My Name is Tim and I Was a Huge Fan of 46 Itchy

I woke up from a dream a month or so ago thinking I wanted to release a 7" vinyl. I told my girlfriend this a couple of days later on a weekend away in Newcastle (she didn't find it too weird as I'm prone to waking up in the middle of the night and shouting weird things at her like "download codes" or "life is like a bus journey" (I think she's still waiting for the end of that analogy, as am I come to think of it)) and she told me that I should wait until I knew if I actually wanted to release anything. But I already had something in the back of my mind that I didn't share with her that day; mostly because I thought it would be an impossible task to bring together and partly because I thought it might be some kind of nostalgia thing with me being back in the North East where I lived for four or so years when I stuttered through university.

There was a ska punk band from Sunderland called 46 Itchy who I absolutely adored. I interviewed Dan, the bass player for the first issue of my fanzine, waterintobeer and went to see them whenever I could. Most of the band have gone onto form or be members of some great punk bands since then; the 46 Itchy family tree includes The Mercury League, Offshore Radio, Former Cell Mates, Broken Few, Leatherface, Pure Graft, Bear Trade and Rivals to name a few.

waterintobeer fanzine issue number 1 as displayed in my toilet

Ska seems a dirty word nowadays however and it's true that it seemed to suit the stupidity, care freeness and general tomfoolery of ones teenage years and I'm not sure that the former members of the band want that particular part of their past bringing up too often, especially not in the form of something you could hold and try to sell. So in the face of not being able to release a split 7" of current bands inhabited by ex-46 Itchy members using the title of this blog (but with the name left blank so that the purchaser could fill their names in themselves with a free gift letter sticker sheet) I thought I'd make a stupid ex-46 Itchy bands box set thing and review some of their records, because, really, you should check them all out. And I guess, it's okay on the internet as anything's that written is as disposable as ska music itself, which, let's face it on the whole was absolutely shite.

I still loved 46 Itchy though and don't (always) skip their songs when they shuffle onto my iPod now and I'd like to celebrate them in some way; and this is that way. A band that brought so much happiness and fun to a (albeit quite small) group of people shouldn't be forgotten just because ska music seems a bit naff now; at the time they did what they did very well and enjoyed themselves when they did it. They're much better at what they do now but as the Bear Trade song says 'Age is a High Price to Pay for Maturity'. And, yeah, I still hold out for a one off reunion.

Anyway, here's a guide to make your own 7" box set; you can change 46 Itchy to any band that you loved in your youth that you know have gone onto form other bands or do what ever you like. It'll make a lovely Christmas present for yourself...

Some tools that you'll need

1. Find yourself a good quality cardboard box. I suggest using a Young'sBrewBuddy box; then you can use the contents to brew your own beer afterwards.

2. Find another, smaller manufactured box so that you can work out your dimensions. I used an Ibuprofen box and copied how that was made and multiplied the dimensions to meet my needs, for a 7" box set the main bit should be around 20cm vertically and horizontally.

3. Draw out where your flaps and stuff are going to go and then cut out the bits you aren't going to need.

4. Cut out the flaps and shape them so that they are easier to fold and will fit together to form your box.

5. Realise you've basically made an empty 7 inch pizza box, but still feel quite proud of it because, y'know, you're Doing It Yourself.

6. Now fold your flaps into place and get ready for the gluing bit.

7. Do the gluing bit. And there you should have it; a box.

8. Now it's time to create your cover, start by plastering old fanzines you didn't know what to do with but didn't really want to throw away as you know how much effort and love go into making them.

9. Realise you have no artistic talent and other than the title you have no idea what should be the central focus point so photocopy the 46 Itchy EP cover and stick that on. Tell yourself off as you really should have printed off the title too.

It looks better in real life

10. Stick the inside back cover on the back and the bands name on the spine of the box just in case you decide to make multiple box sets for other bands' family trees.

