only eighty percent of their ยฃ80K salary, some with only the single tennis court and a regular sized heated swimming pool and sauna.

Of course, not every Conservative supporter is so wealthy to afford a luxury villa on an exotic island, and many are simply insentiently transformed working-class patriots who digested too much Daily Fail bullshit and think the Queen loves them, and thereโ€™s no better alternative than voting for a party which hates them with a passion, but hides it behind the fat aging arse of a pitiful clown prime minister; there is no hope for them. You could try the tips below, but itโ€™s not guaranteed they will be intelligent enough to take the hint.

 1- In preparation for your partyโ€ฆ.

Capture and hold captive a small number of pheasant prior to your party. If a tory is loitering on your lawn, blagging something along the lines of โ€œTarquin said we were invited, Ho-ha,โ€ secretly release the pheasants and point to them shouting, โ€œI think I just saw some game!โ€ Hey presto, while it may be animal torture, itโ€™s a small price to pay to see your unwanted guests gathering their shooting rifles and not bothering you again.

2- Put a life-sized cardboard cut-out of Jeremy Corbyn by the door.

Infallible this one; cardboard cut-outs of the tory nemesis, grand-wizard JC can be found online. No matter what you think of the dude personally, this will scare the bejesus out of the most lenient tory. Even if you suppose the most lenient, middle-of-the-road kind of tory might be just about acceptable to allow in, a word of warning; once youโ€™ve let one in, theyโ€™ll all want to follow, and behind every half-decent tory, there will unfortunately be a thousand insane bastards behind them.

3- Tell your guests to pretend the cakes were made by Diana Abbott, should a tory ask.

To the average tory, Diana Abbott is the socialist equivalent of Typhoid Mary, who should be deported, and the thought of her afro-Caribbean-rooted fingers kneading dough will sicken them to the core; job done.

4- Tell unwanted tory guests youโ€™re just popping out to Lidl for more gin.

Tories hate affordable supermarkets; Tories are narcissists, and will assume you are a peasant and waddle off muttering something about how much better Tarquinโ€™s, or their own party was, because they used an online Waitrose delivery service and even tipped the driver 20p.

5- Ensure you have invited some Europeans, eastern ones if possible. Failing that, encourage your guests to chat among themselves in French accents.

The last thing a Tory needs to notice is Johnny Foreigner breaking through the toughened border control, and Brexit is a sham. Encourage your guests to discuss how they came for summer fruit-picking jobs, and Tories will automatically find the door.

6- Play music defined as โ€˜Merseybeat.โ€™

Playing music such as the Beatles, Gerry & the Pacemakers and the Searchers, at least until suspicions you might be scousers creep in and they bugger off, is a failsafe. Tories have something against natives of Liverpool, which we need not get into the details of, but suffice it to say, this will work a treat, particularly if you hire a DJ of the LGBT community.

7- Announce the first party game will be truth or dare.

The thought of telling the truth will crumble the even most central-standing tory, and they’ll be making excuses about having to go home to feed the horses. Have their coats ready.

8 – Tell your guests they can camp the night in your garden.

Without official glamping facilities such as electrical hook-up, room service or even four poster beds, the average tory will assume your guests will overstay their invite and you’re effectively setting up a gypsy traveller encampment. They’ll be off to complain to your parish councillor in no time at all, safe in the knowledge racist slurs towards travellers is the last nationwide acceptable form of prejudice other than red-heads.

9- If you spot a Tory gate-crasher, introduce your them to your frontline doctor friend.

It doesnโ€™t matter if youโ€™ve not got a frontline doctor as a friend, beat them at their own game and lie; pretend they are. Initiate a conversation about the NHS, and the gate-crasher will flee the scene because they know a doctor will fact-check from personal experience and their โ€œclappingโ€ fiasco cover will be blown. Many Tories even unbelievably blag that the Conservative government created the health service, to smokescreen the irrepressible desire to privatise it to US companies.

10 – If all else fails, tell anti-Semitic jokes.

It may go against all your stable moral judgements, I know, but you could try this desperate measure as a last resort. Most Tories have the bizarre concept that criticising the actions of an oppressive government committing genocide is somehow racist, possibly to overshadow their own unmerited prejudges. To hear an anti-Semitic joke will misleadingly convince them they were right. Note; it is very simple to convince a tory they are right. With any hope, they will be heading for the door in no time at all, mumbling double standards like, โ€œI told you so, Harry, theyโ€™re all the same these intolerant lefties, just like Hitler,โ€ and you can return to your politically correct and balanced banter as soon as theyโ€™ve driven off in their Range Rover Discovery.


Trending….

Jol Roseโ€™s Ragged Stories

Thereโ€™s albums Iโ€™ll go in blind and either be pleasantly surprised, or not. Then thereโ€™s ones which I know Iโ€™m going to love before the first notes ring out. Quite familiar with Swindonโ€™s beloved Dylanesque singer-songwriter Jol Rose, Ragged Stories is another notch in his sublime discography you simply have to listen to on repeatโ€ฆ.โ€ฆ

โ€œAntony and Cleopatraโ€ at the Rondo Theatre, Larkhall, Bath, October 18th 2025.

by Ian Diddamsimages by Penny Clegg and Shakespeare Live โ€œAntony & Cleopatraโ€ is one of Shakespeareโ€™s four โ€œRoman Playsโ€, and chronologically is set after โ€œJulius Caesarโ€ as the new triumvirs Mark Antony, Octavius and Lepidus between them oversee the Roman Empire. Basically we start with Mark Antony all loved up, and avoiding his duties untilโ€ฆ

Vince Bell in the 21st Century!

Unlike Buck Rogers, who made it to the 25th century six hundred years early, Devizesโ€™ most modest acoustic virtuoso arrives at the 21st just short of twenty-six years late! We’re looking at Vince Bell’s EP, Songs, Poetry and Motivation, as it makes off for a futuristic online adventureโ€ฆ.. Devizes knows โ€œour Springsteenโ€ Vince, loves Vince,โ€ฆ

Stone Circle Music Events Wiltshire Music Awards 2025: Programme

Less than a week to go until the first ever Stone Circle Music Events’ Wiltshire Music Awards at the Corn Exchange, Devizes. We’re not printing a programme of events, so here’s everything you need to know about the ceremony this coming weekend….exciting, isn’t it?! Firstly, all tickets have now sold out, sorry! But if you’reโ€ฆ

Deadlight Dance New Single: Gloss

You go cover yourself in hormone messing phthalates, toxic formaldehyde, or even I Can’t Believe It’s Not Body Butter, if you wish, but it’s all the same soap but in a different bottle to me. Lab mice with slap and economical slaves in sweatshops, so unethical multinational bastards can prey on your vanity, when unlessโ€ฆ

Things to Do During Halloween Half Term

The spookiest of half terms is nearly upon us again; kids excited, parents not quite so much! But hey, as well as Halloween, here’s what family fun and activities we’ve found locally to pass the time, save on Haribo and prevent wine 0’clock overloading….. There’s a list of pumpkin patches at the end! What moreโ€ฆ

โ€œA Bunch of Amateursโ€ at the Wharf Theatre, Devizes, October 13th-18th 2025.

by Ian Diddamsimages by Chris Watkins Media and Ian Diddams Whilst probably best known for his editorship of โ€œPrivate Eyeโ€ magazine and thirty-five years as a team captain on the BBCโ€™s wonderfully satirical โ€œHave I Got News For Youโ€, Ian Hislop has also over time turned his focus to screen and playwriting. Amongst the fiveโ€ฆ

Danny Kruger Set To Destroy Imaginary Religion

Dunno bout you, but I’ve still not gotten over the horror a majority in Marlborough blindly voted him in. Or even that he doesn’t believe women have the right to decide what to do with their own bodies, but after Clactonising his Wiltshire constituency despite their unwillingness to join the Black Shirts, their reborn fascistโ€ฆ

JP Oldfield & Deadlight Dance Down The Cellar

I mean, Devizes own contemporary blues throwback, JP is getting bookings, and rightly so. He’s off to Trowbridgeโ€™s Lamb next Saturday for a double-bill with Joe Burke. Likewise our favourite Goth duo Deadlight Dance too, Tim showing me some fetching snaps from Friday night’s gig at Frome’s Tree House. But sometimes it’s nice to playโ€ฆ

CrownFest is Back!

Yay! You read it right. After a two year break, CrownFest is back at the Crown in Bishop’s Cannings. So put a big tick onto the 4th July 2026 in your diary, and maybe jot down 1st November this year down too, because thatโ€™s when the first set of fifty early-bird tickets will go onโ€ฆ

Chapter 6: The Adventures of Councillor Yellowhead: The Case of the Pam-Dimensional Pothole

Chapter Six: in which, to much surprise, the Davizes Town Council pull off a viable solution, and we complete this general silliness once and for all.

โ€œYou might be right, for once, man,โ€ Briggs gulped as he stood outside the Davizes Town Hall with his senior chief councillor, the mighty Yellowhead. โ€œThey seem more like the guardians of the galaxy then just the Guardians of Davizes!โ€

โ€œNonsense,โ€ Yellowhead spurted, with his hands on his hips, staring at the great building. โ€œIt was but a joke, not that I’m terribly good at them I’ll be the first to admit, but the satire is in ironic overstatement; they believe they’re as powerful as the guardians of the galaxy, but far from it. They’re actually just a bunch of no-hoping conceited and arrogant do-gooders!โ€

โ€œOh, it’s just the way the town hall is hovering three foot above the ground with a lime green misty light beaming underneath it, is all,โ€ replied Briggs. If he thought the circular design of the Davizes Town Hall resembled the archetypical flying saucer of 1950s B-movies, he did now it was as he said, hovering a foot off the ground with an eerie lime-green light below it.

โ€œDo not allow their silly tricks to fool you, Briggs,โ€ Yellowhead assured, โ€œthey are no more alien than I am Karl Marx.โ€

The fact a tractor beam had engulfed his superior, and was currently dragging him upwards towards the vast opening doors enlightened Briggsโ€™ suspicion, yet it didnโ€™t worry him any more than he thought it might.

โ€œDo not fear, Briggs, neither attempt a rescue. Itโ€™s standard council procedure to apply a tractor-beam and hoist in any suspicious looking strangers,โ€ Yellowhead assured further, โ€œjust another extravagant show of false power tripping! They use it to pull in anyone they suspect might be a challenge to their leadership. The devise was first pioneered by Noel Edmonds, off the telly.โ€

โ€œReally?โ€ Briggs reacted unsurprised, โ€œYou, like, sure it was him?โ€

โ€œLooked like him,โ€ Yellowhead asserted, โ€œyes, same name, and same leftie trimmed grey beard. Even likes telly, put cameras all over town, but the irony is, they used his weapons against him when he signed up as the Labour Party candidate for town council elections, ha-ha!โ€ Then he waved his fist at the building he was being forced up to, and shouted at it, โ€œI’m as tory as you, you flipped out loons! I knew the transfer of obligations from county council to town council would go to your heads; you could’ve given your kids a splashpad, like the folk of Milksham, instead you spend it on this tomfoolery! We will take Pews Bond Wood for this; you’ll see if we don’t! Two hundred new homes for tory voters if you donโ€™t put me down right now!โ€

The tractor beam continued pulling him inwards to the great doors of the town hall, as they opened to accept him. A second tractor beam pulled Briggs in too, it was rather alarming, he very near dropped his spliff. โ€œLike wow, I’m just like, floating man; pass my meds!โ€

โ€œThree hundred houses!โ€ Yellowhead threatened, โ€œand, and an English Defence League HQ if you don’t put me down immediately, I’m warning you!โ€

With the roach resting casually on his chin, Briggs asked a scrawny green alien at the door, โ€œhave you, like, got a light, man?โ€ but all the creature did was lower his halberd and inaudibly communicate his order for them to follow him.

โ€œTelepathy!โ€ Yellowhead grumbled, โ€œI ask you, what other clichรฉs do the Guardians have at their disposal? Pathetic showy arrogance!โ€ And then he addressed the alien, โ€œwe have telepathy at county council level too. Youโ€™re not showing us anything new!โ€

In a vast futuristic hall, sat around a Perspex table on high back chairs, six giant green alien beings with oversized piercing black oval eyes and even more oversized brains, the veins of which were pulsating. Around the edges of them another six nerdy human beings also sat, wearing patterned cardigans and spectacles with thin chains. In unison the aliens spoke in a deep, haunting tone, โ€œwe are the Guardians of the Galaxy!โ€

โ€œTold you so,โ€ Briggs boasted.

โ€œWeโ€™re not!โ€ added one of the human councillors, โ€œwe are the few conservatives trying to take over the independents, and weโ€™ll never get there if I fail to insist, we must push on with the meeting!โ€

A rotund fellow bravely stood up, โ€œI’m only here because I have a non-bias Facebook page with over a thousand likes!โ€ Everyone in the hall ignored him.

โ€œFirstly, Iโ€™d like to raise my point once more,โ€ the original human councillor continued, โ€œthat they are not the Guardians of anything such, they are the so-say Guardians of Davizes, and nothing more!โ€ This amused Yellowhead. It was the first time he had felt any connection to this place.

โ€œWe are the Guardians of the Galaxy!โ€ they bellowed again in unison.

โ€œYou are guardians of nothing more than a few trees in the town’s market place,โ€ Yellowhead stated, โ€œyou pathetic oaths!โ€

โ€œOkay,โ€ the aliens confessed, โ€œwe were guardians of the galaxy, from a planet where trees are sacred. We came here to save the trees, but we liked it so much, we stayed. Something in the water.โ€

โ€œLike duh, cow dung!โ€ Briggs giggled.

โ€œNow listen,โ€ Yellowhead sternly addressed the board. โ€œSomething is terribly amiss here. Your consistency has transformed into a leftie terrorist love-in festival and I donโ€™t give a hoot what stupid game you think you’re playing, but it needs to stop with immediate effect!โ€

โ€œYeah, man,โ€ Briggs added, โ€œI reckon we’re in the wrong dimension!โ€

A county gent in a flat-cap stood up, โ€œI have an objection, this is not on the agenda!โ€

Grouplike, the aliens gave great thought, and finally said unto Yellowhead, โ€œyour complaint will be put forth for discussion shortly. As I can confirm you are from an alternative dimension, just like independents and lefties, your priority to speak is lower than that of our right-wing residents. If you wish to make a point, you must follow the correct procedure. Fill out a complaint form, send it to your local councillor, who will forget about it for a month, then you must resend until they raise it at the monthly meeting, and the council will decide to take a vote on whether to hear it, then if they do, they take the vote and hear it, then it goes out for discussion. The results are published in the minutes and read at the next monthly meeting. Suggestions on how to solve it are discussed, voted on and discussed again. Then, after coffee, the council raises the point itโ€™s been a while since the original complaint, and wonder if itโ€™s all blown over, which hopefully it would have.โ€

โ€œWe, like, just wanted to know,โ€ Briggs started, โ€œif weโ€™ve entered another dimension, or not, if you knew?โ€

โ€œWe have answered that,โ€ they replied in unison. โ€œand it is confirmed. I shall put the resolution to the issue on the agenda. If you would like to fill out a complaint form, send it to your local councillor, resend until they raise it at the monthly meeting, and the council will decide to take a vote on whether to hear it, then if they do, they take the vote and hear it, then it goes out for discussion. The results are published in the minutes and read at the next monthly meeting. Suggestions on how to solve it are discussed, voted on and discussed. Then, the council raises the point itโ€™s been a while since the original complaint, and wonder if itโ€™s all blown over, which hopefully it would have.โ€

โ€œFor the love of Adolf Hitler!โ€ sighed Yellowhead.       

The aliens addressed the flat-cap country gent, โ€œyou may say your piece, Alf.โ€

โ€œOh, yes your highness,โ€ Alf mumbled under his overgrown moustache. โ€œI propose the building of a six-by-four shed in my back garden.โ€

โ€œNo chance!โ€ interrupted Yellowhead, โ€œas chief county councillor I take presidency over all here, and I say no, that land is, erm, protected, because of a rare breed of newts found there.โ€

โ€œYet in your own dimension, councillor Yellowhead,โ€ the aliens retorted, โ€œyour council have passed the building contract for over five hundred houses on the very field behind Alf’s premises, precisely where the newts were discovered.โ€

โ€œPoppycock!โ€ Yellowhead blurted, โ€œit’s the newts we want to protect, it has nothing to do with any such backhander from the building company I’ll receive. How dare you even suggest it! Now, our situation is far more urgent and I demand it takes priority!โ€

โ€œWe have other urgent matters on the agenda,โ€ the aliens claimed. โ€œGavin wants an extension to his garage, and Mabel is hoping to campaign to clean the areas of interest road signs. Please, we must adhere to the schedule, I have outlined what you must do, do not anger the chair.โ€

โ€œHow can you, like, anger a chair?โ€ Briggs giggled, โ€œcall it a pouffe?!โ€

The rotund man stood up and pleaded before the Guardians, โ€œplease, I beg of you, spare my fellow conservative any pain, he know not what he say, he know not what he do. He hasnโ€™t even got a Facebook page.โ€

โ€œIf my point is not heard soon,โ€ Yellowhead demanded, โ€œmy head will explode with the influx of leftism bureaucracies, there is only so much utter piffle my mind can take. I say burn Alfโ€™s shed to the ground, Gavin clearly wants an extension to his manhood, and I would smash Mabel in the chops with a filthy area of interest road sign!โ€

โ€œThen,โ€ the Guardians spoke, โ€œlet us pass this notion, so we can move forward.โ€

โ€œWhatever! Just get on with it.โ€

โ€œPermission for Alf’s shed is passed. You may build your shed Alf,โ€ the Guardians said.

