where art collides philosoperontap

I once ran around West Common. It was a far away time when I was young enough to delude myself that doing such a thing made sense. Not anymore. It isn’t that I consider running to be a bad thing, although one does have to recognise the wear and tear on the joints. No it’s because I now do it in a gym.

Anyway the point I was getting to is that West Common is a wonderful resource for the citizens of Lincoln. People play sports there – football, tennis and cricket as I recall, and they ride their horses. There were also a few holes of Carholme Road Golf Club over on the common but they’ve moved them back across the road now.

In it’s heyday of course the common was a racecourse, hence the grandstand. It’s a big shame really that the racecourse is no more. Killed off before my time. I’ve attended a couple of functions in the grandstand over the years but not for a long time now.

All this is just a preamble really to my main West Common story which is this.  One year I had been working at the Westgate School Christmas Market Cafe. All the kids went to Westgate and I used to faithfully turn up every year to wash dishes at their Market Cafe – a great fundraiser for the school. I preferred the washing up to being front of house – didn’t want to have to engage with the great unwashed (sorry – poor pun) and there was always a good banter and cameraderie at the kitchen sink.

Every year it was my custom and practice to retire to the pub over the road after my stint at the sink to reward myself with a few pints. On one particular occasion I did this with some mates who I’d also roped in to volunteer. We were sat in the snug of the Victoria pub when the phone rang. It was my wife Anne. She had parked to car at West Common, in one of those parking spots along Long Leys Road, and now she couldn’t get it out. The wheels kept spinning. Could I come and drive it out for her.

Now here was the problem. I had already had a few pints and told her it was impossible. I was way over the limit to drive a car. The conversation ended and I told the lads the story. As I was doing this a terrible feeling of guilt came over me. The damsel was in distress. We needed to do something. The boys were informed that we would have to leave our drinks temporarily and all head down to the common. We would together be able to lift the car out of trouble.

Everyone agreed that this was the right thing to do so I rang her back to let her know we were on our way. Our daughter answered the phone and this is how the conversation went:

“I’m out of the car and mum’s trying to drive it out. She’s driving along the ditch. Oh my god she’s going to hit a tree. No it’s ok she’s made it out. Were fine now”.

Phew. I stood the boys down and we went back to our beer. That is my West Common story.

It cannot be that S17 is “Nothing”. There must be a field there at least. Shirley. The A2Z doesn’t really help us here. If the Lincoln A2Z was the HitchHiker’s Guide to the Galaxy it would at least have some entry. Maybe “nothing” was lifted directly from the book. I haven’t got a copy so I can’t check. I’ve looked on Amazon, eBay et al and all I can find is some work of fiction of the same title.

One thing you can’t accuse the HHGTTG of is being fictitious. Shirley. It would help if the A2Z showed S17 in green. That would suggest a field. It is bordered by Canwick Manor Farm, Westfield Farm and Canwick Heath Farm. Has there been a battle of the farms somewhere in history fighting it out for possession of S17? The 1st World War trench warfare of the agricultural world. I really don’t know, yannow. The Battle for S17 Trilogy. The definitive guide to 500 years of feuding over a small plot of land, unnamed until the Lincoln A2Z came along and arbitrarily called it what we know it as today.

Of course if you’ve never looked at the Lincoln A2Z you might never know the land was called S17. Unless there’s a sign there. I haven’t been but I doubt such a sign exists. If to did there would be others at regular intervals around our fair city. Most of them could have been pinched I supposed.  A bit like the regular fate of the Abbey Road sign off the Beatles Album of the same name. I’m sure we would have heard about that.

There aren’t very many plots with absolutely nothing in them. U15 is the only other one that springs to mind (after a cursory sweep of the map).

S17 twinned with U15. Birds of a feather. Kindred spirits. Losers in the cartographic story of the 21st century.

Fade to nothing…

Bishop Grot is in N7. It’s somewhere you drive past many times without thinking much other than “there’s Bishop Grot” or “hmm I notice it’s now a Uni”. Although I’ve lived in Lincoln since January 7th 1984 I only went to Bishop Grot for the first time a couple of years ago. It was to the showing of a film at “The Venue”. I’ve forgotten what the film was but since that time I’ve been getting pseudo spam email from The Venue advertising what’s on.

It’s only pseudo spam. Most of what I get sent doesn’t interest me but it was such a nice venue that I haven’t got the heart to block them. Since that day I’ve been back four times. Twice to Lincoln Rugby Club dinners, once looking at a new office and once to a piano concert with internationally famous Hungarian pianist Ervin Nagy. Erv’s a pal of mine. Nagy is pronounced Naje. Erv is pronounced Erv, to me at least.