And as promised here's some reviews of some of their records as that was really the original point of this blog when it was was first mooted by Mr TomTom, who then didn't do anything. I still hope he'll be getting involved in the near future though.

Bear Trade- Belief is a Graveyard (4 track 7", Everything Sucks Music)

Featuring members of Blocko, The Mingers and 46 Itchy, Bear Trade play gruff melodic hardcore punk somewhere in the vain of The Lawrence Arms. I've somehow managed to miss them every time they've played anywhere near me despite trying to see them, up until they played a matinee gig with Caves in Leeds when I was back home for the weekend. Anyway, I was suitably impressed; they create a huge wall of sound live but you can still hear the melodies and quality song writing. On record their pop sensibilities and intricate guitar work is even greater so you get some lovely tuneful, well produced punk songs to have a little dance to.

PureGraft/ Little League- Split (4 track 7", Specialist Subject Records)

Two songs here from the Graft who play technical fast melodic Propagandhi worshiping punk rock with a bit of Frankie Stubbs inspired lyric writing going on. Maybe. It's good stuff on record but ten times better live; when this band are on form they're impossible not to enjoy, mainly because they look like they're enjoying playing so much themselves.

Rivals- I'm Not An Animal (2 track 7", Tiny Lights Recordings)

Rivals contain a Futurehead and an Itchy; somewhere far away my teenage/ early twenties self is very jealous of me, and probably slightly perturbed. And drunk. Rivals play rock music, at times they sound like a less abrasive, poppier New Bomb Turks, at other times they don't. They always sound good though, and when I say that I mean fucking good. I mean great. Really fucking goodly great.

I think it's obvious I haven't tried reviewing anything properly since waterintobeer disbanded (and I only tried a couple of times then) but you should do yourself a favour and check out these releases. And then maybe you can make a box to put them in.  

Old Nonsense Found Down The Back Of The Computer #2: A welcome to Hangover Square and an awakening of the lost feeling of finding your own way through (you're like an old friend).

This article first appeared in Chris Dixons one off 'zine "Well, I Guess This Is Growing Up." I wrote it a few months after moving to London permanently so probably some time in summer 2011.

Last summer I received a phone call from an ex work colleague asking if I was in work at the moment, I had to concede that no, I wasn't. Since being made redundant a couple of months before  I'd decided to take a break and was pottering about Leeds, tending to my allotment, reading books and wasting my time and redundancy money drinking early morning pints in a Wetherspoons pub just because I could. But my ex work colleague was about to make me an offer that would change my life pretty significantly. Like most things in life the significance would take a while to take hold and the prettiness was not overtly apparent but the wheels were set in motion.

 

“Do you want a job for three months working for our old company in Enfield?”

“Enfield!?”

“Yeah, they'll pay for a hotel,  your travel to and from Leeds for the weekends, and all evening meals”

“Erm, I'll come back to you. I've got to think about it.”

 

I didn't have to think about it, I just thought I could get a pay rise on my previous pay if I made him sweat a bit, I got a bit too excited though after posting the question on Facebook whether I should take a job in Enfield and received replies from some of my London friends outlining the apparent ease of commuting between Camden, where most of them resided and Enfield and phoned back in five minutes telling him I'd take it. And I still got a bit of a pay rise.

 

And so started the Alan Partridge period of my life. By the week I lived in a hotel in Chalk Farm that most people thought was a haven for prostitutes and ne'er do wells and on most weekends I'd get the train or a lift back to my flat in Leeds. I spent all my redundancy money exploring London, in which I mean I took in the various public houses that I found in a book called 'The Rough Pub Guide to Britain', pubs I knew from novels by Patrick Hamilton  and partook in various Nicholsons' pub chain pub trails where you get a free t-shirt for drinking five pints in five different pubs (I still maintain this is the best way of seeing most of central London’s historical landmarks in a fun and informative way). My wardrobe got heftier, my belly bigger, my work worse; there wasn't a day I worked in Enfield that I wasn't hungover to some degree.