Alf was grateful and stood down.

โ€œNow, Mr Yellowhead,โ€ they addressed our hero. โ€œI shall call you, as your councillor title means nothing here. Your monkey is correct when it surmised you slipped into another dimension when you fell through a porthole. The idea of inter-dimension tourism is too much for your council to accept, so they disguised them as potholes many years ago. The multiverse is real, hence the obscene number of potholes. We can, and regularly do pass through the portholes, but we cannot send you back through them. Not without the cognisant of the full council, a subject which could take decades following aforementioned procedures.โ€

โ€œThat I donโ€™t doubt!โ€ Yellowhead stated. โ€œMiltshire Council could have closed twelve care homes by now!โ€ 

โ€œIt’s the interfering conservatives in our council,โ€ the Guardians claimed, โ€œthey’ll claim to be doing something about an issue, but if there’s nothing in it for them….โ€

โ€œOh, but there is,โ€ Yellowhead affirmed, โ€œto get me off their backs! How they, and you for that matter, let things get so utterly low and leftie is beyond me. Do you realise there is graffiti on the walls of the Corn Exchange?โ€

โ€œIt is not known as that here,โ€ one conservative councillor added.

โ€œNo,โ€ informed Briggs, โ€œthey call it the Porn Exchange here. Blooming marvellous, spent hours in there the other day.โ€

โ€œThe graffiti is by a top artist known as Banky. His pieces are highly sort after in the art world. He is the only bank the council trust,โ€ the Guardians explained.

โ€œFilth! Get rid of it, paint over it immediately!โ€ Yellowhead demanded.

โ€œWe would rather proceed with the process of getting you back to your own dimension,โ€ the aliens sighed, โ€œyou don’t fit in here.โ€ It was a hard pill to swallow, to accept you fit in less on your home planet than a bunch of aliens, but Yellowhead was that thick-skinned, and never really watched sci-fi anyway.

โ€œGood,โ€ he stated, โ€œand what do you imbeciles propose to do that, being you said you cannot send us back?โ€

โ€œNot through dimensions, no,โ€ the aliens replied, โ€œbut we can send you back in time, back to the point just before you fell into the porthole. We can send a carrier pigeon to give you a message, a message you yourself will write in your own handwriting, fully convincing your previous self not to enter the pothole. You will have no memory of this ever happening, see?โ€

Yellowhead thought about it and was shocked not to see any issue with it. In fact, it sounded better than he wished for, not knowing anything about this sick world full of lefties. Even in his own dimension he had some keyboard warrior disciples of Corbyn, and but it was nothing compared to this. โ€œYes, that sounds, adequate. Briggs will fill in the finer details.โ€

โ€œI’m, like staying here, man.โ€

โ€œYou most certainly are not, Briggs, will escort me back to our own dimension and through a series of painful electroshock treatments and Morrisey songs on repeat, you will reform back to a conservative attitude and pledge your allegiance to Sir Boris Johnson, and beg that he forgives you for your sins. And you can remove those nipple rings too!โ€

The rotund fellow waddled forward with a pen and paper. โ€œWrite your message to yourself on here. It will be in strict confidence what you chose to write, but you should refrain from explaining why. To provide information about the potholes to your former self could prove disastrous to the space time continuum and implode all known dimensions, including your own. Furthermore, and even more importantly, if you post any news of it on my Facebook page, I’ll ban you outright.โ€

โ€œPetty Facebook group admins,โ€ Yellowhead laughed in his face. โ€œGive them an inch of responsibility and they think they’re Mark Zuckerberg. Just give me the paper, fatso.โ€ Yellowhead thought for less than two seconds, then scribbled out a message to his former self. He rolled it into a scroll, tittered, and handed it back to the fellow. โ€œDone! Now, how do you alien cretins propose to send us back in time?โ€

โ€œVia a DeLorean which when it, like, hits 88mph,โ€ Briggs anticipated, โ€œwe catch fire and travel through time, I’m hoping.โ€

โ€œAre you kidding?โ€ the Guardians frowned. โ€œHitting anything near 58mph on Miltshire roads is taking your life in your own hands! The likelihood of you falling into another porthole and into another dimension is virtually a given thing. We will do it by chanting a scared Guardian verse from ancient times, around the sacred pyramid of Albion Place.โ€

โ€œGreat,โ€ Briggs said, โ€œI’ll be able to smoke my last joint on the way. Care to partake, Yellow, it’ll make you mellow, or at least slightly mellower?โ€

โ€œHave you completely lost your mind, Briggs?โ€

Briggs laughed, โ€œIโ€™m not the one with an alien tentacle stuck on my bonce!โ€ Which was true, at least.

โ€œFirstly,โ€ one Guardian continued, reaching out a long tentacle and affixing it onto Yellowheadโ€™s yellow forehead, โ€œyou must be implanted with the notion find love for your fellow man, and take heed of all godโ€™s creatures, for they may hold a message for you. This will ensure you notice the pigeon is carrying a message. As a complete ignoramus towards all forms of life, there is a danger you will shoe it away.โ€

They marched down to Albion Place quite silently. Even Yellowhead was concerned about mind meddling aliens controlling him. He was usually the one controlling everyone else. Suddenly, after only a small chant, Briggs called out, โ€œoh wow, far out! Just like, like, like dreaming, man!โ€

โ€œDonโ€™t be a dreamer, Briggs,โ€ Yellowhead snarled but was unsure why he said it, โ€œwe donโ€™t have a bottomless pit of funding.โ€

Briggs pulled the van over. The potholes here resembled an asteroid impact zone. โ€œThis will save us some pennies,โ€ Yellowhead observed, โ€œsomething to do other than blasted Zoom meetings. Cut out the middleman, Highways Agency are a hinderance on our budget,โ€ he stated as he gulped Briggsโ€™ Bollinger. โ€œIf a jobโ€™s worth doingโ€ฆ. Now, get out and spray a yellow circle around that one!โ€

Briggs got out to paint the circle, despite not be trained. Yellowhead followed suit, to fart. Briggs opened the vanโ€™s rear doors and climbed inside to fetch the spray paint canisters. Councillor Nora Fayes popped up from behind some road signs. Briggs jumped out of his skin. โ€œSay anything to Yellowhead and Iโ€™ll do you!โ€ she claimed, yielding a hunterโ€™s dagger and pointing at him in a threatening manner. โ€œYou, kid,โ€ she added, โ€œare worth so much more than Yellowheadโ€™s plaything. You will go up to the pothole, and you will fall into it, making it look like an accident. Do I make myself perfectly clear?โ€

โ€œUm, yes, I suppose,โ€ Briggs confirmed, and he stepped out of the van. He looked rather flushed, but Yellowhead failed to notice it. Nora peaked through the gap of the vanโ€™s backdoors and startled.

She saw a gull, of all things. It had descended upon Yellowhead and was frantically fluttering around his head. He considered shoeing it off with his arm, when a random and unsolicited thought occurred to him: find love for your fellow man, and take heed of all godโ€™s creatures, for they may hold a message for you.

Yellowhead questioned his own thoughts as he grabbed hold of the gull, mumbled something about leftie snowflakes invading his psyche via telepathy being the final straw, and yelped, โ€œNora! Where are you when we need you the most?!โ€

โ€œGull!โ€ shouted Nora, bursting from the van and taking Yellowhead unsuspectingly. She ran directly at the bird with angry expression of hate and murder.

โ€œFind love for your fellow man,โ€ Yellowhead called, โ€œand take heed of all godโ€™s creatures.โ€ And he pulled off a message attached to the gullโ€™s leg, just in time before Nora pounced on it and bludgeoned it with the dagger. Blood filled her face as she buried it into to the dead bird, feeding off of its meat.

โ€œItโ€™s quite a deep one,โ€ Briggs observed the pothole. โ€œMaybe pop a cone in it?โ€

โ€œYes, yes, whatever!โ€ belched Yellowhead, the kerfuffle and also, the fresh air taking effect on his drunkenness. โ€œYou are sick, woman!โ€ he said as he ignored her from here on whence, and read the message.

Briggs dropped the cone in the centre of the pothole. It floated for a matter of seconds and then sank out of sight into the muddy puddle. โ€œOh, it is deep,โ€ he noted.

โ€œGet that cone out of there!โ€ Yellowhead demanded as he retched up pheasant chunks. โ€œWeโ€™ve not the cash lying around to lose a cone.โ€

Briggs hesitated, then attempted to straddle the puddle, but it was too large. His right foot went partly in, and so he naturally extended his left foot outwards into the centre. Next thing Yellowhead noted was Briggs completely disappearing under the water. โ€œFor the love of Thatcher!โ€ he moaned. For on the note, it expressly told him, whatever he did he should not enter the pothole, in his own writing. On a footnote it said Briggs was a traitor, a leftie dissident, and should he fall in, not to concern himself too much about it. A further footnote, which was not in his handwriting apologised, for not having a carrier pigeon to hand, therefore they would have to make do with a gull.

Yellowhead pulled his phone from his pocket. โ€œYes, itโ€™s me,โ€ he reported, โ€œyes, I will fill out the minutes to the last meeting as soon as I get back. Sorry? Yes, on a mission, yes. Look, this is an emergency, I need a new junior councillor sent out, one with some water wings.โ€

There was a cold silence as Yellowhead listened aghast to his superior. He tutted at Briggsโ€™ stupidity, but supposed he asked for it, his naivety cost him his life out here. It was untamed territory, life was hard. He wasnโ€™t completely inhumane, and he mourned the boyโ€™s death for the best part of ten seconds. โ€œWhat do you mean, the one Iโ€™ve got? Heโ€™s an idiot, sir, with all due respect.โ€ He hung up, put the phone back in his pocket.

Briggs appeared from the opposite side of the van, strangely he wore different clothing, tighter and silver coloured.

โ€œAh, Briggs, good to see you, young fellow!โ€ Yellowhead asserted. โ€œThought you was a goner for a second. But allโ€™s well that ends well. It feels like some enormous mission has come to a final happy ending, despite all weโ€™ve done is drunk some Bollinger, painted a yellow circle around a pothole and sung some flag-waving anthems. But,โ€ he let out a huge belly-laugh, โ€œwhat else is there to do in the day in the life of a Miltshire Councillor?!โ€

And, for this tale it was indeed the end. Yellowhead thought theyโ€™d collect their things and venture back to county hall, maybe strap the insane Nora to the roof rack. However, Briggs seemed distraught, he lobbed a flamethrower at Yellowhead, told him to point it at Nora and fire. Then he rushed into the van, took it into a spin, smashing Nora to the ground. He leapt from the van, dowsed it with petrol, lit it and jumped clean out of the blast zone.

Screaming, the silhouette of Nora in the centre of the blast, amidst a bellowing of black smoke could be seen. โ€œOh, jolly good show, Briggs, youโ€™ve burned Nora alive. Imagine the paperwork now.โ€

โ€œBlast her!โ€ demanded Briggs as he ran for his life.

Yellowhead knotted his brow, โ€œI think sheโ€™s toast, reallyโ€ฆโ€ฆโ€ then he stopped in his tracks, as the figure moved sharply towards him from the burning scene. It retained the shape of Councillor Nora Fayes, but was sparkling, like silver under flame. Red lasers appeared from her eyes and scanned the area, like a robot.

โ€œDear me,โ€ Yellowhead exclaimed, โ€œshe was such a do-gooder, I feared she might turn into a leftie. But an ultramodern cyborg sent to kill me from some apocalyptic future, is nearly as bad.โ€ He open-fired the flamethrower, but it barely left a scratch on her metallic body.

โ€œBriggs, have we any nuclear arms at County Hall?โ€ he asked, โ€œcould do with a couple.โ€

โ€œIโ€™m Briggs,โ€ the man said, reaching out his hand as the robot approached them at speed, โ€œbut not the Briggs you know! Come with me, if you want to live!โ€


That’s all folks, I do hope you enjoyed our fictional fable; worked out alright in the end, kind of!


Trending…..

Six Reasons to Rock in Market Lavington

Alright yeah, itโ€™s a play on band names and thereโ€™s only really two reasons to rock on Friday 17th October at Market Lavington Community Hall;โ€ฆ

Chapter 4: The Adventures of Councillor Yellowhead

The Case of the Pam-Dimensional Pothole

Chapter Four: in which our heroes awake in unusual circumstances.

Recap: Can you stop asking me for a recap, and just read the chapters before this one? I got to keep going over the same shit, just because you cannot be bothered to keep up with the story, is that it? Look, just read the previous chapters, or wait for Spielberg to notice the movie potential of this humble fable, wonโ€™t you? Iโ€™m done with recaps.

There was something divinely erotic being one of thousands of workers in a foetus position, imbibing on one of the many lactating teats of a larvae queen with the head of Margaret Thatcher in a sado-masochistic pupae dungeon, at least to Councillor Yellowhead there was.

Hymenoptera knew their place in the nest and never questioned authority; he liked it here. When the lactose ran dry, theyโ€™d head out for duties without question. Though to Yellowhead feeding was sexually stimulating, he never wished for it to end. He yearned the Gyne would churn her pulp royal jelly once more, but with bellowing, unquestionable authority her words echoed around the chamber, โ€œto those waiting with bated breath for that favourite media catchphrase, the U-churn, I have only one thing to say: You churn if you want to. The ladyโ€™s not for churning!โ€

Yellowhead squirmed with excitement, near ejaculation, as she continued in a less conversant voice, โ€œnow, Mr Speaker, I suggest you wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!โ€ Confusion to the alienness of the accent, saw off his climax, and he felt rejected despair. Yet, somewhere deep in an archive of Yellowheadโ€™s mind, it had familiarity, as if from long lost past, another time, another realm.

Yellowheadโ€™s mouth overwhelmingly tasted of mud, water spurted from deep down his oesophagus and sprayed from his lips. The light hurt his eyes as their lids unlocked involuntarily. The Thatcher Gyne fizzled out of reality, ignoring his pleas to stay, and the equivocal outline of a human head came into his focus. โ€œWake up!โ€ the voice came again, this time he recognised it.

โ€œGet off me this minute, Briggs,โ€ Yellowhead commanded, โ€œyou necrophiliac homosexual!โ€

โ€œYou lost breathing,โ€ Briggs pointed out, highly tense, โ€œand had no pulseโ€ฆ. Iโ€ฆโ€ฆโ€

Yellowhead pulled his torso up and rested on his elbows, โ€œdid you perform CPR on me, Briggs, just answer me that?โ€

โ€œSir,โ€ Briggs implored, โ€œthere was nothing else Iโ€ฆโ€ฆโ€

โ€œYou are a sexual predator, Briggs, a sexual predator of corpses, and I was your prey!โ€

โ€œIt was necessary,โ€ Briggs pleaded his cause, โ€œthere was nothing else I could have done to save you, and sir, I did it, I saved your life!โ€

Yellowhead stood up as Briggs scrambled away from him. Remaining on the tarmac he looked up to his superior, feeling the wrath of his outraged expression. But Yellowhead took a moment to compose himself, and sighed. In a whisper he told Briggs, โ€œyoung man, tell no one of this, for as long as we both shall live. Do I make myself perfectly clear?โ€

โ€œYes, sir, oh yes,โ€ Briggs whimpered, โ€œIโ€™m just glad youโ€™re alive!โ€

Yellowhead bit his bottom lip, it still tasted of sludge. โ€œQuite; well, I must say, I mean, I find it difficult, erm, in a situation, I find, you know, at times I, and there are times, many, of which the erm, timing is not right, but let me say, if I can, that, I, damn, Briggs this is hard, so very hard for me, to, you know, find the right words, but yes, I erm, I thank you, Briggs, for, you know, saving my life!โ€ He sunk in his own admission and self-loathing.

Briggs beamed a smile from ear to ear.