What amazes you about Bisho Grot is the size of the campus. It’s much bigger than you think when you drive past. The other surprise as how cheap the beer was at the student union. Quality. Got a glass of fizzy water for free. It’s much healthier for you than beer although obviously has to be drunk in moderation. You can have as much beer as you like.

I was a bit disappointed to find that J13 was a different bit of Tritton Road to the one I had been thinking of. Had it been L11 there were lots of things to talk about. I’ve even already written a poem about L11, or at least about the L11 retail units.

It’s January and everywhere is dark and wet and miserable.
The Lincoln slate sky covers a time of drabness day,
Flat blue-red-brick- beige-grey-dark in the paint-damp-run drizzle,
Orange branding tries vainly to B&Q brighten the desperate place,
Over the neon road, lights just make it though the gloom:
SCS, Pets at Home, Starbucks, Staples, Comet, PC World, Currys
Countrywide conformity reflected in dark and miserable grey.

Even K13 is more interesting than J13. I bought a trailer from K13. Used it loads of times for camping trips and other exciting family holidays. Still going strong after 10 years though I had to put air in the tyres this year for the first time – that’s after 10 years! AA man did it when he came to change a puncture on my wife’s car. I digress.

Parts of J13 are known as dead end street. This is because they are no through roads. I doubt the residents call it dead end street. They probably like the fact that they don’t get much traffic, except of course on Tritton Road itself which is a busy arterial thoroughfare and prone to high levels of traffic on a Saturday accompanied by the resultant congestion. I don’t know why people want to drive into town anyway. There’s a perfectly good Asda in North Hykeham or a Sainburys if you’re posh. What you can’t buy at those emporia is probably out of season.

I have a mate called Terry who lives around here. Can’t remember his address but I’d know the house if I saw it. Renovates old cars. And plays golf. Had some other friends who lived here during the property boom of the late eighties. The had moved up from dahn sarf and bought off plan. Rented somewhere whilst theirs was being built. By the time they moved in the value of the house had shot up but they had a fixed price. The builder kept trying to get them to cancel but no way hosay. Nick and Marian their names were. Not there anymore. Moved back darn sarf. It’s not so far to go to Hartsholme Park but that isn’t on the menu here so it will get no further mention. This square has plenty of water though not sure I’ve been to see any of it. I’ve probably missed out on one of the great wildfowl sites of Skellingthorpe Road. I’ll live with that. You can’t do every wildfowl site and wetland on the map. You’d need a spare pair of wellies. Innit.

I’ve been to Jerusalem. Twice. Jerusalem Israel. Never been to Jerusalem, Lincs, as far as I know. When is was in Jerusalem, Israel the streets were filled with soldiers, guns slung casually over their shoulders. I imagine guns can occasionally be seen in Jerusalem, Lincolnshire. Shotguns. Pheasant killers. Peasant thrillers. Killer diller. I feel as if a song would be appropriate here but I’ve never learnt the words to Jerusalem mainly because I’m Welsh. Good song though and I do like a good song. We Welsh like to sing. When my dad were a lad they would all troop off to choir practice at the chapel on a Tuesday night. It’s why everyone in Wales used to know the words to hymns, and the harmonies. Not anymore. The whole chapel thing is fading out and people no longer have the occasion to learn the words. Shame really. They could still do the hymn singing without the religious bits. It’s what back rooms of pubs with pianos are for. I once went on a works outing to the peak district. We went on some sort of circular walk and ended up in a village with three pubs. The first was decidedly dodgy, filled with locals who would eye us with that “he’s not from round here” sort of look. The second was a bit touristy so five of us wandered on and found hte third pub. We hit the jackpot. This was a real locals pub with an old girl banging awya on hte piano whilst the regulars played their instruments – maracas, triangles etc. The songs were all of an era – roll out the barrell, daisy daisy giv e me your answer do and so on. We stayed there for the rest of the night. It came to midnight and the party was still in full swing but one of our party suddenly remembered we had to get on the coach to go home. An hour ago! We swayed down the road and met the coach coming to look for us. Slept the whole way home. Great day out. I wonder if there is a pub in Jerusalem. I may never find out…

PS – just taken a look on the map and of course I’ve been through Jerusalem. It’s just a couple of farm buildings and whilst there is no pub (shame) the Stones in Skellingthorpe is only a shortish walk. Ciao amigos.