 

Three months became six but then my company didn't win a contract they were expecting to and I was out of a job again. Before leaving I decided I'd go for an interview with the company for another job that would be on offer in a few months time based in Croydon. I could always turn it down when it came to it, it would mean moving down to London; no free hotel (with or without big plates), no free food, no free travel, no Leeds, but I had to admit my head was already being turned by my capital city. I was still an outsider, I only stayed one weekend a month at most. Though I'd experienced bits of London there was still much more to see, there was a different life to live. I'd have to sleep on it for a couple of months so I went back to Leeds and spent my time tending my allotment, reading books and wasting my time and dole money on early morning pints in a Wetherspoons pub just because I could.

 

Then I got the phone call.

 

Then I made the decision.

 

Two months later I was moving my possessions into a studio flat in New Cross which cost almost twice as much as the one bed flat I rented in one of Leeds' more affluent suburbs. I'm still not sure if the decision was made because I was running away from something or someone or if I was running toward something or someone. I do know I was struggling to find work in Leeds and a decision had to be made one way or the other, the little big things that certainly tipped the balance were factored in but I left my home city with a heavy heart. I love Leeds, I always will, and I hope to return one day soon but my life was stagnating, a change was needed. The confusion in my head of running away from something or someone certainly abated and turned into a former clarity which lasted all but a few weeks when I realised the someone or something I was running towards would confuse me even more. There's so many people in London and that at times, makes it seem the loneliest place I've ever been, even when surrounded by friends in the pub or at a gig.

how the garden was

It turned out when I went to start work that my company hadn't yet built the new offices that I would be working from so I would be getting paid for 'working' from home, fully paid, for the first month or so of my contract. Working consisted of staying out of the way and letting the managers get on with whatever it was they were trying to do so I had the best part of two months to myself. One of the main things I knew I'd miss about leaving Leeds was leaving my allotment; a place where I could be by myself, grow vast quantities of fruit and vegetables and think about everything life outside the confines of that silly wooden fence that surrounded the Roundhay allotment grounds would throw at me next. With an amazing stroke of luck that I put down to karma for being a generally okay person (at least when sober) when I was viewing flats in New Cross I came across a flat which overlooked a back yard that could easily be described as waste land. Tangled in the sea of five foot high weeds were various discarded garments and litter strewn from god knows where. There was a double bed deposited by the next door neighbours and an old washing machine stuck into one corner of the 'garden'. Most people would have thought 'shit-hole', I thought 'heaven'. I even offered to pay extra. So I spent the next month or so turning the shit-hole into something that may represent heaven (at least to me) if such a place existed.

and what I did with it

 

I won't bore you with the details but now, three months on I have a small herb garden flourishing, flowers doing what they do, carrots, peas, beetroot, radishes, spring onions, purple sprouting broccoli and various lettuces all in the ground or on my plate and some white roses planted to remind me of home. It's my own little bit of my kind of Yorkshire in a back yard in New Cross.

the white roses of Yorkshire and some other crap

 

As I spent most of my Alan Partridge days in London in and out of various public houses and only seeing central and a bit of north London when I first moved down permanently I wanted to understand exactly how big London was and needed to know there was a beauty akin to what you'd find in the Yorkshire countryside so I hatched a plan to walk the whole of the Thames within the London boundary; from Hampton Court Palace to Erith Marshes. I walked around 70 miles on four Saturdays and found exactly what I'd hoped to find; a place so diverse in its various stages of prettiness and ugliness that I could hardly get bored of the place. I know I'll get sick of it, but at least I'll never be bored.

a bit of London on one of my walks

 