โ€œLook, Briggs, I think thatโ€™s enough for one day,โ€ he confessed while composing himself from his horrid ordeal; showing his gratitude was an unimaginable desolation of his principles and character and an unwarranted prevalence for Yellowhead, the near-death experience wasnโ€™t particularly nice either. โ€œJust paint that yellow circle around the pothole and weโ€™ll be off, I think, Briggs. Thereโ€™s a good fellow.โ€

Herein is where Briggs showed signs of astonishment and confusion. โ€œThatโ€™s the thing, Sir,โ€ he announced, โ€œthere is no pothole!โ€

โ€œWhat are you dribbling about, Briggs?โ€

โ€œThe pothole, all of the potholes, theyโ€™ve all disappeared!โ€

โ€œDonโ€™t be so stuโ€ฆ…โ€ Yellowhead looked around him. Scanning the area which once looked like an asteroid impact site. The A342 appeared untainted, completely even, and not a pothole, rut or divot could be seen as far as the horizon. Yellowhead scratched his bald patch, looked to Briggs for his expression, which was the confused jollity of a maniac headless chicken. He mumbled, double-checked the road, double-checked Briggsโ€™ grin, felt faint, and suggested, โ€œwell, I guess, erm, I guess our work here is done, erm, Briggs, me lad. Letโ€™s head back to Davizes; I think a pint of best is the order of the day.โ€

โ€œBut, sir, how didโ€ฆโ€ฆโ€

โ€œDonโ€™t ask, Briggs.โ€

โ€œBut, sir, the road, it couldnโ€™tโ€ฆโ€ฆโ€

โ€œWhat did I just say Briggs?โ€

โ€œIt couldnโ€™t, like, repair itself, I meaโ€ฆ…โ€

โ€œThatโ€™s an order, Briggs.โ€

 They got to the van, parked just as it was before the incident, but it looked somewhat different. Briggs noted the subtle changes, Yellowhead became outraged by its graphics. He slammed his palm on the side panel. โ€œBriggs?! Why has this van still got our old motto printed on it?โ€

โ€œYou mean the, Where Everybody Matters one?โ€

Yellowhead quivered, โ€œDonโ€™t! Just donโ€™t even say it! We rid ourselves of that slogan some time ago, and for good reason, Briggs!โ€

โ€œBecause itโ€™s untrue, everybody doesnโ€™t matter, sir?โ€

โ€œNO! Because, Briggs, because, thereโ€™s too many letters, it costs too much to keep adding it the vans,โ€ Yellowhead explained, โ€œand thatโ€™s the truth behind that. What really gets my goat up and sends it galloping from its pen, is the stupidity of you to book out an old vehicle with the incorrect graphics, Briggs; these shouldโ€™ve been put out of service years ago.โ€

Briggs stood motionless, his face one of ghostly expression. โ€œSir, I didnโ€™t, thereโ€™s the thing, itโ€™s out thereโ€ฆ.โ€

โ€œDidnโ€™t what, Briggs?โ€ Yellowhead questioned, โ€œthink? You didnโ€™t, Briggs, you didnโ€™t think at all!โ€

โ€œNo, sir, I didnโ€™t take out an old van with the old slogan printed on it. It wasnโ€™t like that when I took it out. In fact, itโ€™s not an old van at all, but a new one. Look, itโ€™s electric-powered!โ€

โ€œYe gods!โ€ cried Yellowhead, โ€œa monstrosity! What low-level leftie scum replaced our vehicle with this, this environmentally-friendly milk float!โ€

Briggs pointed out the horizon. โ€œItโ€™s, erm, not just that, Sir, look!โ€

Yellowhead followed the angle of his pointing, to note across the land was situated tens of wind turbines, their propellers turning by the gentle breeze. โ€œNo!โ€ he screeched, โ€œget Christina Brownie on the phone, development project department, I want names, I want dates; who gave permission to wreak havoc on our beautiful landscape with these, these conservational eyesores?!โ€    

โ€œSir,โ€ Briggs hesitated, but it was the only explanation he could fathom. โ€œI think we were out, you know, drowned in that pothole for longer than we think we were.โ€

As Yellowhead wore an expression of total disbelief and confusion, a horse pulling a gypsy caravan passed by. A gaunt dreadlocked Caucasian youth with full beard and Romany attire called out, โ€œhi there, yโ€™ need any help?โ€

Yellowhead looked up at him with distaste, โ€œnot from you, beatnik heathen! Solstice is not for another two months; get your hippy bandwagon out of our county, or I will be forced to have you removed by force, by our constabulary! For the love of Priti Patel, I thought you lot had been deported to the inferno of abyss you came from?!โ€

The hipster shrugged as the caravan passed by, โ€œsuit yourself!โ€

Yellowhead confessed to Briggs that he didnโ€™t feel well. โ€œI fear Iโ€™m going to puke, if I donโ€™t pass out, Briggs. This overload of leftie growths is like a wart on the backside of Satan, and theyโ€™re making me nauseated.โ€

โ€œMaybe we should get in the van,โ€ Briggs suggested, โ€œand make our way to town. I think you need to see a doctor.โ€

โ€œI am not getting in that van! Not without petrol in it!โ€ Yellowhead least tested the water, by peering in through the window, and outraged, โ€œreformist bastards have replaced my Bollinger for soya milkshakes!โ€

As a succession of eco-friendly traffic, hippy buses and horse drawn gypsy caravans gently passed them by, Briggs supposed, โ€œmaybe itโ€™s always been this way, and weโ€™ve been so wrapped up in our conservative ideology to notice!โ€

โ€œWhat conservative ideology, Briggs, you daft wazzock? Itโ€™s just the natural order of things. Thereโ€™s no obsessive notion to any such right-wing agenda with me,โ€ Yellowhead assured him. โ€œNo, I think this is still part of my dream, the nightmarish end section. I favoured the beginning part most, would you care to imbibe on Thatcherโ€™s teat too, Briggs?โ€

Briggs looked sincerely at Yellowhead. โ€œI think Iโ€™ll give that a miss, sir, if itโ€™s all the same to you?โ€

โ€œAs will I to your requisition I board this eco-fiendly passion wagon!โ€ asserted Yellowhead with arms folded.

โ€œEco-fiendly?โ€ Grant smiled, appealing to his better nature, or searching for it at least. โ€œI see what you did there, clever stuff. You can sing your patriotic hymns all the way to Davizes.โ€

Yellowhead gulped, held his nose and sat in the passenger seat. โ€œYou should note Iโ€™m getting in because there is nothing better to get into. Besides, I am reasonable, you may listen to some pop music, if you wishโ€ฆโ€ฆโ€

โ€œThat is considerate of youโ€ฆ.โ€

โ€œโ€ฆ…provided itโ€™s Morrisey or the Who.โ€

โ€œThe Who?โ€ Briggs laughed, observing the small compact disc selection had mysteriously changed to the likes of the Bob Marely, the Clash, and Crosby, Stills and Nash.

โ€œIndeed!โ€ Yellowhead announced proudly, โ€œgreat bunch of Brexiteers. Boris listens to the Who, he was instructed to listen to the Who, even the lefties said he should. I trust I can let you know, Briggs, I was with him and a bunch of others at the Cheltenham Festival, just last year. We sat in his limo, drinking Chateau Le Pin, snorting a nosebag off the tits of some top brass prostitutes and listening to their greatest hits, when we suddenly realised, they meant The World Health Organisation. Oh, how we laughed!โ€

Briggs sighed, and tried to hold in the notion it was a mistake which caused the spread of Covid19 and the deaths of thousands. Yellowhead was so engaged in his fond memory he had failed to notice the vast changes in Davizes, and how they increased the closer they got to the town centre.

Hordes of youth walked at liberty, grouped they wandered the streets attired in crusty clothing, many with braids or dreadlocks. They were a wider racial demographic then before too, and they mingled with joviality. Houses hung speakers from their windows, and small crowds gathered to dance in the streets below, as DJs spun their tunes. Live acoustic music too was sporadically dispersed along the road, tents hosting wellbeing workshops, Buddhist meditation and Indian head massage. People held up signs for free hugs, others responded. Children ran free without care, playing together and making petty mischief for their own amusement.

By the time they had arrived in the Market Place, gone was the void and the patch of grass. A multitude gathered around a huge stage in the centre, an afro-funk band played lively African rhythms on drums and guitars. Scattered around it were hundreds of stalls, selling a variety of street food and international cuisine, chai, clothes and charity fundraising tents. A comedy marquee sat at one end of the market place, a childrenโ€™s area at the other, with traditional fairground rides rising behind them both. The whole place lit up with the colours of the rainbow, dรฉcor and dress, the smells of food, sweating people, unwashed dogs and cannabis melded and the sounds of joy, laughter and the bass of the music, blended; it resembled a festival. Grant Briggs gulped.

โ€œThere was a time, Briggs, whenโ€ฆ.โ€ Yellowhead continued, then looked up, โ€œwhat in the good name of Mosely is going on here?!โ€ He stuck his head out of the window. Briggs suggested he didnโ€™t, but it was too late. โ€œWhat in the name of Thatcher do you think you beatnik scum are doing?! This is not some Glastonbury love-in, this is a level-headed insular Miltshire market town, full of law-abiding conservatives, you have no right to invade it with your hippy bandwagons and freeloading festivities; now go, clear off before I am forced to inform the police. This is against lockdown restrictions, and even if we werenโ€™t protected from a pandemic, Iโ€™d still enforce the limitations of showcasing what is clearly a leftie act of terrorism on Englandโ€™s green and pleasant land!โ€  

A slender earth mother dressed in a loose Kaftan pointed and giggled, โ€œman, you are like, too funny!โ€ She nudged a fellow next to her. He wore a tie-dye t-shirt, khaki sand shorts and sandals, and was currently engaged in sliding a cold, half-eaten burrito in his wiry beard for safekeeping. โ€œFarquhar, look! Thereโ€™s some street theatre. A delightful comedian, clearly too old to be from the council is shouting abusive satire and pretending to be all anti-alternative, from a mock council van; itโ€™s hilarious!โ€ย ย  ย ย ย ย 

โ€œIโ€™ll give you too old!โ€ Yellowhead screeched back her.

โ€œIs he for real?โ€ Farquhar gasped, โ€œlike hey man, git outta there, thereโ€™s no one allowed to be on the county council aged over twenty-seven!โ€

The earth mother elbowed him in the ribs, โ€œsilly man, itโ€™s a joke, Farquhar, you fool!โ€

The man went for the burrito, โ€œwell, itโ€™s not funny.โ€

Councillor Yellowhead burst from out of the van to parade the area, verbally assaulting everything he saw in such quickfire horror the puss of his global acne turned a fiery red and looked certain to blow at any given moment. Concerned, Briggs followed behind, trying to warn him yet keeping what he considered a safe distance. If the yellowhead was to detonate, Briggs was uncertain of the epicentre of its impact zone.

โ€œThese, these, vehicles are parked here illegally!โ€ Yellowhead ranted, while people formed a circle around him, still believing it was a comedy act of street theatre akin to that of Alf Garnett, though they never had heard of that character. โ€œEven if they have paid the fees, which I highly doubt, and can and will be checking, they are not within the white lined parking spaces. And are these street stalls licenced?โ€ He leaned into a noodle bar, the lady at the counter nodded her head to inquire of his order, but he lambasted her, โ€œlicenced, are you? Permission to be here?โ€

Without waiting for an answer, he begun addressing the crowds once more, too many inconsistences and misconducts were happening at once for him to focus on a particular one. The earth mother and associate known as Farquhar sauntered behind them, still debating if this was a comedy routine or not. โ€œYou are all here illegally!โ€ Yellowhead continued, โ€œMiltshire Council has given no permission for any kind of, of, whatever this is, a hippy love-freak-out festival, you should stay in your homes, watch Netflix!โ€

โ€œHey buddy!โ€ someone called from the crowd, suspicious this was no act, โ€œthis isnโ€™t a festival, this is just an average weekend in Davizes!โ€

Yellowhead spat his words as his face reddened, โ€œit is a Thursday!โ€

โ€œAinโ€™t no one work Fridays, man, not for centuries!โ€ laughed another, imagining the absurdity.

โ€œYou should come here when we do have our monthly market place festivals!โ€ another giggled.

โ€œThe guy is a sham!โ€ the calls came quick and fast;

โ€œI think heโ€™s funny!โ€

 โ€œDo the one about the pandemic again; like, too funny man!โ€

Yellowheadโ€™s yellowhead was spinning. โ€œthe Covid19 pandemic is not a subject for comedy! I am not a comedian, it is very real, and you are contributing to the spread of the virus!โ€

โ€œHa-ha!โ€ the crowds laughed, โ€œthe virus was obliterated a year ago, government closed the country down!โ€

โ€œI remember,โ€ one said, โ€œhow they stopped international airship travel, boats too. I remember how they vaccinated the key workers first, how they only invested in bona-fide companies making protective clothing and how that wonderful app worked so well because they funded the contract to a renowned and established internet organisation! They capped new laws until objections could be heard effectively, ensured immigration was protected, housed the homeless, secured care homes foremost, and yes, it was a hard six months, but with faith in our government and their ability to set a good example by complying to the regulations themselves, we got through it!โ€

Yellowhead was lost for words, confused in mixed emotion. These people were not the extremist anti-governed anarchists he believed them to be. โ€œYes,โ€ he stumbled, โ€œI errm, well, I am glad to hear of your love and respect for the government, but still, this illegal gathering is unlicenced and no permission has been granted by the council to allow it to happen! So, I order to cease your festivities, return to your jobs, if you have one, return to the jobcentre if not!โ€

The crowd laughed once more. โ€œWhere is this guy from?โ€ many questioned, or similar responses.

A nearby dreadlocked crusty leaned into Yellowhead, โ€œyou need to chill, my friend,โ€ causally he offered Yellowhead a large hand-rolled smoking cigarette. It smelt rather exotic to Briggs, who tried to stop the crusty. Yellowhead took a look at the fellow, aghast.

โ€œIs that what I think it is?! Is, is that a cannabis cigar? Is that Tweed you are smoking?โ€ He did not wait for an answer, but yelped to call it to the attention of a casually dressed passing police officer. โ€œArrest this man at once, officer!โ€

The policeman strode towards the commotion. โ€œHand over that spliff!โ€ he demanded.

 The man handed him the smoking implement. The officer took a puff, โ€œwhere did you get this from?โ€ The crusty pointed out a small stall, in front of Greggs. โ€œCheers, I knock off in an hour, might get me some, itโ€™s good shit!โ€

In absolute revulsion Yellowhead quivered, this was the final straw. Briggs warned the officer and the crusty to step back. The chief councillor looked up at the sign for the Greggs bakery, which now read: Greggs Bakery and Riff Raff Spliff Cafรฉ.

Now desperate from leftie surplus and in a state of horrified overload, he turned urgently towards Briggs for assistance. โ€œTell me this is a nightmare, Briggs,โ€ he uttered insanely, โ€œpinch me, punch me, clout my very chops with an iron if you must! Whatever it takes to wake me, I plead, I implore you!โ€

It was at this injunction he noted his assistant had his mouth sealed tight enough to whiten his lips, his cheeks were bulging, and with an unintended giggle, a puff of smoke exited his lips. โ€œBriggs!โ€ he shouted with all his might, โ€œare youโ€ฆโ€ฆโ€

Behind his back, Briggs quickly attempted to pass the joint back to the crusty unnoticed.

โ€œโ€ฆ. Are you?โ€ Yellowhead gasped.

 Briggs turned his head downwards and pointed it away from Yellowhead, to exhale the smoke. It was a pathetic attempt to hide the truth.

โ€œโ€ฆ.. Smokingโ€ฆโ€ฆ.โ€

Briggs looked back at his superior with the fake expression of shame.

โ€œAโ€ฆAโ€ฆ.โ€ Yellowhead enraged, his pimple-head boiled puss at critical mass, โ€œโ€ฆ. Aโ€ฆ. Aโ€ฆ. A whacky-baccy cigar? For crying out loud to the good god Oswald Mosley, man! Are there no depths of depravity you are willing to descend to? Is there no act of villainy you will refute?!โ€

With that, those who took cover were shielded as best as they could. Others, unaware of the explosive nature of Yellowhead were covered in yellow pus.ย ย 

ย ย 


Will our hero councillor survive this weird influx of unlicenced carefree festivities? Just what is going on with the usually conservative town of Davizes, and has the whole world gone as mad as Diana Abbot on nitrous oxide, or is just the moonrakers? Find out in our amazingly liable continuing fable, next Sunday morningโ€ฆ.

Chapter Three: The Adventures of Councillor Yellowhead: The Case of the Pam-Dimensional Pothole

Chapter Three: in which our intrepid heroes arrive in Davizes, stop for refreshments and move onwards to face the mighty potholes of the A342.

Recap: As our heroes head out into the big, wide world and have shaken off the seagull obsessed councillor at Matalan, Yellowhead has pointed out the standard procedure for repairing potholes in the county of Miltshire, and itโ€™s fair to say, itโ€™s quite longwinded. Out story continues, for what itโ€™s worthโ€ฆ.


Councillor Yellowhead snarled at the lack of people parking in the Market Place, as he dismounted his lard from the van. Potential revenue was being lost here, Yellowhead made a mental note, tripling the parking fees would be the best solution, and he need add it to his notes for the next meeting.

From the safety of the driverโ€™s seat, Briggs peered out in wonderment at the goings on in Davizes Market Place, while Chief Councillor Yellowhead ventured outside to fetch some light refreshments. Briggs observed a bus leaving the stop, how pensioners on it seemed to wear their facemasks as chinstraps, and they sneezed on students on the seats in front while brandishing them for not social distancing.

Other than the odd passer-by, and I mean odd, not much was happening. The only gathering appeared to be centred around a tacky layer of fake grass akin to what fruit and veg market stalls used. A few pub benches were busy with coffee drinkers, chatting happily away and breathing carbon monoxide from the few passing cars with affluent drivers able to afford the parking fees. Others circled the town endlessly looking for a free parking spot on-street. Some only popped in for a loaf of bread, the cost of which would be quadrupled if they had to pay the minimum hour parking fee. Others could not understand how to use a smart phone to pay for the parking, ergo no other option was available.

Briggs recalled the memo, it was something the Council promised to fix, maybe, he figured with no clue of his impending fate, when he passes his training, and became a real councillor it was something he could raise at a meeting.

Yellowhead returned laughing hysterically and pointing profusely at a small child who had tripped on the fake grass, which was curled up at the edges. A dog had just urinated on the exact same spot minutes before. He struggled back in the van launching a brown paper bag at Briggs and waving two bottles. โ€œHere you go, partner!โ€ he smiled, โ€œa pheasant and truffle bake, and two bottles of Bollinger!โ€

Briggs looked surprised. โ€œIs that your definition of light refreshment?โ€

โ€œYouโ€™re not wrong, the foie gras and swan bakes were overpriced and my expenses form is already maxed. Just thank the good lord Enoch Powell no snowflake Corbyn legionnaire recognised me; theyโ€™ve still got their knickers in a twist over the traffic lights system on the London Road in this pathetic market town.โ€

โ€œIt just needs a filter light for the traffic heading right,โ€ Briggs observed.

Yellowhead snatched the pheasant bake back. โ€œWatch your step young trainee, weโ€™ve not got that kind of cash lying around for filter lights,โ€ he warned. โ€œNow, head out towards the proposed new railway station site, thereโ€™s a good fellow. We need to prioritise the potholes closer to my house first.โ€          

Briggs shrugged, he wanted to sit and admire the fake grass and white picket fence, which didnโ€™t look at all out of place in a historic and idyllic town centre, not one bit. Yellowhead noted the direction of his gaze. โ€œGhastly, isnโ€™t it?โ€ he sniggered. โ€œThatโ€™s the lively entertainment space those nonces at the town council were forced to put up to keep keyboard warriors from losing their shit over, and still, they lose their shit over it.โ€

He belly-laughed, โ€œAnd they call themselves Guardians! Ha, of all things; Guardian readers more like! Meanwhile we rake in parking fees,โ€ with a huff he scanned the lack of parking in the Market Place, and the traffic building to find on-street free slots, โ€œleast that was the plan; bloody freeloaders.โ€

โ€œWhy they ever accepted your ultimatum, I mean acquisition of duties, sir, is beyond me,โ€ Briggs laughed. โ€œI mean, you just gave them control of all the shit bits Miltshire Council couldnโ€™t be arsed to take responsibly for!โ€

Yellowhead popped the champagne and lugged at the bottle top, clearing quarter of the contents before coming up for air. With a burp he noted, โ€œprecisely Briggs, have your bake back. Because, young padwan, theyโ€™re do-gooding busy-bodies with the political awareness of a hedgehog, in command of an indoctrinated majority willing to blindly conform to Tory totalitarianism. Putty in our hands, Briggs, putty I say.โ€

โ€œThey crave more power; we say they can have control of the swings in the playpark but you must raise two thousand K in parking fees annually; itโ€™s a win-win, really is!โ€ He took another gulp of Bollinger, โ€œthe land out in Rude, by example, Furry-long Close, worth a fucking a mint, but houses adults with so-called learning disabilities. Adults, for crying out loud into Nigel Farageโ€™s blessed lap, if theyโ€™ve not adjusted to real life yet the losers never will. So, we close the facility, blame the charity, and send them out into the real world; itโ€™s easy to convince the majority here itโ€™s in their best interest.โ€

Yellowhead projected his arm across the windscreen, encouraging Briggs to look at the view beyond.  โ€œLook around you, Briggs, look at these imbeciles; the Furry-long Close residents will blend in just fine, and the land is ours for seven thousand luxury homes, and four affordable one bed flats. Iโ€™m on for a new stable if we pull this off, the old couple are looking a bit dated. Youโ€™re welcome to come visit once the pandemic is over, Iโ€™ll have some guttering jobs for you.โ€

Briggs just shrugged, and drove on.

Past the school, Yellowhead continued his rant. โ€œHouses, houses, houses, Briggs my dear fellow, take heed, rich people need houses too. Look at the size of that sports field, and for what, I ask you? Most kids are obese anyway, what do they need a sports field for, dropping empty packets of Wotzits on? They canโ€™t even vote! No, lower the school budget, I say, and the council are mostly unanimous, make them pay for their repairs by selling off that land. The Constabulary headquarters too. Protected wildlife they cry. Why? Tress and fields and country walks, so dog-walkers can hang doggie poo bags on trees?โ€

Briggs just shrugged, and drove on.      

โ€œLook around you now,โ€ Yellowhead demanded, โ€œand tell me what you see?โ€

โ€œFarmland?โ€ Briggs answered, though wondered why he bothered.

โ€œAre you drinking that plonk?โ€ Yellowhead asked, snatching it from the driver and launching his empty bottle out of the window. โ€œI see potential! A railway station, so our lustrous MP Danny Cougar can get to Westminster, a business park, alive with industry, a tunnel under every monument so tourists donโ€™t get a sneak peek of it without paying, a velodrome, Briggs, think about it my boy, a velodrome, a monorail, glass tubes vacuuming people to work, a space shuttle launchpad, the possibilities are endless.โ€

โ€œAffordable homes too, sir? Homeless shelter?โ€

โ€œDonโ€™t be a dreamer, Briggs,โ€ Yellowhead snarled, โ€œwe donโ€™t have a bottomless pit of funding.โ€

As ordered Briggs pulled the van over. The potholes here resembled an asteroid impact zone. โ€œThis will save us some pennies,โ€ Yellowhead observed, โ€œsomething to do other than blasted Zoom meetings. Cut out the middleman, Highways Agency are a hinderance on our budget,โ€ he stated as he gulped Briggsโ€™ Bollinger. โ€œIf a jobโ€™s worth doingโ€ฆ. Now, get out and spray a yellow circle around that one!โ€

Briggs got out to paint the circle, despite not be trained. Yellowhead followed suit, to fart. Briggs opened the vanโ€™s rear doors and climbed inside to fetch the spray paint canisters. Upon his return he looked rather flushed, but Yellowhead failed to notice it. A gull, of all things, had descended upon him and was frantically fluttering around his head. He shoed it off with his arm, when a random and unsolicited thought occurred to him: find love for your fellow man, and take heed of all godโ€™s creatures, for they may hold a message for you.

Yellowhead questioned his own thoughts as he scared the gull away, mumbled something about leftie snowflakes invading his psyche via telepathy being the final straw, and yelped, โ€œNora! Where are you when we need you the most?!โ€

โ€œItโ€™s quite a deep one,โ€ Briggs observed the pothole, despite it was filled with water, so hard to tell exactly how deep. โ€œMaybe pop a cone in it?โ€

โ€œYes, yes, whatever!โ€ belched Yellowhead, the kerfuffle and also, the fresh air taking effect on his drunkenness.

Briggs dropped the cone in the centre of the pothole. It floated for a matter of seconds and then sank out of sight into the muddy puddle. โ€œOh, it is deep,โ€ he noted.

โ€œGet that cone out of there!โ€ Yellowhead demanded as he retched up pheasant chunks. โ€œWeโ€™ve not the cash lying around to lose a cone.โ€

Briggs hesitated, then attempted to straddle the puddle, but it was too large. His right foot went partly in, and so he naturally extended his left foot outwards into the centre. Next thing Yellowhead noted was Briggs completely disappearing under the water. โ€œFor the love of Thatcher!โ€ he moaned to himself, and pulled his phone from his pocket. โ€œYes, itโ€™s me,โ€ he reported, โ€œyes, I will fill out the minutes to the last meeting as soon as I get back. Sorry? Yes, on a mission, yes. Look, this is an emergency, I need a new junior councillor sent out, one with some water wings.โ€

There was a cold silence as Yellowhead listened aghast to his superior. He tutted at Briggsโ€™ stupidity, but supposed he asked for it, his naivety cost him his life out here. It was untamed territory, life was hard. He wasnโ€™t completely inhumane, and he mourned the boyโ€™s death for the best part of ten seconds. โ€œWhat do you mean, the one Iโ€™ve got? Heโ€™s an idiot, sir, with all dueโ€ฆโ€ฆ.โ€

Another cold silence as Yellowhead listened, even more aghast. He gulped, โ€œerm, drowned sir, in a potholeโ€ฆ…Have I what, sir? Well, no, I ermโ€ฆ. Now see here, you cannot seriously be propoโ€ฆ. Yesโ€ฆ… Yes, I know that, butโ€ฆ…paperwork, sir, liable?…… Okay, okay, I will see what I can do!โ€

With that Yellowhead sighed like heโ€™s never sighed before, not even when Tony Blair outlawed fox hunting. He waddled reluctantly to the van, cursing under his breath that lefty altruists had infiltrated the top hierarchy of Miltshire Council and plagued it with a sickening level of compassion. Once there he thrust open the van door, examined the contents of the footwell, considered the quarter-full bottle of Bollinger, exhaled, and selected Noraโ€™s machine-gun.

Waddling over as close to edge the pothole as he could bear, still complaining, he pushed the barrel of the gun into the puddle. โ€œBriggs!โ€ he bellowed, โ€œGrab hold of this!โ€ That was when the gun accidently went off. It had a kick harder than Yellowheadโ€™s hunting rifle, and stunned, it knocked him backwards.

Unaware, perhaps due to his levels of intoxication, that a spray-can obstructed his path, and rolled under his left foot, Yellowhead then fell forwards with a cry out to Churchill to save him, and with a splash he entered headlong into the water.

Tumbling and frantic he gurgled under the water, scrambling to find the edge, but failing. All he discovered was a sunken traffic cone, which promptly bobbed away. The surface seemed unattainable as he gasped for air and the scene fell into a ghostly dark black.


How will our heroes survive the devastating predicament of sinking into a gigantic pothole on the A342, if they have, and would you really want them to, anyway? How much more would it have really cost to put some decking in the Market Place, rather than tacky fake grass? How can you have any faith the council will build these extravagant projects, like spaceship launchpads and train stations, when it cannot even fix a pothole? Find out, or not, next week, on The Adventures of Councillor Yellowhead: The Case of the Pam-Dimensional Pothole!


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Oh Danny Boy!

Oh Danny Boy, oh, Danny Boy, they loved your boyish Eton looks so, but when ye was voted in, an all democracy wasnโ€™t quite dying,โ€ฆ

A Quick Shuffle to Swindon

Milkman hours with grandkids visiting it was inevitable a five hour day shift was all I was physically able to put into this year’s Swindonโ€ฆ

Swindon Branch of Your Party is Growing

Following the excitement and success of the first meeting of โ€˜Your Partyโ€™ in Swindon, a second meeting has been arranged for 18th September 7.30 -โ€ฆ

No Rest For JP Oldfield, New Single Out Today

It’s been six months since Devizes-based young blues crooner JP Oldfield released his poignant kazoo-blowing debut EP Bouffon. He’s made numerous appearances across the circuitโ€ฆ

DOCA’s Early Lantern Workshops

Is it too early for the C word?! Of course not, Grinch! With DOCA’S Winter Festival confirmed for Friday 28th November this year, there willโ€ฆ

McDonalds Coming to Devizes….

Yes, you read it right, itโ€™s been confirmed in a Devizes Town Council Zoom meeting this week, permission has been granted after decades of rejections, to build a McDonalds restaurant on the outskirts of town, and work could be starting as early as July.

In an exclusive conversation with MP for the Devizes district, Danny Kruger said he is delighted at the news. โ€œWith the Devizes Gateway station proposal looking likely,โ€ Mr Kruger explained, โ€œthis will be of great benefit to the townโ€™s economy, will provide jobs for local chavs, thickos and acne-covered juvenile delinquents, and will also fill in all the potholes along the main road with discarded slices of pickles.โ€

โ€œFace it,โ€ he continued as if someone cared, โ€œno one is going to stop off to visit Devizes if they look out of the train window and see the Lydeway as it currently stands; all muddy fields and an elderly trailer trash park. No, people need to see the golden arches, they need to know they can get a Big Mac, or a Fillet oโ€™ Fish. Heck, when I get back from Westminster, all I crave is a nice Twirl McFlurry, but no, not here, pal; whad up wid dat shit?โ€ย 

Danny K is Lovin’ It; you will too!

Despite the train station project not being complete until a predicted 2025, local franchiser and entrepreneur, Mr Michael Hunt of The Bottom, Urchfont has pushed for development of the land surrounding the site into a multi-purpose entertainment complex, with many other facilities, including chain restaurants Wagamama and Nandos, as well as a multiplex cinema, and an American style bowling arena, with a regular free bus service from the town centre and surrounding villages. But, for Mr Hunt, construction of the McDonalds is paramount and prioritised. โ€œIโ€™ve given the Town Council an ultimatum,โ€ he claimed, โ€œbuild a Maccy Dโ€™s now, or businesses will shift out of the area long before the first train stops here.โ€

Asked if Mr Hunt is laying down a rather rigid and uncompromising petition to the Council, who have rejected many past proposals of having the fast-food giants in town, Mr Kruger replied, โ€œNo way, Mike Hunt is a softy. Anyone can enter [the debate] and slip their piece into it.โ€

Therefore, local busy-body Liam Wallis, no stranger to a burger or three himself, has set up a steering group on Facebook, The Devizes McIssue, here, where tory partisans can air their views, but has warned members of the group he wonโ€™t stand for personal attacks on the businessman, who is known for making outlandish claims. โ€œI love his proposal of having a McDonalds,โ€ he cried, โ€œbut many locals see my Mike Hunt and laugh. I will not have Mike Hunt compromised, if people come to stick two fingers up,โ€ he demanded, โ€œthey will be banned from the group.โ€

Clerk for the Town Council has spoken negatively about the idea, but feels they have no choice. โ€œWe donโ€™t think itโ€™s time to change our traditionist ethos and move with the times. But Mike Hunt is big, and hairy, and everyone on the council is afraid. Heโ€™s not just some tittering schoolboy bloggerโ€™s running joke wearing very thin, and one which, I might add, will undoubtedly get him in a lot of trouble. He is a risk to everything we stand for, and Chick-o-Land. I went to a McDonalds once, when I was about twenty- eight, or was that The Michelin star Hand & Flowers in Marlow? Oh, whatever, they gave me this cheap plastic toy with my meal, and it broke within five minutes of playing with it and I cried all the way home, and my mum told me off. Is that the kind of fiasco we need for our children?โ€

You can join the Facebook debate group, and give your views, by clicking here. Perhaps you think a McDonalds is well peng and you is lovinโ€™ it, or is as unlikely as a train station, or maybe symbolic of an undesirable insignia of mass US commercialisation, an institute of Satan, or maybe you just prefer the gravy in KFC.

Or perhaps, youโ€™re bitter because I led you up a garden path and everything Iโ€™ve said, if youโ€™ve bothered to read this far, is simply an April Foolโ€™s joke, and now, right, youโ€™ve got a craving for a thick shake. Well, friend, youโ€™ve gotta, like, get out of your onesie to drive to the Sham, else chance an underpaid Deliveroo driver will enter our Tory haven with gun-toting rednecks waiting to pick them off in the hills of Bromham.

Oh, and if you get to the Sham, be sure to adhere to the local tradition of jettisoning your mountain of waste packaging out of the passenger window onto the leafy lane of a quiet, unsuspecting village at three in the morning, you know, so your mum doesnโ€™t see it and tell you off. Yeah, I like your cut G, you is Chuck Norris gangsta. Big up Danny K for gittinโ€™ us a golden arches!


The Adventures of Councillor Yellowhead: The Case of the Pam-Dimensional Pothole Chapter Two.

Chapter Two: in which we meet the gunman, and Councillor Yellowhead heads out for the mission.

Thought Iโ€™d present a weekly story feature, for Sunday entertainment during lockdownโ€ฆ. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the authorโ€™s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Read the first chapter here, if you missed it, else carry on reading for a recap…..

Recap: meeting our intrepid hero, the firm-but-fair Councillor Yellowhead and his trusty sidekick, Grant Briggs at Miltshire County Hall, the chief councillor expressed he had an important mission, but spent too much time insulting the enlisted men, arguing on his state-of-the-art Nokia with the Chief Crime Commissioner, and generally being an arse, to reveal the nature of the mission. Then, a mysterious lone gunman entered the quarters to fire off a machine gun. Thatโ€™s about the short of it. Our story continuesโ€ฆโ€ฆ. 