I'm quite settled now; work's started properly and is keeping me out of too much alcohol related trouble, I'm weeding the garden constantly and enjoying some of the fruits of my labour, I plan on starting the 80 mile capital ring walk soon, I’ve found a local non league football team to support (it warms me that I’ll always be able to find the banality of going to the football enjoyable and inclusive wherever I go, except if I go to a Premiership ground) and though I do still wish that Rancid's Tim Armstrong would be the voice heard on London buses instead of that electronic woman's voice (why I always imagine an American with a faux London accent whilst strumming a guitar and singing out London street names on London buses will always make me smile and make little sense to me(especially as it doesn't seem to fit on tubes)) I can't really complain about that much. The solitude of London living has enamoured me to her, I won't be staying forever but I'm certainly going to enjoy it whilst I do.

super Dulwich Hamlet

Old Nonsense Found Down The Back Of The Computer #1: European Van Trip

The first of an occasional series of crap I've written in the past that I've found on my computer. This is from a holiday in the Spring of 2010 I think. I'm not going to bother to edit it and sort out the mistakes, because to tell you the truth, I can't be bothered. I think this was originally written for my friend Luke's Ont Road Fanzine, not sure if I ever submitted it though. It doesn't quite catch the insanity of the whole affair to be honest. All the photos are from the stag do too, which I skipped over, because you really don't need to know about that.

What to do when faced with the ordeal of having to get to Budapest for a weekend stag do? Make it an even bigger ordeal by deciding to drive a rickety camper van from Leeds to there and back... and thus began another European adventure. My mate Ol had just bought an old camper van and seemingly wanted to test its capabilities so off we set a week before our other friends were due in Budapest.

An early warning sign of future troubles was given to us when we were stopped on the motorway down to Dover by the traffic police. The lights on the van weren't working and they said driving in the darkening skies was against the law. Of course we knew this but having followed the traffic car into Leicester services and been given a talking to we tried to come up with a plan; we could wait till the morning and drive in daylight and miss our ferry, spending a boring night in the service station car park or try to use our severely limited mechanic skills in fixing the problem. We decided on the latter and using a screwdriver, some sellotape and lots of luck we managed to get the van back on the road. We made the ferry and were on our way across the Channel to Dunkerque.

We pulled into a motorway lay-by on the other side so that Ol could get some much needed sleep after driving all day and settled down for the evening. The next day we started our journey again; we didn't really have a plan, we just knew we had to get to Budapest and drop off Ol's girlfriend Clara, who was travelling with is for the first bit of the journey, at Budapest airport so she could get home to Spain. The drive passed through Belgium and we decided on a stop off in Ghent. We tried to find a bar and walked around for ages trying to find a suitable one. Belgium is known for its production of good beer, especially fruit beer so we thought the task would be an easy one but we were unable to find anything that didn't look like a large Costa Coffee and after about an hour gave up on the idea and decided to head back to the van and get back on the road. The problem, we soon realised was we didn't know where we parked the van, didn't take a note of the street name and had no idea where the hell we were. Two hours later, more by luck than design we bumped into the van again. Relieved we set off again heading for Germany.

The van had been making strange noises on the trip through Belgium and after starting on the journey again the noises got even worse and we all started stressing out, tapes of Hootie and the Blowfish and Joan Armatrading (it's difficult to pick up tapes nowadays, even charity shops don't sell them any more) couldn't deflect the feeling of impending doom. The van couldn't climb any type of hill, not even at a gradient of about five degrees. Articulated lorries were overtaking us on the motorways and we decided to pull in to give the van a rest and attempt to formulate a plan. To do this I left all the decision making to Ol and went outside for a cigarette. After a nap Ol decided to give it another go and we set off again deciding to stop at the nearest biggish town we could find on the map. All roads led to Aachen, I can't believe pen has put that to paper many times before.

We trundled into Aachen to the sound of a very poorly van screaming to be put out of its misery when it finally fought back against its human masters by deciding to die; disaster, the gear stick stopped working, Ol tugged and pulled on the stick but it was fucked, we started rolling down the road. Ol managed to pull the van in and we pushed it to a safe side street where we could formulate a new plan. We decided to go to a pub and get pissed and worry about it in the morning. Sometimes it's the only good plan, often it's certainly the best plan. Luckily we were parked up near Aachen jazz rock café and we sat at the bar watching a great band featuring a El Hefe lookalike play two or three sets of weird indie jazz or something. We were tired, drunk and a little delirious. Tomorrow could wait till then, we bought some more beer and went back to the van. Unluckily now night had descended we realised we were parked outside a brothel and one of the prostitutes tried to climb through the window to get to Ol. We locked the doors and tried to get some sleep. I woke up a couple of hours later with my bladder bursting and a large dose of the fear. I was going to go in a bottle but realised there'd be too much liquid so set off to find a suitable place to dispense all of the previous nights fun. I couldn't find anywhere; the fear took over as I skulked from one doorway to the next getting ready to take the plunge but then I'd hear a noise; some footsteps, a voice and kept shooing myself away, the fear was taking over. Half an hour later I found a secluded grass area and a tree and had one of the best pisses of my life.

I needed a drink but when I arrived back to the van I realised we needed to actually formulate a plan to get the van fixed and then formulate another plan to make sure that I never have to go through the search for a suitable outside toilet ever again on this trip. After a few hours we found a tow company and the relevant garage we needed and were all good to go and were given a lift on the tow truck to the outer suburbs of Aachen. Luckily it was by FC Aachen's stadium so whilst Ol and Clara waited at the garage I went and had a look round the big yellow eyesore and talked myself out of buying various nonsense in the club shop.

After a few hours the van was patched up, Ol was charged a very reasonable thirty Euros and we were good to get back on the road again. We looked at the map again and realised we had no idea where we were going so Ol just started driving again. By nightfall we had driven across a large part of Germany and ended up in a town that I can't recall the name of, Bad something or other. It was the Rotherham of Germany, perhaps even worse. Not a place you set out to visit, would ever re-visit or would want to come to by chance. We went to a casino to use the internet and then I was sent on a mission to find a couple of beers before bed time leaving Ol and Clara in the van. I got lost, I always get lost, I'm quite proud of the fact I've been lost in every city, town and village I've ever been to but at that time I just wanted a beer, some bread and some sleep. Luckily I found a supermarket down some dodgy looking back street and instead of buying a couple of beers for a night cap bought a whole crate.

In the morning we were shouted at by an irate shopkeeper whose shop we were parked outside who as well as being pretty angry seemed baffled that foreign people were visiting her town; we quickly got back on the road. We decided to head to Czech Republic and on the way Ol had a light bulb moment; he remembered there was a hole in the middle of the van that you could screw a table into, but more relevant to us you could unscrew the piece of metal that the table leg is inserted to and you have a four inch wide passageway to the ground below. Pissing, lying on your front with your dick hanging out the bottom of a moving van on German Autobahn's is something I recommend you do at least once in your life. It's nothing anyone would have on their list of things to do before they die but it does mean you can carry on drinking without stopping on any journey you may be making.

We arrived In Brno, a rather boring Czech city and after a bit of exploring plumped ourselves down in an arty bar and quickly gave it up as a bad job and went back to the van to sleep. In the morning we set off for Budapest and after dropping Clara at the airport found the hostel the stag party would be staying in and went off to one of the many spas Budapest has and soaked away the stress and hangovers we had accumulated over the last five days. After that Ol had some work to do so I set off to explore the city by myself, which meant I went to lots of pubs; by the time the rest of the stag party had arrived I was already far too drunk and knew that the weekend would quickly descend into  drunken stupidity. It was nice to have a proper bed though.

A couple of days later the stag party left leaving Ol and I deliberating our next plan of action. We wanted to get up to Krakow in Poland to visit some friends and having consulted the map saw the most direct route was through Slovakia where we could stop off for a night and banish the weekends hangovers with some garlic soup, a couple of pints and some much needed sleep.