In the aftermath of machinegun fire, a stony hush filled the quarters, and through the dense smoke, a petite woman appeared. Emotionally frozen, the enlisted men gazed up to her from their hiding places, behind the beds of their dormitory. Councillor Yellowhead pouted in disbelief and turned to his imaginary camera to address it. โ€œReally? Strong female characters now; what depths of depraved political correctness and predictable clichรฉ will this story descend to? Itโ€™s becoming nearly as leftie-snowflake as Star Trek Discovery.โ€

Lowering her machinegun to her side, the strong female character required for this politically correct story sucked her bottom lip and growled, โ€œwhere are they?!โ€

โ€œWhere are who, Nora Fayes?โ€ Yellowhead inquired sarcastically.

She stormed up to him, aiming the barrel of the gun at his nose, a tiny amount of yellow puss dribbled out of it. โ€œYou know full well who, the seagulls! I saw them coming this way. If I have to go through you to get to them, so be it!โ€

โ€œThis is becoming something of an obsession for you, councillor,โ€ Yellowhead uncompromising expressed, raising his face from his palm. โ€œYou did your public survey, youโ€™ve announced your abhorrence for gulls, and still fail to note, despite umpteen amendments to the minutes of numerous meetings, thereโ€™s no such thing as seagulls, just gulls. We are inland, councillor, do not let Bythesea Road fool you, it doesn’t mean itโ€™s actually by the sea. We are not harbouring birds of any species, here in the enlisted menโ€™s quarters, much to their reasonable disappointment. Now, if youโ€™ll excuse us, we are very busy. My colleague here, and I are preparing for a mission of high priority!โ€

Slightly insanely, and continuing to aim her rifle at the chief, she circled him, โ€œyou donโ€™t look like RSPB, but you cannot trust anyone.โ€ Nora took Briggโ€™s collar by the fist and curled him closer to her. As he gawked in shock, she popped a small pill into his mouth and spoke sincerely to Briggs. โ€œTheyโ€™re everywhere, infiltrating their way into society. Do not trust anyone, especially if they have bird poop on their shoulder. If captured do not repeat what I am telling you, if they interrogate you, bite down on this pill, itโ€™s cyanide!โ€

โ€œErm,โ€ responded Briggs, โ€œthanks, I think.โ€

โ€œPay her no attention, Briggs,โ€ Yellowhead ordered, โ€œsheโ€™s cuckoo.โ€

โ€œWhere?!โ€ demanded Nora, spinning to reface Yellowhead, her gun aimlessly free to wander. โ€œWhereโ€™s the cuckoo, if I canโ€™t bag me a seagull, Iโ€™ll make do with a cuckoo, Iโ€™ll paint the fucker white!โ€

โ€œYou are insane, quite clearly!โ€ suggested Yellowhead.

โ€œYou are the one who lives in Cuckoo Close,โ€ she accused the chief, and he couldnโ€™t deny it.

โ€œI happen to like Urchfunk,โ€ he informed her, โ€œa place so posh, even the road signs are thatched!โ€

โ€œI saved a Miltshire Council owned childrenโ€™s playpark in the village of Rude, from dangerous dilapidations by convincing the parish council to take it sold as seen, with our blood money,โ€ she reminded him, โ€œwhereas Urchfunk gets its own doggie playground ten times the size, and better equipped; where is the justice in that?!โ€

Yellowhead frowned and took hold of the barrel, pointing it to his temple. โ€œDo it, Nora, and my ghost will see to it that it never gets a slide, and the bouncy chicken replaced. There will be not so much as a tacky noughts and crosses block plaything! Playgrounds have always been, and will continue to be as long as I am in command of Miltshire Council, covered in bird shit. It helps build a childโ€™s immune system. Seagulls are a major contributor to this. Now, should you not reconsider and defer, then you just jolly well open fire!โ€

Nora trembled in fear, weighing her options as the barrel wobbled under her anxiety. The tension was at its apex, Yellowhead encouraged her. โ€œGo on then, Fayes, pull that trigger, finish me for good; you know you want to!โ€

She thought again, of the paperwork involved, and lowered the gun. Yellowhead snatched it off her. โ€œHa! Strong female character indeed,โ€ he bellowed with laughter, slapping her behind. โ€œNow jog along, and donโ€™t worry your pretty little face about the gulls. There must be something that needs a good scrub around here, or you could join Hannah Curthbart, sheโ€™s finally turned up for work and is doing the dishes in the kitchen.โ€

She scurried off, as Yellowhead threw the gun on Grantโ€™s cot. โ€œTake this with us, Briggs, it may come in handy when dealing with leftie terrorists subverted into the general public.โ€

โ€œThat was well handled, sir,โ€ Briggs thought it proper to say, despite not believing it himself. If he wasnโ€™t so profuse forming his own opinions, he would be ideal for total conservative emersion, his lie proved this. 

โ€œThank you,โ€ Yellowhead replied, grasping him on the shoulder in a friendly manner, โ€œIโ€™m warming to you, Briggs, I must say. To think weโ€™ll be out there, in the field together, fighting the good fight.โ€ As he said this, he begun to take off his uniform. โ€œWe leave no man behind, Briggs, no retreat, no surrender. We will fight aside each other, eat from the same can, sleep cold nights on the same makeshift beds.โ€

Briggs considered biting on the cyanide.

โ€œI think you’ll find, Briggs,โ€ Yellowhead continued whilst changing, โ€œwhen Iโ€™m out in the field and the assignment is complete, I tend to let my hair down a bit, you know. We may just get along yet.โ€

Briggs sighed, โ€œI’m sorry sir, I find that very hard to… oh, you’re wearing hot pants?โ€

Yellowhead stood proudly displaying a tiny bump in his snug florescent-coloured short shorts, barely visible at all under the folds of dense tummy bulge. โ€œWe have to blend in with the natives,โ€ he publicised. โ€œWhat do you think, Briggs, no flattery cos Iโ€™m the boss, I donโ€™t tolerate brown-tonguing, give me your honest opinion; Dwayne Johnson, yes?โ€

โ€œMore Boris Johnson,โ€ Briggs heaved.

โ€œSo critical of fashion,โ€ came the retort, though Yellowhead took it as a compliment.

โ€œItโ€™s just, well, thereโ€™s a tad too much flesh on show, sir,โ€ Grant appraised, โ€œthis is rural Miltshire, not California. Maybe try a flat cap, green wellies and a Barbour jacket, I mean, if you wish to blend in.โ€

With that Yellowhead grunted in agreement and instructed Briggs to get the cones and paint. In no time at all he paced the pavement of county hallโ€™s carpark, eyeing a van. Briggs arrived shortly after, laden with cones, spray-paint cans and followed by an irate Nora Fayes. โ€œGimmie back my gun!โ€ she demanded, โ€œthere be seagulls out here, Iโ€™m coming with you!โ€

โ€œYou most certainly are not!โ€ commanded Yellowhead. โ€œLoad the van, Briggs.โ€

He clambered into the passenger seat and readjusted his aging posturer, โ€œrun along, Fayes, polish the cupboards or whatever it is you women do around here.โ€

Briggs got into the driverโ€™s seat and started the engine. โ€œWhere are we going to?โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t wish to shock you Briggs, but weโ€™re heading towards Davizes!โ€

โ€œThis gets worse,โ€ Briggs noted, as he pulled out of the carpark. Salivating, Nora leap onto the bonnet, screaming something inaudible about gulls.

โ€œFor Christโ€™s sake, donโ€™t you ever give up?โ€ cried Yellowhead. He mouthed through the windscreen, โ€œwe are not hunting gulls, now get off of the van, you silly moo!โ€

The town centre was void of life, hardly anyone wandered the streets. Not that Briggs could see much, moving his head up and down as Nora bounced around the bonnet, clutching onto the windscreen wipers for dear life. โ€œDrop her off at the shops!โ€ ordered the chief, pointing to a Matalan superstore. Briggs swerved and Nora flew off the bonnet at great speed.

Yellowhead checked the back wheel by thrusting his head outside of the window. Given he felt no bump, he was distraught. โ€œReading between the lines is a councillorโ€™s number one crucial skill, Briggs. You failed to run her over and finish her off, potentially leaving this story open for a sequel!โ€

โ€œReally?โ€ Briggs answered, โ€œthatโ€™s a bit much!โ€

โ€œI beg to differ,โ€ Yellowhead said, as he produced a chart from his briefcase. โ€œYou get twenty points for a councillor with a tendency to get things done effectively, despite being a Tory. See here, the tally. Fifty points for an immigrant, same for a darkie or a crusty, seventy-five for a single mother with child.โ€

โ€œWho are you, Frankenstein from Death Race 2000 now?โ€ Briggs inquired, โ€œthatโ€™s sick! No wonder you donโ€™t want the pavements widened!โ€

โ€œNot at all, Briggs, as I told the Gazelle and Herod, I like living in country roads and I like living in country villages with little lanes. Iโ€™ve got no pavements at all where I live whatsoever, thatโ€™s the way I like it.โ€

โ€œSo you can mow down dissidents?โ€

โ€œIt was just a joke, Briggs,โ€ Yellowhead irritably explained, โ€œyou do realise it was just a joke? Upholding tradition is why we donโ€™t need silly pavements things, and anyway, we donโ€™t have single mothers, immigrants or wogs in Urchfunk. You see what I mean, Briggs, about me letting my hair down when out in the field? Laughing and joking is what Iโ€™m all about.โ€

A cold silence followed, until Briggs broke it in his best sarcastic tone. โ€œYou could get booked for the Brexit Festival with a comedy routine like that, sir. God knows, they need some acts besides Morrisey.โ€  

Avoiding suspected sardonic overtones, Yellowhead slipped a compact disc into the radio, โ€œah, you like music?โ€

Briggs sighed, expecting the worst. Yellowhead begun to sing, encouraging Briggs to do likewise. โ€œAnd did those feet in ancient time,โ€ he bellowed out of time and tune, at the top of his voice. โ€œWalk upon Englandโ€™s mountains green!โ€

โ€œCould I ask what the nature of our,โ€ Briggs swallowed, โ€œmission, erm, is, sir?โ€

โ€œNot now,โ€ Yellowhead replied, plucking his Adamโ€™s apple, โ€œand was the holy Lamb of God, On Englandโ€™s pleasant pastures seen! And did the Countenance Divine, shine forth upon our clouded hills?!โ€

โ€œPlease, sir?โ€ Briggs wasnโ€™t too proud to beg. Not understanding why anyone would want to build Jerusalem here, anyway, but mostly because he wanted Yellowhead to stop the hymn, more desperately than anything he had ever wanted before.

It was at the point of โ€œbring me my chariot of fire!โ€ when the front tyre bounced up and took the van slightly off-guard, the back wheel then struck the same obstruction. โ€œWhat in the good name of Nigel Farage was that, Briggs?!โ€ Yellowhead exclaimed.

โ€œJust a pothole,โ€ Briggs observed.

โ€œIโ€™ve never experienced one quite that badly,โ€ Yellowhead followed.

โ€œIn fairness, you probably wouldnโ€™t have,โ€ Briggs offered, โ€œin your Land Rover Discovery, sir.โ€

โ€œNot even in the Porsche Cayenne,โ€ Yellowhead added. โ€œLittle wonder why thereโ€™s a tendency for the chavs to complain. I mean, I canโ€™t understand why theyโ€™d not just get themselves a Porsche Cayenne like me, but ours is not to reason why, Briggs. Is this Davizes? We should stop, get some light refreshments.โ€

โ€œQuite sir,โ€ the sarcasm doubling with every reply Grant made, โ€œmakes one wonder. But Iโ€™m fine sir, I donโ€™t need a drink.โ€

โ€œNonsense, on the drinks! Good on the notion!โ€ Yellowhead nodded, โ€œIโ€™m glad we agree on that much, young Briggs. You see, you asked as to the nature of the mission, and quite accidently, but also literally, you fell right into it! As you know, Briggs, the procedure when a member,โ€ he huffed in anger at the thought of having to say the word, โ€œof the public complains about a pothole, is to file it until such a time we receive over a hundred or so similar complaints regarding the same pothole. A report can then be drawn out and raised at the next monthly meeting. If all councillors agree the matter should be addressed a report will be extracted from the minutes and filed. Once the file reaches over a hundred or so reports the issue can be raised once more at the monthly meeting. If all councillors agree the matter of the matters of files should be addressed, then a vote is taken. If the vote is successful, a councillor is drawn out of the hat to file a report and raise the issue that the Highways Agency need to be contacted, at the next monthly meeting. If all councillors agree the matter of matters should be addressed, and the Highways Agency need to be contacted, a report will be extracted from the minutes and Highways Agency will be contacted. After the supplement report to the Highways Agency is complete, it will be raised at the next monthly meeting that the supplement report to the Highways Agency is complete, and they will file a report to send a worker to the pothole, in a van, and he will assess the significance of the pothole and carry out a risk assessment. That assessment will be sent back to the council to be assessed, and should the funds become available, it will be raised at the next monthly meeting, and voted on. If the vote is successful, and all councillors agree the matter of matters should be addressed, and the Highways Agency has been contacted satisfactorily, then they will file a report back to the Highway Agency, who will send another worker out in a van to spray-paint a yellow circle around the pothole, or if itโ€™s significantly deep, he will pop a traffic cone in it. Now, the confusion comes when all councillors have agreed, but the fileโ€ฆโ€ฆ.โ€

โ€œSir!โ€ Briggs protested, โ€œIโ€™ve, erm, changed my mind, I would like a drink after all.โ€


Will our intrepid heroes ever reach Davizes, without boring themselves into an early grave, reciting council procedures? Will Councillor Nora Fayes ever get to kill a seagull in cold blood again? And why the hell canโ€™t a pavement be widened for safety purposes because it doesnโ€™t fit in with the traditional looking village roadside, but a Hermes driver can dump his van in the middle of the green? Will we find out next week in: The Adventures of Councillor Yellowhead: The Case of the Pam-Dimensional Pothole!    

The Adventures of Councillor Yellowhead: The Case of the Pam-Dimensional Pothole

Thought I’d present a weekly story feature, for Sunday entertainment during lockdown…. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter One; in which we meet our intrepid hero and his trusty sidekick Briggs in the enlisted menโ€™s quarters at Miltshire County Hall.

The wooden door splintered off its hinges and the clammer reverberated through the galleries of County Hall on Bythesea Road. Which, incidentally isnโ€™t actually by the sea at all, given Miltshire is landlocked.

It was however, of slight relevance to this tale, that during the week-long monsoon season Englishmen refer to as โ€œspring,โ€ the countyโ€™s low marshland looked akin to a coastal resort at high tide. It is also of average importance to note, the setting for this story begins at the headquarters of a county council duly responsible for over-filling the obligation to build umpteen affordable housing estates, but tends to build them on said floodplains. Why is only a matter for their attention, and to fathom reason, is merely speculation, but the general ethos portrayed in this wholly fictional fable by aforementioned councillors might provide a clueโ€ฆ. I said might.

โ€œStand by your beds, you yellow-bellied imbeciles!” roared the broad-breasted fellow, the volume of which twitching his full moustache. He paraded the surprised junior councillors as they hurried to attention, each at the foot of their cots, and he allowed what remained of the door to collapse onto the deck.

With sharp efficiency he snapped his pace stick under his left arm, flush with the limb, and paced ardently through the aisle. He abruptly extended it to prod the nearest enlisted man to him, in the belly. It wobbled, but only slightly.

โ€œAnd, why is your vest not tucked into your briefs, you scruffy oaf?!โ€

โ€œSorry, sir,โ€ the youngster stumbled on his words, at least he was young compared to Yellowhead, at about forty-three.

โ€œDo I have a name, cadet?โ€ Yellowhead bellowed.

โ€œYes sir!โ€

โ€œWould you care to address me with it, or do I have to insert this brass baton into the anal region of your brain? Itโ€™s not a task I take lightly, but feel itโ€™s critical to add to this weekโ€™s agenda.โ€

โ€œNo, thank you, Councillor Yellowbeard, sir!โ€

Chief Councillor Yellowhead projected his face so close to the enlisted manโ€™s, he could feel the whiskers of his moustache niggling his cheek. Yellowhead snarled at the boy. โ€œThen, pray tell me,โ€ he whispered, โ€œwhy is your vest not tucked into your briefs, as is the compulsory unform requirement for all junior councillors?โ€

โ€œI, erm, just woke, sirโ€ฆโ€ he fumbled the words.

โ€œWoke? Woke, young man?โ€ Yellowhead questioned, โ€œare you woke, cadet?โ€

โ€œAm I, sorry, what?โ€ the cadet muttered in confusion.

โ€œWoke,โ€ Yellowhead repeated, โ€œI know you know I know what it means in your youthful street slang, cadet, do not play the innocent with me! You mean to suggest youโ€™re a leftie extremist, Corbynโ€™s vest-licking snowflake dissent and unpatriotic partisan, donโ€™t you?!โ€

โ€œOh, right; no sir, just that I literally just woke up.โ€

Yellowhead scanned his expression with his beady eyes, in an attempt to detect any signals of traitorship. But all he perceived was an indoctrinated devotion to the cause, equal to those icons he admired the most, Churchill, Thatcher and the contemporary Boris Johnson. Aching to note a sign of reformist tenet, so he could take his stress out on the individual, he sighed, and turned on his foot. โ€œGood, cadet; you know the penalty for treason.โ€ Unsaid, the punishment was suspected by the enlisted men to be to kiss the aging backside of Theresa May, right in the crack. The cadet shuddered at the thought, a true test to his dedication, should it not prove to be hearsay.

Meanwhile Councillor Yellowhead marched on down the aisle, scorning each man standing to attention by their cots. His Nokia 3310 rang and the councillor fumbled his pocket to locate it.  He frowned and answered, โ€œYes, what now, MacFurryson, Iโ€™m really rather busy?!โ€

Some inaudible but apparently irate chatter flowed out of the phoneโ€™s speaker; Yellowhead listened and responded, โ€œโ€ฆ.and what, you want another medal, police crime commissioner? May I just enquire what your men were doing at Swan Meadow in order to capโ€ฆ…โ€

Yellowhead hesitated, and huffed his anger. Steam from his ears reduced the redness surrounding his pus-face. โ€œLook, Fungus, or whatever your name is, I expressly told you to order your men to guard the King Alfred statue in Poosea, and now you tell me theyโ€™re gallivanting the council estates, arresting a known rapist? What if Black, or even Nordic Lives Matter scum try to tear the statue down? Is the 878AD Battle of Edlington, and Alfred the Greatโ€™s honour sacred no more; would you not care one iota if EU militia invaded, bringing their croissants, French onion soup and filth like that? Fungus? Huh?โ€

The line fell silent.

โ€œYes,โ€ Yellowhead huffed, โ€œI thought as much. Now, quit conforming to woke-obsessed leftie philanthropists; historically sexual attacks have always occurred, yes, theyโ€™re sad, but unfortunately the problem will never go away, whereas if we lose the statues our pride in England is lost, FOREVER!โ€ The chief councillor let out a heavy sigh and addressed his phone once again, โ€œweโ€™ve had several meetings about this, MacFurryson, where you confirmed your allegiance to conservatism, now letโ€™s hear some it coming through, okay?!โ€

Whimpering could be heard from the phoneโ€™s speaker.

Out of character, Yellowhead was sympathetic. โ€œIโ€™m on your side,โ€ he snivelled, โ€œhonestly, Fungas, except when you allowed silliness, like adding rainbow colours to the Miltshire police Facebook page logo. Look, youโ€™ve only got till May and you can retire; remember the condo we promised, eh, remember the conservatory, the chocolate-box cottage? Well, then, listen, there, there; Iโ€™ve got to dash old friend, talk soon.โ€ With that the chief councillor threw the phone into his pocket.

โ€œI need someone I can trust,โ€ he asserted his dominance over the enlisted men, โ€œfor an imperative mission behind enemy lines.โ€

The men gasped in horror. โ€œYou mean,โ€ one dared to utter, โ€œoutside? Out there?โ€

โ€œYes, cadet!โ€ the chief councillor snarled, snapping his head around to see who muttered. His head was, as his name suggested, one giant, pus-filled zit, ready to detonate if just one of these imbecilic straight-out-of college plebes squeezed his patience too far. โ€œIโ€™m fully aware due to the pandemic you have not been allowed out since last year, but Iโ€™m old enough to have been vaccinated, twice, so it matters not that you will accompany me on this mission, you have to come to terms with your expendability. Outside contractors are clenching the budget, and complaints have been raised by,โ€ Yellowhead shuddered with mere mention of them, โ€œby, by the general public.โ€

He turned to face a randomly selected skinny fellow and launched his baton outwards towards him, โ€œYou!โ€

โ€œMe?โ€

โ€œYes, you boy! State your name and rank!โ€

โ€œBriggs, sir, Grant; trainee liaison officer!โ€

โ€œLiaison eh? Perfect, you will be adequate. Report to supplies immediately, request some traffic cones and yellow spray paint,โ€ Yellowhead announced, โ€œand call your wife, tell her you may not be home until after teatime, if at all!โ€ He then turned and pouted at an imaginary camera, โ€œthereโ€™s a savage world out there, wrought with danger and perilous unknown, erm, things, and we have to face it with a sense of hope once moreโ€ฆ…โ€

โ€œReally?โ€ mumbled Briggs in jest.

โ€œโ€ฆ. Think Calne,โ€ Yellowhead acutely juddered, โ€œbut worseโ€ฆ.โ€

For the first time, mild-mannered Briggs was afraid.

โ€œYou should be grateful, Briggs, youโ€™ve been selected to brave the fresh Miltshire air, if this bunker had windows, youโ€™d note it is spring. But you should also note, it will test every section of your training here at Bythesea Road.โ€

โ€œOne question, sir,โ€ Briggs inquired, โ€œif I may?โ€

โ€œIf you must, cadet,โ€ annoying muttered Yellowhead.

โ€œWhy do they call it Bythesea Road, then, sir, when, you knowโ€ฆ.?โ€

โ€œDid training meetings not cover this?โ€ Yellowhead tousled, โ€œperhaps itโ€™s top secret, but seeing as youโ€™re coming on this mission, thereโ€™s some details you need to knowโ€ฆโ€ He leaned in close to Briggs, his foul breath whisked up Briggโ€™s nostrils, and Briggs winced. Ensuring no other enlisted man could hear, Yellowhead whispered, โ€œall part of an experiment, to see if the, the damn public of Miltshire are intelligent enough to detect our lies. Create a bleeding obvious one, see if they notice Trow Vegas is landlocked and the road cannot possibly be by the sea at all, and if not, which Iโ€™m pleased to inform you was hugely efficacious, it gives us license to propagate and spread as much bullshit and fabrications as we see fit; we can fib till our hearts content, they buy it every time.โ€

โ€œGenius!โ€ Briggs sparked.

โ€œPrecisely,โ€ Yellowhead grimaced for the first time, the closest he came to smiling. โ€œThis is why we flush out any leftie terrorists infiltrating our council, their schmaltz compassion and nauseating morality is treacherous, theyโ€™ll whine-hole health and safety regulations like biblical passages. Be warned, Briggs, insiders lurk in these corridors, tell no one of your mission, fetch the cones and spray paint, take out anyone who might be wearing a charity shop brown suit, and return with your life; clear?โ€

โ€œCrystal, Sir!โ€ replied Briggs, but as he started on his journey, the sound of machine-gun fire reverberated around the quarters. In a murky haze few of the enlisted men noted the scant figure standing heroically in the doorway, clasping a smoking machine gun, dropping a cigar end to the floor, and extinguishing it with a hefty boot. Most of the men hit the deck, else cowered behind their cots, but all of them quivered in fear, as Councillor Yellowhead turned to face the mysterious intruder.

Who is the mysterious gunman? Will Yellowhead and Briggs escape with their lives, if not for the reason stated, why the hell is it really called Bythesea Road, when itโ€™s about as far away from the sea as possible? All might yet be revealed next week, in The Adventures of Councillor Yellowheadโ€ฆโ€ฆ

Read Chapter 2, here.

Devizineโ€™s Review of 2020; You Canโ€™t Polish a Turd!

On Social and Political Mattersโ€ฆ…

For me the year can be summed up by one Tweet from the Eurosceptic MEP and creator of the Brexit Party, Nigel Farage. A knob-jockey inspired into politics when Enoch Powell visited his private school, of which ignored pleas from an English teacher who wrote to the headmaster encouraging him to reconsider Farageโ€™s appointed prefect position, as he displayed clear signs of fascism. The lovable patriot, conspiring, compulsive liar photographed marching with National Front leader Martin Webster in 1979, who strongly denies his fascist ethos despite guest-speaking at a right-wing populist conference in Germany, hosted by its leader, the granddaughter of Adolf Hitlerโ€™s fiancรฉ; yeah, him.

He tweeted โ€œChristmas is cancelled. Thank you, China.โ€ It magically contains every element of the utter diabolical, infuriating and catastrophic year weโ€™ve most likely ever seen; blind traditionalist propaganda, undeniable xenophobia, unrefuted misinformation, and oh yes, the subject is covid19 related.

And now the end is near, an isolated New Yearโ€™s Eve of a year democracy prevailed against common sense. The bigoted, conceited blue-blooded clown we picked to lead us up our crazy-paved path of economic self-annihilation has presented us with an EU deal so similar to the one some crazy old hag, once prime minster delivered to us two years back itโ€™s uncanny, and highly amusing that Bojo the clown himself mocked and ridiculed it at the time. Iโ€™d wager itโ€™s just the beginning.

You can’t write humour this horrifically real, the love child of Stephen King and Spike Milligan couldn’t.

Still, I will attempt to polish the turd and review the year, as itโ€™s somewhat tradition here on Devizine. The mainstay of the piece, to highlight what weโ€™ve done, covered and accomplished with our friendly website of local entertainment and news and events, yet to holistically interrelate current affairs is unavoidable.

We have even separated the monster paragraphs with an easier, monthly photo montage, for the hard of thinking.

January

You get the impression it has been no walk in the park, but minor are my complaints against what others have suffered. Convenient surely is the pandemic in an era brewing with potential mass hysteria, the need to control a population paramount. An orthornavirae strain of a respiratory contamination first reported as infecting chickens in the twenties in North Dakota, a snip at 10,400km away from China.

Decidedly bizarre then, an entire race could be blamed and no egg fried rice bought, as featured in Farageโ€™s audacious Tweet, being itโ€™s relatively simple to generate in a lab, inconclusively originated at Wuhanโ€™s Huanan Seafood Wholesale Market, rather spread from there, and debatably arrived via live bat or pangolin, mostly used in traditional Chinese medicine, a pseudoscience only the narrowminded minority in China trusts.

Ah, inconsistent pseudoscience, embellished, unfalsifiable claims, void of orderly practices when developing hypotheses and notably causing hoodwinked cohorts. Yet if we consider blaming an ethos, rather than a race, perhaps we could look closer to home for evidence of this trend of blind irrationality. Truth in Science, for example, an English bunch of Darwin-reputing deluded evangelicals who this year thought itโ€™d be a grand and worthy idea to disguise their creationist agenda and pitch their preposterous pseudoscientific theory that homosexuality is a disease of the mind which can be cured with electro-shock treatment to alter the mind inline with the bodyโ€™s gender, rather than change the body to suit the mindโ€™s gender orientation, to schoolchildren!

Yep, these bible-bashing fruit-bats, one lower than flat earth theorists actually wrote to headmasters encouraging their homophobia to be spread to innocent minds, only to be picked up by a local headmaster of the LGBTQ community. Hereโ€™s an article on Devizine which never saw the light of day. Said that Truth in Scienceโ€™s Facebook page is chockful with feedback of praise and appreciation, my comments seemed to instantly disappear, my messages to them unanswered. All I wanted was a fair-sided evaluation for an article, impossible if you zip up.

Justly, no one trusts me to paint an unbiased picture. This isnโ€™t the Beeb, as I said in our 2017 annual review: The chances of impartiality here, equals the chances of Tories sticking to their manifesto. Rattling cages is fun, thereโ€™s no apologies Iโ€™m afraid, if I rattled yours, it just means youโ€™re either mean or misguided.

Herein lies the issue, news travels so fast, we scroll through social media unable to digest and compose them to a greater picture, let alone muster any trust in what we read. Iโ€™m too comfortable to reside against the grain, everyoneโ€™s at it. I reserve my right to shamelessly side with the people rather than tax-avoiding multinationals and malevolent political barons; so now you know.

February

If you choose to support these twats thatโ€™s your own lookout, least someone should raise the alarm; youโ€™d have thought ignoring World Health Organisation advise and not locking down your country until your mates made a packet on horseracing bets is systematic genocide and the government should be put on trial for this, combined with fraud and failure of duty. If not, ask why weโ€™re the worst hit country in the world with this pandemic. Rather the current trend where the old blame the young, the young blame the old, the whites blame the blacks, the thin blame the fat, when none of us paid much attention to restrictions because they were delivered in a confused, nonsensical manner by those who don’t either, and mores to the pity, believe they’re above the calling of oppressive regulations.

If you choose to support these twats, youโ€™re either a twat too, or trust what you read by those standing to profit from our desperation; ergo, twats. Theres no getting away from the fact you reep what you sow; and the harvest of 2020 was a colossal pile of twat.


Onto Devizineโ€ฆ. kind of.

For me what started as a local-based entertainment zine-like blog, changed into the only media I trust, cos I wrote the bollocks! But worser is the general obliteration of controversy, criticism and debate in other media. An argument lost by a conformer is shadowed behind a meme, or followed up with a witch hunt, a torrent of personal abuse and mockery, usually by inept grammar by a knuckle-dragging keyboard warrior with caps-lock stuck on; buy a fucking copy of the Oxford Guide to English Grammar or we’re all going to hell in a beautiful pale green boat.

We’re dangerously close to treating an Orwellian nightmare as a self-help guide, and despite fascists took a knockdown in the USA and common sense prevailed, the monster responded with a childish tantrum; what does this tell you? The simple fact, far right extremism is misled and selfish delinquency which history proves did no good to anyone, ever. Still the charade marches on, one guy finished a Facebook debate sharing a photo of his Boris โ€œget Brexit doneโ€ tea-towel. I pondered when the idiot decided a photo of his tea towel would suffice to satisfy his opinion and convince others, before or after the wave of irony washed over his head in calling them Muppets.

I hate the term, itโ€™s offensive. Offensive to Jim Hensonโ€™s creations; try snowflake or gammon, both judgemental sweeping generalisations but personally inoffensive to any individual, aside Peppa Pig. I wager you wander through Kent’s lorry park mocking the drivers and calling them snowflakes rather than tweeting; see how far you get.

So, the initial lockdown in March saw us bonded and dedicated, to the cause. We ice-skated through it, developed best methods to counteract the restrictions and still abide by them; it was kind of nice, peaceful and environmentally less impacting. But cracks in the ice developed under our feet, the idea covid19 was a flash in pan, akin to when Blitz sufferers asserted itโ€™d all be over by Christmas, waned as we came to terms, we were in it for the duration.

Yet comparisons to WWII end there, lounging on the sofa for three months with Netflix and desperate peasants delivering essential foodstuff, like oysters, truffles and foie gras is hardly equivalent to the trench warfare of Normandy. Hypocritical is me, not only avoiding isolation as, like a nurse, my labour was temporarily clapped as key worker in March, I figured my site would only get hits if I wrote something about Covid19, and my ignorance to what the future resulted in clearly displayed in spoofy, ill-informed articles, Corona Virus and Devizine; Anyone got a Loo Roll? on the impending panic-buying inclination, and later, I Will Not Bleat About Coronavirus, Write it Out a Hundred Timesโ€ฆ

The only thing I maintained in opinion to the subject, was that it should be light-hearted and amusing; fearing if we lose our sense of humour, all is lost. Am I wrong? Probably, itโ€™s been a very serious year.

It was my first pandemic-related mention, hereafter nearly every article paid reference to it, no matter how disparate; itโ€™s the tragedy which occupied the planet. But letโ€™s go back, to oblivious January, when one could shake hands and knew where the pub was. Melksham got a splashpad, Devizes top councillors bleated it wasnโ€™t fair, and they wanted a splashpad too. They planned ripping out the dilapidated brick shithouses on the Green and replacing it with a glorious splashpad, as if they cared about the youth of the town. I reported the feelings of grandeur, Splashpad, Iโ€™m all over it, Pal! A project long swept under the carpet, replaced with the delusion weโ€™ll get an affordable railway station. As I said, convenient surely is the pandemic.

So many projects, so many previews of events, binned. Not realising at the time my usual listing, Half Term Worries Over; things to do with little ones during February half-termโ€ฆ would come to an abrupt halt. Many events previewed, the first being the Mayoral Fundraising Events, dates set for the Imberbus, and Chef Peter Vaughan & Indecisionโ€™s Alzheimerโ€™s Support Chinese New Year celebration, to name but a few, Iโ€™m unaware if they survived or not.

March


On Musicโ€ฆ…

But it was the cold, early days of winter, when local concerns focused more on the tragic fire at Waiblingen Way. In conjunction with the incredible Liz Denbury, who worked tirelessly organising fundraising and ensuring donations of essentials went to the affected folk, we held a bash in commemoration and aid down that there Cellar Bar; remember?