We chose Banska Bariska as our stop off point, parked up and went to explore the city and look for somewhere to eat. After eating we went and looked for some bars and came across a place called 'Tirish Bar'. Thinking it was a Slovakian take on a Yorkshire Irish pub we went in and soon found it was just a rock bar dive which housed the local alternative students and settled down for a couple of pints before we agreed we'd head back to the van for an early night. Somehow it didn't end up that way, we soon became friends with the barmaid and her friends and Ol showed off his punching power by having a go on the punching machine. He got up to second on the leader board and was told he'd never get up to first; that a “fucking gypsy” was first and no-one can beat him. They wanted Ol to knock him off the top so much they kept putting in money to give him another go, it turned out to be thankless task as predicted though. Having quickly made new friends we found ourselves in the middle of a lock in and decided to see where the evening would take us. After a few  more drinks in the bar we ended up in a casino until early morning. Our early night had become one of the latest of the trip and we decided to keep it going; getting a couple of bottles of wine and inviting the barmaid and her two male friends back to the van. We all walked back along the deserted streets, reached the van and then all hell broke loose, I was fed a tab of acid (I say forced, Ol says less so), one of the guys punched Ol in the face and then the police turned up to ask what the fuck was going on. The Slovakians managed to get rid of them and I awoke hours later wondering what the hell had happened, where the hell I was. I was still tripping and needed a shit and a walk; a hole in the van isn't no place to take a number two and there was no McDonald’s in the town for a McShit so I made do squatting in the park as people strolled by.

When Ol came round, luckily acid free we set off to Krakow. When we got on the motorway we saw a load of police cars in a lay by pulling cars and vans over. If I was anywhere near conscious thought I'd have been more worried than I was, if we were pulled over Ol would be put in a Slovakian jail for being over the limit and I'd be alone in a god forsaken town trying to get him out of there when I could hardly use two syllable words. Two syllable English words. They waved us through, we think we deserved the luck.

We got to our friends house in Krakow and they asked me why I was a very strange shade of purple. I went to bed and slept and slept till I felt somewhere near normality and my skin colour returned to an off pink hue. Magda and Asia looked after us and took us to their parents house so their 'worker' could patch up the van again; it still wasn't working properly and the lights were still a problem. The worker and Magda and Asia's Dad managed to sort out the lights and made the whole thing sound a lot more smoother and we were good to go again.

We set off for Dresden and having reached there set about finding a bar to drink in. Most of the bars seemed reliant on fluorescent lighting and charging ridiculous prices but we managed to find an old mans pub and settled down for a drink. The rather drunk man on the next table from us overheard us talking and quickly became aggressive, putting his feet on our table and spouting gibberish. He then stood up, shouted at us and did the hail Hitler hand to top lip salute and we decided to get the hell out of there.

Next stop was Düsseldorf and after getting lost trying to find the strip of pubs and bars we located it and found a nice rock bar to get drunk in and unwind; we were on the last leg of the holiday now and were happy to stay out of trouble, we talked to a few locals and I noticed a poster promoting Leatherface were playing round there soon so told everyone to go see them. The rawness of drinking non stop for almost two weeks was taking its toll though, it was time to bed.

Our last European stop off was Bruges; a nice place for a romantic weekend but a pretty boring place if you want a final blow out. That was for the best though. After seeing some tourists recreating scenes from the film In Bruges we stopped off at a pub with the tallest woman I've ever seen serving the customers and then went to a rock bar to finish things off.

All that was left was driving to the ferry, getting the ferry and driving back to Leeds, a trip that was surprisingly without any chaotic incident and then we stopped in a local pub for a 5.9% pint of Thornbridge Jaipur IPA; nice not to be drinking a lager, it all tastes the same after a while; nice to be pissed after one pint; nice to be able to go home to my own bed. Not as nice to realise I'd have to go back to work in two days time, now I really did need a holiday.