It was in fact an idea by Daydream Runaways, who blew the low roof off the Cellar Bar at the finale. But variety was the order of the evening, with young pianist prodigy Will Foulstone kicking us off, opera with the amazing Chole Jordan, Irish folk with Mirko and Bran of the Celtic Roots Collective and the acoustic goodness of Ben Borrill. Thanks also has to go to the big man Mike Barham who set up the technical bits before heading off to a paid gig. At the time I vowed this will be the future of our events, smaller but more than the first birthday bash; never saw it coming, insert sad-face emoji.

We managed to host another gig, though, after lockdown when shopping was encouraged by In:Devizes, group Devizes Retailers and Independents, a assemblage of businesses set up to promote reopening of town. We rocked up in Brogans and used their garden to have a summer celebration. Mike set up again, and played this time, alongside the awesome Cath and Gouldy, aka, Sound Affects on their way to the Southgate, and Jamie R Hawkins accompanied Tamsin Quin with a breath-taking set. It was lovely to see friends on the local music scene, but it wasnโ€™t the reopening for live music we anticipated.

Before all this live music was the backbone of Devizine, between Andy and myself we previewed Bradford Roots Music Festival, MantonFest, White Horse Operaโ€™s Spring Concert, Neeld Hallโ€™s Tribute to Eddie Cochran, and the return of Asa Murphy. We reviewed the Long Street Blues Club Weekender, Festival of Winter Ales, Chris Oโ€™Leary at Three Crowns, Jon Walsh, Phil Jinder Dewhurst, Mule and George Wilding at The White Bear, Skandalโ€™s at Marlboroughโ€™s Lamb, and without forgetting the incredible weekly line-up at the Southgate; Jack Grace Band, Arnie Cottrell Tendency, Skedaddle, Navajo Dogs, Lewis Clark & The Essentials, King Street Turnaround, Celtic Roots Collective, Jamie, Tamsin, Phil, and Vince Bell.

The collection of Jamie R Hawkins, Tamsin Quin and Phil Cooper at the Gate was memorable, partly because theyโ€™re great, partly because, it was the last time we needed to refer to them as a collection (save for the time when Phil gave us the album, Revelation Games.) Such was the fate of live music for all, it was felt by their newly organised trio, The Lost Trades, whose debut gig came a week prior to lockdown, at the Pump, which our new writer Helen Robertson covered so nicely.

For me, the weekend before the doom and gloom consisted of a check-in at the Cavy, where the Day Breakers played, only to nip across to Devizes Sports Club, where the incredible Ruzz Guitar hosted a monster evening of blues, with his revue, Peter Gage, Innes Sibun and Jon Amor. It was a blowout, despite elbow greetings, I never figured itโ€™d be the last.

It was a knee-jerk reaction which made me set up a virtual festival on the site. It was radical, but depleted due to my inability to keep up with an explosion of streamed events, where performers took to Facebook, YouTube sporadically, and other sites on a national scale, and far superior tech knowhow took over; alas there was Zoom. I was happy with this, and prompted streaming events such as Swindonโ€™s โ€œStaticโ€ Shuffle, and when PSG Choirs Showed Their True Lockdown Colours. Folk would message me, ask me how the virtual festival was going to work, and to be honest, I had no idea how to execute the idea, but it was worth a stab.

One thing which did change, musically, was we lowered our borders, being as the internet is outernational and local bands were now being watched by people from four corners of the world, Devizine began reviewing music sourced worldwide. Fair enough, innit?

The bleeding hearts of isolated artists and musicians, no gigs gave them time on their hands to produce some quality music, therefore our focus shifted to reviewing them, although we always did review records. Early local reviews of 2020 came from NerveEndings with the single Muddy Puddles, who later moved onto an album, For The People. Daydream Runawaysโ€™ live version of Light the Spark and Talk in Codeโ€™s Like That, who fantastically progressed through lockdown to a defining eighties electronica sound with later singles Taste the Sun and Secret.

We notified you of Sam Bishopโ€™s crowdfunding for a quarantine song, One of a Kind, which was released and followed by Fallen Sky. Albums came too, we covered, Billy Green 3โ€™s Still in January, and The Grated Hits of the Real Cheesemakers followed, With the former, later came a nugget of Billy Greenโ€™s past, revealing some lost demos of his nineties outfit, Still, evidently what the album was named after.

Whereas the sublime soul of Mayyadda from Minnesota was the first international artist featured this year, and from Shrewsbury, our review of Cosmic Raysโ€™ album Hard to Destroy extended our presence elsewhere in the UK, I sworn to prioritise local music, with single reviews of Phil Cooperโ€™s Without a Sound, TheTruzzy Boysโ€™ debut Summertime, Courage (Leave it Behind), a new single from Talk in Code, and for Daydream Runawaysโ€™ single Gravity we gave them an extensive interview. This was followed by Crazy Stupid Love and compiled for an EP, Dreamlands, proving theyโ€™re a band continuously improving.

April

Probably the most diverse single around spring though was an epic drum n bass track produced right here in Devizes, featuring the vocals of Pewseyโ€™s Cutsmith. Though while Falling by ReTone took us to new foundations, I ran a piece on the new blues sounds locally, as advised by Sheer Musicโ€™s Kieran Moore. Sheer, like all music promoters were, understandably, scrambling around in the dark for the beginnings of lockdown, streaming stuff. It wasnโ€™t long before they became YouTube presenters! The Sheer podcast really is something special, in an era leaving local musicians as dry as Ghandiโ€™s flip-flop, they present a show to make โ€˜em moist!

Spawned from this new blues article, one name which knocked me for six, prior to their YouTube adventures, was Devizes-own Joe Edwards. I figured now I was reviewing internationally; would it be fair to local musicians to suggest a favourite album of the year? However, Joeโ€™s Keep on Running was always a hot contender from the start, and despite crashing the borders on what we will review, I believe it still is my favourite album of the year.

Other top local albums, many inspired from lockdown came flowing, perhaps the most sublime was Interval by Swindonโ€™s reggae keyboardist virtuoso, Erin Bardwell. The prolific Bardwell later teamed with ex-Hotknive Dave Clifton for a project called Man on the Bridge.

Perhaps the most spacey, Devizesโ€™ Cracked Machineโ€™s third outing, Gates of Keras. Top local singles? Well, George Wilding never let us down with Postcard, from a Motorway, and after lockdown reappeared with his band Wilding, for Falling Dreams and later with a solo single, You Do You. Jon Amor was cooking with Peppercorn, which later led to a great if unexpected album, Remote Control.

There was a momentary lapse of reason, that live streaming was the musical staple diet of the now, when Mr Amor climbed out onto his roof to perform, like an ageless fifth Beatle. Blooming marvellous.

Growing up fast, Swindonโ€™s pop singer Lottie J blasted out a modern pop classic with Cold Water, and no one could ignore Kirsty Clinchโ€™s atmospheric country-pop goodness with Fit the Shoe.

Maybe though it wasnโ€™t the ones recorded before, but our musicians on the live circuit coming out with singles to give them some pocket money, which was the best news. I suggest you take note of Ben Borrillโ€™s Takes A Little Time, for example.

I made new friends through music, reviewing so many singles and EPs; Bathโ€™s Long Coats, and JAYโ€™s Sunset Remedy. Swindonโ€™s composer Richard Wileman, guitarist Ryan Webb, and unforgettable Paul Lappin, who, after a couple of singles would later release the amazing acoustic Britpop album The Boy Who Wanted to Fly. Dirty and Smooth and Atari Pilot too, the latter gave us to cool singles, Right Crew, Wrong Captain, and later, Blank Pages. To Calne for End of Story and Chris Tweedie, and over the downs to Marlborough with Jon Vealeโ€™s Flick the Switch. I even discovered Hew Miller, a hidden gem in our own town.

May

But we geographically go so much further these days, even if not physically much more than taking the bins out. Outside our sphere we covered Essexโ€™s Mr B & The Wolf, Limerickโ€™s Emma Langford, Londonโ€™s Gecko, and from the US, Shuffle & Bang, and Jim White. Johnny Lloyd, Skates & Wagons, My Darling Clementine, Micko and the Mellotronics, Typhoidmary, Frank Turner and Jon Snodgrass, Mango Thomas, Beans on Toast, Tankus the Henge; long may the list continue.

Bombino though, the tuareggae artist really impressed me, but I donโ€™t like to pick a favourite, rather to push us onto another angle. I began reviewing stuff sent via my Boot Boy radio show, and covered a ska scene blossoming in South America. But as well as Neville Staple Bandโ€™s single Lockdown, The Bighead, the Bionic Rats, and Hugo Lobo teaming up with Lynval Golding and Val Douglas, we found reggae in Switzerland through Fruits Records, the awesome Cosmic Shuffling and progressive 808 Delavega.

So much music, is it going on a bit? Okay Iโ€™ll change the record, if you pardon the pun, but not until Iโ€™ve mentioned The Instrumental Sounds Of Ruzz Guitarโ€™s Blues Revue, naturally, Sound Affectsโ€™ album Ley Lines, Tunnel Rat refurbing their studio, and Bristolโ€™s freshest new hip hop act The Scribes. Ah, pause for breath.

Oh, and outside too, we did get a breather from lockdown and tiers, all Jamies for me, Mr R Hawkins was my first outing at the Gate and followed by Jamie Williams and the Roots Collective. Sad to have missed Two Man Ting and when The Big Yellow Bus Rocked the Gazebo, but hey, I thought we were out of the deep water.

June

Splashed straight back in again; โ€œtiersโ€ this time, sounds nicer than lockdown. Who knows what 2021 will bring, a vaccine, two vaccines, a mesh of both despite being ill-advised by experts? Just jab me, bitch, taxi me to the nearest gig, if venues still exist, by spring and Iโ€™ll shut up about it.


On Artsโ€ฆ..

Bugger, Iโ€™m going to need Google maps to find my local boozer. But yeah, they, whoever they are, think weโ€™re all about music, but we cover anything arts and entertainment, you know? We previewed Andy Hamilton coming to Swindonโ€™s Wyvern, Josie Long coming to Bath, The Return of the Wharf Theatre, and the county library tours of Truth Sluth: Epistemological Investigations for the Modern Age. Surely the best bit was being sent a private viewing of a new movie, Onus, by the Swindon filmmakers who gave us Follow the Crows.

I shared poems by Gail Foster, and reviewed her book Blossom. Desperate for subject matter I rewrote a short story Dizzy Heights. I featured artists Bryony Cox and Alan Watters, both selling their wares for the NHS, Ros Hewittโ€™s Glass Art open studio, Small Wonders Art Auction in aid of Arts Together and Asa Murphy published a childrenโ€™s book, The Monkey with no Bum! I dunno, don’t ask.

July


On Foodโ€ฆ

Despite my Oliver Twist pleads, we never get enough on the subject of grub. January saw us preview Peter Vaughanโ€™s Chinese New Year dinner party in aid of Alzheimerโ€™s Support and with music from Indecision, we covered DOCAโ€™s Festival of Winter Ales, and looked forward to the Muck & Dunderโ€™s Born 2 Rum festival, which was cancelled.

From here the dining experience reverted to takeaways, and I gave Sujayโ€™s Jerk Pan Kitchen at big shout, and thought it best to wait until things reopened before singing Massimos’ praise, but I guess for now I should mention their awesome takeaway service next.

The Gourmet Brownie Kitchen supplied my welcomed Father’s Day gift, even nipped over to Swindon, in search of their best breakfast at the Butcher’s cafe, and recently I featured vegan blogger, Jill. Still though I need more food articles, as restaurants should take note, theyโ€™re extremely popular posts. Sadly, our while self-explanatory article, โ€œWe Cannot Let our Young People go Hungry; those locally rallying the call to #endchildfoodpoverty,โ€ did quite well, at third most popular, the earlier โ€œEat Out to Help Out, Locally, Independently,โ€ was our highest hitting of all; giving a sombre redefining of the term, dying to go out.

Back to my point though, food articles do so well, Iโ€™m not just after a free lunch, or maybe I am. But here, look, the fourth most popular article this year was our review of New Society, which was actually from 2019. Does lead us on nicely to the touchy subject of stats this year.

August


On Stats, Spoofs and the Futureโ€ฆ.

As well as an opportunity to review what weโ€™ve done over the past year and to slag off the government, I also see this rather lengthy article which no one reads till the end of, a kind of AGM. It should be no surprise or disappointment, being this is a whatโ€™s-on guide, and being nothing was actually on, our stats failed to achieve what we hit in 2019. Though, it is with good news I report we did much better than 2018, and in the last couple of months hits have given me over the stats I predicted. Devizine is still out there, still a thing; just donโ€™t hug it, for fuckโ€™s sake.

I did, sometime ago, have a meeting with the publishers of Life In, RedPin. You mayโ€™ve seen Life in Devizes or various other local town names. The idea to put Devizine into print is something Iโ€™ve toyed with, but as it stands it seems unlikely. My pitch was terrible, my funds worse. If I did this it would cease to be a hobby and become a fulltime business, Iโ€™d need contributors, a sales department, Iโ€™d need an expert or ten, skills and a budget for five issues ahead of myself, and I tick none of those boxes. A risk too risky, I guess that’s why they call a risk a risk, watching the brilliant Ocelot reduced to online, publications suffer, the local newspaper house scrambling for news and desperately coming up with national clickbait gobbledygook, I know now is not the time to lick slices of tree with my wares.

So, for the near future I predict trickling along as ever. Other than irrational bursts of enthusiasm that this pandemic is coming to an end, Iโ€™ve given in updating our event calendar until such really happens. And it will, every clown has a silver lifeboat, or something like that.

September

Most popular articles then, as I said, desperation to return to normal is not just me, โ€œEat Out to Help Out, Locally, Independently,โ€ was our highest hitting of all, whereas โ€œWe Cannot Let our Young People go Hungry; those locally rallying the call to #endchildfoodpoverty,โ€ came in third. Nestled between two foodie articles our April Fools spoof came second. As much as it nags me, I have to hold up my hands and thank Danny Kruger for being a good sport. He shared our joke, Boris to Replace Danny Kruger as Devizes MP.

We do love a spoof though, and given a lack of events, I had time to rattle some off, A Pictorial Guide to Those Exempt from Wearing a Facemask, Guide to Local Facebook Groups pt1 (never followed up) The Tiers of a Clown, Sign the Seagull Survey, Bob! and Danny featuring again in The Ladies Shout as I go by, oh Danny, Whereโ€™s Your Facemask?! all being as popular as my two-part return of the once celebrated No Surprises columns, No Surprises Locked Down in Devizes.

Perhaps not so popular spoofs were The Worldโ€™s Most Famous Fences! and Worst Pop Crimes of the Mid-Eighties! But what the hell, I enjoyed writing them. 


On Other News and Miscellaneous Articlesโ€ฆ…

I was right though, articles about lockdown or how weโ€™re coping were gratefully received, and during this time, a needed assurance we werenโ€™t becoming manically depressed or found a new definition of bored. Devizes together in Lockdown, After the Lock Down, Wiltshire is not Due a second Lockdown, the obvious but rather than bleating on the subject, how we celebrated VE Day in Devizes & Rowde, the Devizes Scooter Club auctioning their rally banner for the NHS, Town Council raising ยฃ750 to support the Devizes Mayorโ€™s Charities, DOCA Announce Next Yearโ€™s Carnival & Street Festival Dates, DOCAโ€™s Window Wanderland, and a Drive-In Harvest Festival! to boot. Town Council making Marlborough High Street a safer place, all came alongside great hope things would change, and pestering why not: The State of the Thing: Post Lockdown Devizine and How We Can Help, Open Music Venues, or Do They Hate Art? Opinion: House Party Organiser in Devizes Issued with ยฃ10,000 Fine.

 If Who Remembers our First Birthday Bash? Saw me reminiscing, I went back further when raves begun to hit the news. Covered it with Opinion: The End and Reawakening of Rave, and asked old skool ravers Would you Rave Through Covid? But we also highlighted others not adhering to restrictions With Rule of Six and Effects on Local Hunting and Blood Sports, it was nice to chat with Wiltshire Hunt Sabs.

October

Controversy always attracts a crowd, but couldnโ€™t help myself highlighting misdoings. From internet scams, like The Artist Melinda Copyright Scam, tolocal trouble, Rowde Villagers Rally in Support of Residential Centre Facility, for instance, Sheer Musicโ€™s MVT Open Letter to Government, Help Pewsey Mum on her Campaign to free her Children from Abduction, important stuff like that. We try to help where we can, honest.

Most controversial though, me thinks, was our poor attempt at coverage of the international BLM issue. Iโ€™ve been waffling enough already to get into how I feel personally; been writing this โ€œsummaryโ€ for what feels like eons, time to shut up and advise you read these articles yourself, because no matter how you fair on the argument, xenophobia affects us all, even in the sticks. We therefore had a chat with BLM in the Stix and did a three-part look at the issue, the third part a conclusion and the middle bit, well, that came in light of Urchfont Parish Council turning down a youth art display; what a pompous notion highlighting the issue on a local level.

But campaigns and fundraising came in thick and fast, despite nought cash in anyoneโ€™s pockets to follow them up. I understand, but we featured Go Operation Teddy Bear, Devizes Wide Community Yard Sale, Hero Wayne Cherry Back in Action! Lucieโ€™s Haircut Fundraiser for the Little Princess Trust, Crusader Vouchers, Juliaโ€™s House Gameathon, Devizes for Europe launching โ€œSay #YES2ARealDealโ€ campaign, and of course, our superheroine Carmellaโ€™s ongoing campaigns.

November


In conclusionโ€ฆ.

It has, in conclusion, been a hectic year, without the need for live music reviews, though some mightโ€™ve been nice! Hereโ€™s to a better day. We reserve our right to support local arts, music, and business, whatever the weather, and pandemic. We offered you, on top of the aforementioned; Fatherโ€™s Day; Keeping Ideas Local, Floating Record Shop Moored on Kennet & Avon, Devizes Town Band Comes to You for Remembrance and Zoom Like an Egyptian: Wiltshire Museum Half-Term Activities! to name but a few in the wake of our move to online events, although theyโ€™ll never stream as effectively as being pissed in a pub alcove unable to find the loo.

We also did our easy-reading list type features which are the trend; Top Twenty Local Music CDs For Christmas and Fairy-Tale of New Park Street; And Better Local Christmas Songs! I went on my Devizine Christmas Shopping Challenge, and tried to tweak the website to include podcasts to fund our musicians.

Yeah, that one is put on hold, I couldnโ€™t do it as I saw able to, but it needs work and Iโ€™ve another plan up my sleeve, just takes a bit of planning is all, which I guess is why they call it a plan in the first fucking place! You did blag a Free Afro-Beat, Cumbia and Funk Mix out of the deal. Maybe I could do more, but upwards and onwards, Devizine is now operating as both international music zine and local affairs. I maybe could separate them, but this means building a new audience and starting over. I like it as it is, and besides, Iโ€™m open to feedback, love to hear what you reckon, and will promise to act on suggestions, which is more than I can say for this fucking, cockwomble-led government; just leave it there shall we?!

The only gripe is that I ask that you have to believe in what Iโ€™m trying to do and supply me with the news, what youโ€™re doing, creating or getting narked about, else I donโ€™t know about it; hacked off with Face-sodding-Book, see?

Sure, you could put your trust in a real journalist through all their generalizations and unbiased writings, and grammar errors, or you could try here, where we deliver more than just a pint of semi. Look now at the going back to school debate, you know, I know, we all fucking know, senior school kids can stay at home because they can look after themselves while parents go to work, whereas primary kids can’t, so have to go back to school. It has nought to do with the spread of the virus, and everything to do with what’s best financially, and that, my friends, is not only the way this government have applied regulations throughout, but also not the kind of truths you’ll be reading in the newspapers.

All hail Devizine then, please do; I’m trying my fucking best amidst the wankology of Britain’s governing regime. Iโ€™m planning to rock on for another year, trapped in Blighty with flag-waving, panic-buying tossers until weโ€™re queuing for bread or waging war on France like the good old days, namely the dark ages, letโ€™s see where it gets us; with or without loo roll.

No, I’m not bitter; just slightly narked at the difficulties made in making people laugh by these idiots, so I find it apt to aim my satirical guns at them.

December

The Curious Case of the Christmas Carrot

Twas down in the cellar of the Vaults where poets meeting to recite verses of yule and a celebrated story-time with Ian Diddams, had become somewhat of a seasonal ritual in old Devizes. Alas it was not to be this time around amidst the many cancelled traditions, but like many events, an adequate substitute has been provided. You may have to source your own beverages, but you can spend an hour with Ian in his garden grotto as he recites an entertaining and hilarious parable, from the comfort of your own armchair, or loo; whichever you deem more suitable.

Unsure how I missed this satirical chronical disguised as a fable to make Arthur Conan Doyle blush. I guess with seasonal celebrations my online time has been sporadic, but Christmas isnโ€™t over just yet, or is it? Whatever; I suspect, unless youโ€™re a Devizes resident with a penthouse on Baker Street, youโ€™ll never personally identify with cultural references in any other Sherlock Holmes mystery in quite the same way.  

A faultless fable delivered effortlessly, save the continuity of one shady depiction of a local character, the toothless milkman from Rowde. Didds should take heed, my inkling I know the very person ridiculed and will confirm theyโ€™re far too young to know what, or who, โ€œa milk snatcherโ€ is. Honestly, Iโ€™m cut between being honoured and contemplating the cheek of it all!

I present the video herewith for your own perusal and entertainment, if, like me, you were too busy stuffing turkey and/or Quality Street and putting batteries in toys over the season to have taken notice of it. It is worthy of your time, the story intermitted by poetry outbursts by Gail Foster, who not only tends to slip-in (fnarr fnarr) occasional filthy subject matter, but also knowing the particular aforementioned troubled character scorned, could have tried to step in to stop him, but didnโ€™t.

Most importantly, Ian always requests charitable donations as a way of applause for his efforts, and this time focusses on our earnest homeless charity Devizes Opendoors. You can donate here, please. You know weโ€™ve visited Opendoors and seen first-hand the great work they do.


Short Story: A Christmas Incident on the Motorway

Hereโ€™s a short story which I wrote all on my own for Christmas, such a brave boy. Iโ€™d also like to take this opportunity, before the drinks start flowing and I lose the capacity for words, to wish you all a very merry Christmas!

The young officer sighed as he scanned the scene. Alone at junction eight of the M3, he called for backup. โ€œTwo car collision,โ€ he dolefully reported over his radio, โ€œrequesting backup.โ€

PC Waite didn’t need this; he was an hour short of shift completion. Sixty minutes of peace he longed for, and then he could go home. Home, where his wife would be prepping tomorrow’s feast. Home where his two children were excited about Santa Claus paying them a visit. Home, away from his duties, from all the hassle, for two whole days he needn’t worry about other peopleโ€™s problems.

He worked the motorway patrol, usually with a partner, but Callum called in sick; skivalitis. He was instructed to continue, but should a situation arise he should immediately call for assistance. Such a thing did, “bloody typical,” he vexed as he slid his finger over the mouthpiece of his radio to mute it and avoid detection of his annoyance from HQ. He approached the first car, a small Volkswagen over-decorated in tinsel, fairy lights and bells. He clocked the driver at a mere ten miles an hour, with the window rolled down. He had observed the elderly male leaning out and peering down at the road below, as if he was frantically looking for something.

Even at this slow speed the multitude of bells attached chimed. Just when PC Waite considered pulling him over, as driving so slowly, without due care and attention was a twofold offense and dangerous, but lesser so than the distraction to other drivers caused by the bells ringing. However, as he pulled out, a, what can only be described as sleek, black, personalised, custom-built heavily armoured tactical assault vehicle hurtled up behind him, lost a wheel for want of braking, and crashed into the rear of the Volkswagen.

If PC Waite hadn’t seen such an oddity in all his years as an officer, which were few, the icing on the cake was the third vehicle, a clown car of all things, of which the assault vehicle appeared to be in pursuit of. This car though, had raced off.

The old gent in the Volkswagen looked dazed and confused, still frantically searching for something, now checking the glovebox. “Please sir,” Gavin tapped on his window, “take your hand out of the glovebox and put them where I can see them.”

“Oh,” the aged driver stumbled on his words, “I….I’m erm, I’m sorry, officer. I was, well, I was looking for my, erm, something. I erm, yes, that man in the black, erm, car, he’s a maniac! He crashed into me!”

“Yes,” Gavin replied dutifully, “I observed the incident. But I must conclude, you were driving extremely slowly, under ten miles an hour on a motorway, sir, I should inform you is highly dangerous, and against the law.”

“I was, looking….”

“Yes, you told me,” Gavin interrupted, “can I ask exactly what it was that you were looking for?”

“I’d erm, rather not say.” The man added embarrassed to his emotions, on top of the flustered he already displayed. “It’s, erm, rather personal.”

“I see,” Gavin replied, looking over the exterior of the car in astonishment. “Furthermore, you realise the masses of tinsel, fairy lights and bells you have attached to your vehicle is extremely distracting to other road users?”

“But,” the odd fellow pointed out, “it’s Christmas.” At this point he looked up at Gavin as if to plea his innocence. Recognition suddenly struck the driver, “Gavin? Gavin, is that you?”

PC Waite did not recognise the suspect and raised an eyebrow. The driver continued; excitement glowed in his tone. “Well, your dad told me you joined the force, well I never, you’ve grown up so fast.” The driver noted the policeman’s confusion. “I’m his brother, William!”

Gavin gasped, “Uncle Billy?!”

“Yes,” the man smiled. Gavin couldn’t believe it; he hadn’t heard of his uncle for so long, not since the operation. Yet he knew he must act professional. “Please, sir, stay in your vehicle, I need to check on the others involved in the incident. In the meantime, erm, William, I suggest you consider telling me what it is you’ve lost, on the motorway, as it may harm your defence if you later rely on something you didn’t inform me of at the time, okay?”

“It’s kind of hard to say,” the officer’s uncle confessed, and with a deep embarrassment he looked soberly at his own lap.

Gavin turned on his foot, knowing this would take some paperwork. He had heard rumour about the nature of his uncleโ€™s painful operation, but never wished to believe it. Evidence would suggest his older brother was not lying. He approached the second vehicle and crunched something underfoot, nearby its rear door. He lifted his boot and observed yolk, with confusion. “An egg?”

The driver of the unknown personalised assault vehicle sat at his steering wheel dressed in a tight black bodysuit, cloak and facemask. At least he observed COVID-19 regulations, Gavin figured. Though when he put his head through the driver’s window, he was sent reeling backwards by his sense of smell.

There was a funk about this mysterious chap which owned a universe by itself. It was a pungent stink of body odour which overpowered the junior officer. The man inside detected the issue by facial expression alone.

โ€œPart asbestos, part nomex,โ€ the driver said in an irritated, husky tone.

โ€œExcuse me?โ€ PC Waite queried.

โ€œThe reason for me smelling,โ€ the fellow expanded. โ€œMy costume is polyester-based, part asbestos, part nomex covered body-armour; a little body odour is normal. If you had to run around chasing bad guys with as much ferocity and exertion as me, wearing this getup, you would smell equally as bad.โ€

โ€œI see,โ€ PC Waite snorted, although he didnโ€™t.

โ€œWhatever it is you want, officer, I must inform you that you have allowed a principal criminal mind get away,” the man spoke in a deep tone.

“Were you alone in the vehicle at the time of the impact?” Gavin asked, as he thought he saw a strange character dressed in a red waistcoat, green tights and a yellow cloak flee the scene.

โ€œMy assistant was with me,” the driver explained with a sigh, โ€œweโ€™ve been through this so many times in the past; some say he flew away; others suggest he laid an egg.โ€

Gavin looked perplexed, though it might explain why there was indeed an egg under his boot. “He is a bird,” the stranger elucidated, “you see?”

After much deliberation Gavin responded. “I think I see what is going on here. I am in touch with modern culture, you know.โ€

“In which case,” the driver retorted, “allow me to fix my wheel and attend to capturing the assailant, which, if you were a better policeman, you would be assisting me with.”

“Please wait, sir,” Gavin insisted, “I need to report back to my base.”

“I only talk to chief commissioner Gordon,” the driver informed Gavin.

PC Waite moved away from the vehicle, and called in on his radio. The voice was his direct superior. “Ah, PC Waite, any progress down there? I mean, have you established the cause of the crash?”

“Yes sir. But you’re not going to believe me.”

His chief replied, “try me.”

“Very well sir,” Gavin explained, “jingle bells.”

There was a momentary pause, “jingle bells, are you sure, jingleโ€ฆ?” The chief sounded astonished.

โ€œAll the way,โ€ Gavin added nervously.

The voice over the radio sounded part alarmed, part concerned. โ€œI am sending backup, PC Waite, are there any dangers on the scene your fellow officers should be made aware of?โ€

He didnโ€™t want to, but Gavin replied, โ€œBatman smells.โ€

โ€œI see,โ€ came the reply, โ€œany witnesses?โ€

โ€œRobin, flew away, or he laid an egg,โ€ PC Waite replied. โ€œCanโ€™t be sure at this early stage, sir.โ€

โ€œAnd the condition of the vehicles?โ€

โ€œThe Batmobile lost a wheel,โ€ Gavin sighed with embarrassment.

โ€œAnd anyone else involved?โ€

โ€œThe Joker, sir, but he got away.โ€

The sound of his chief scratching his head with worry concerned the young officer. After a cold silence his radio spoke once more. โ€œI think you should relieve yourself of your duty with immediate effect, PC Waite. Either you are under a lot of stress, or your idea of work banter is beyond what is expected of an officer of the law. Is there anything youโ€™d like to inform me about the incident, I mean, what about the other person involved?โ€

Gavin sighed and took a deep breath, โ€œitโ€™s my Uncle Billy, sir, I erm, I believe heโ€™s somehow managed to lose his willy, on the motorway.โ€

The Tiers of a Clown

Wiltshire Council outlined what the new restrictions mean for us yesterday. I have copied and pasted it for your reference. Although some parts were accidentally deleted so I had to fill them in, as best as I remembered it reading. Apologies for any slight inaccuracies, but it’s Monday, alright?

The actual report can be found here: https://www.wiltshire.gov.uk/news/wiltshire-covid-high-category but, yeah, it was basically this, or very similar:

The Wiltshire Council local totalitarian area has been confirmed to be in the Government’s Tier 2 ‘let’s get high’ category, which will replace national put a pillow on your fridge day on 2 December.

This is a different Tier that the county was in prior to the current national restrictions and it means that from 2nd December:

โ€ข People must not socialise with anyone they do not like or who is not in bubble wrap, in any indoor sitting area, whether wrapped at home or in a public place.

โ€ข People must also not socialisitate group sex, with people or gnomes, outside, including in a garden in outer space.

โ€ข Businesses and emus can remain open in a COVID secure manner, other than those which are closed by law, bankruptcy or eighties electronica band Blancmange.

โ€ข Pubs in cars must close, unless they are operating as restaurants which sell sausage rolls.

โ€ข Hospitality venues can only serve alcohol with substantial meals or drug deals to politicians. A Scotch egg is not a substantial meal unless you are Nicola Sturgeon, but vodka jelly is.

โ€ข Hospitality businesses selling food or drink for consumption on their premises are required to serve table tennis players only. In premises which sell alcohol, they need to close between 11pm and 5am as those are past covid’s bedtime, with some exemptions to large chain businesses who’ve slipped Bojo ten grand, and stop taking orders over 10p.

โ€ข Education settings remain open because kids are rocking through the herd immunity scheme.

โ€ข Council services such as leisure centres, libraries, deporting Jamaicans and throwing disabled residents out of their homes will be able to open their doors again.

โ€ข Weddings, funerals and conservative tainset enthusiasts can go ahead with restrictions on numbers of attendees – 15 people can attend wedding ceremonies and receptions, 30 people can attend funeral ceremonies, and 200 conservative train enthusiasts can attend meetings about making a Lego station on the Lydeway.

โ€ข Outdoor street markets will be able to sell full a range of cheese, not just cheddar, provided they only shout their pitches in a non-chav accent.

โ€ข Places of worship, except those for pagans and druids remain open, but people must not attend, or socialise inside them to have sex with goats, unless there’s a legal exemption or bonafide fetish exemption card.

Earlier in the week, the Prime Minister Bojo the clown waffled about something or other, partly in Latin, partly in gibberish; thought you might like to know we love the ground he wobbles on, and if he shot his load onto his thighs Wiltshire  council would gladly lick it off.

This week, the Government also confirmed that regardless of Tier, three wise men can form a Christmas bauble between 23rd to the 27th December. Once this bauble has been formed, it can be changed at Whitehall Garden Centre only.

Cllr Phil “poppa” Yellowhead, furher of Wiltshire Council, said:

“It is disappointing, I had the Urch-funk crew rocking up for a Christmas sesh, but surprising, that we find ourselves in a Tier higher than before, being we’re all filthy rich, least I am. We have been planning for such an eventuality with plastic Paw Patrol characters and we want to reassure residents and businesses that we have no idea how to get through this.

COVID-19 is still very prevalent and will be here for as long as Christmas Only Fools & Horses specials, so I advise everyone to keep social distancing, listen to Cliff Richard, have a good hand shandy, wear a mask or reindeer boob jumper, and self-masturbate when required to do so. If we maintain that behaviour and everyone plays the fart game, then there’s no reason why we can’t move the entire county to the Scilly Isles in the lowest Tier, and then eventually get to the other side of this with only Brexit left to wreck the economy.

Anyone can access the Wiltshire Well-hung mo-fo Hub who may be struggling to find prawn crackers during this convenient time to enforce total control. This may include those who are self-masturbating and don’t have a support network, 3G, or fluffy bras around them or know where to get help and disco lights. Let’s rock this lockdown and have a jolly good time, for Father Christmas was born on this faithful day, or close to it.”