The Beestonian Issue 11

The

Beestonian

ISSUE 11 / August & September: 2012 Out(doors) and Proud _Page 2 University of Beestonia: Life As A Mature Student BESTonians: Our own J-L0(we) _Page 3 Rural Strides _Page 4 & 5 Judo the Mats Gooooooold Getting Back on the Bike _Page 6 Au Contraire V The Great Outdoors _Page 7 Beeston Beats: Martin Jackson Oxjam Update Horace’s Half Hour _Page 8 Famous Last Words Thought for the Month

About Us: We are a locally run, locally based, regular, free paper for Beeston and its environs.

We are independent in all ways and not-for-profit, so if we say we like it, we really mean it.

You’ll find us in good Beeston coffee shops, pubs and other places we love.

Close Encounters of the NG9…

Did you hear anything strange on Friday, 10 August at 7 am?

Beestonian Paul Dennis thinks he did. While most people would have been pretending not to hear their alarm clocks, Paul, 46, was having a pre-work jog round Highfields Lake. Apparently, this would normally be a serene experience, with just the babbling of water and calls of ducks and geese to break the quiet. However, while running on the university-side bank, he claims an increasingly loud, “whooshing” noise caused him to turn and, to his amazement, see what appeared to be a fireball moving at incredible velocity before smashing into the lake with a noise Paul described as “like a thousand cars back-firing at once”. And then silence for a second, before the resident waterfowl went understandably crazy at what had just happened. But what did just happen?

The week in which it occurred is apparently notable for being the time Earth orbits into the Perseid Meteor cloud, a large cloud of dust hanging in space made up of the remains of a passing comet. As our planet passes through the cloud,

millions of particles are pulled into the atmosphere and then rain down as shooting stars. This display is highly anticipated amongst amateur

“Any wannabe space debris owners: grab a net. ” sky-watchers. The vast majority of these burn up in the atmosphere, but the rare one becomes a meteoroid: a meteor that survives the journey down and impacts the ground or, in this case, a boating lake. It is extremely rare to see one of these, and they are greatly sought after by scientists because of their rarity.

Is a chunk of this meteoroid now be resting on the silty lake bed, prodded by pike and whatever else lurks in the waters? Any wannabe space debris owners: grab a net.

However, in the remote chance that Paul saw the beginning of an alien invasion centred round Beeston, we at The Beestonian would like to put a message to any potential invader: we welcome you and will

Paul points to the place. Photo by Lewis Stainer.

aid you in your evil plans to eat mankind, as long as you spare us.

Plus, Cliftonians taste better...

Did you see/hear anything unusual on the 10 August to corroborate these events? Have any theories on it? Maybe you’re an expert in this sort of stuff and fancy letting us know so we can get to the bottom of things (the lake, even)? Then we’d relish hearing from you. Email: thebeestonian@gmail.com Lord Beestonia

UNIVERSITY of Beestonia

Image: from Beeston Then and Now by Robert Mellors (1916)

My life as a mature student at the University of Nottingham I was on the path to becoming a nurse, but a module on my Access to Higher Education Diploma course made me re-consider. I did an oral presentation on Jack the Ripper and from then on I absolutely adored history. I applied for the BA History and Ancient History course at The University of Nottingham as it covered the areas that I was really interested in studying.

Before actually starting at the University I attended Kick Start, a two-day induction programme especially for mature students.

This really helped me to settle in and prepare for university life as it covers topics such as finance, student support services, study skills and we got to take part in a lecture and seminar.

I’m now in my second year and I never believed that I would get this far! Becoming a mature student is not an easy option; you have to make a big commitment. The first couple of months I spent wondering ‘what have I done’?! I found the transition from Access (where you have your own little community) to an enormous university like Nottingham a bit of a struggle as I really felt like a little country mouse! But now I have fantastic and supportive friends, some mature and some much younger than myself, I feel I am part of the furniture and I never want to study anywhere else.

I am a member of the Mature Students’ Association which is a student-led organisation that supports mature students across the University. Those who take the leap will find a lively and supportive

learning environment.

I am proud to say that I am a student here; it is a fantastic place to learn.

My tutors have been so supportive and instilled a sense of confidence in me and I am now hoping to carry on and do a Masters in Classics.

– Hayley Hardwick, Second Year Student, BA (Hons) Ancient History and History at The University of Nottingham.

So if you think it’s too late to be a student, think again. In fact, don’t just think - go along to one of The University‘s Open Days on 14 and 15 September to get the ball rolling.

There are different entry routes for mature students, so book your place and find out more at nottingham.ac.uk/opendays, call 0115 84 66733 or e-mail mature@nottingham.ac.uk.

BESTonian - Beeston’s Finest: Mr Edward Joseph Lowe For Edward Joseph Lowe, becoming our 11th BESTonian started in 1825 when he was born at Highfield House in University Park - which was a detached house grand enough to be later divided into two large houses. A mere 15 years later he begins a lifetime’s habit of tenacious and systematic observation, encompassing so much of our surroundings. The scope of this observing was on a spectrum equal to that of light itself - there appears to be nothing he was not interested in coming to an understanding of. His first book, published at the age of 21, was no novel. It was A Treatise on Atmospheric Phenomena.

‘Ed J-Lo’, as we like to call him at The Beestonian, spent his whole life observing the natural world. He built Broadgate House to give himself a better vantage point for watching and learning via the observatory he installed there, kitting it out with the latest instruments of the day. Recently, thanks to the grand efforts of a small team of local Loweites, a Blue Plaque was

finally installed there. It’s shocking it took so long, as here lived the man who: supplied The Times with observations for their weather reports; was the first to notice the point of meteoric convergence in the heavens (probably somewhere above Highfields’ lake); invented a test for ozone in the atmosphere that’s still in use today, and was a founding member of The Royal Meteorological Society - without which we would have nothing to

“I’d be willing to bet on him being the Granddad to end all Granddads. ” talk about with the stranger at the bus stop and Climate Change would probably still be a myth in Britain (like it is in the ‘States) rather than the established, scientific fact it clearly is.

Not satisfied with just looking up, Lowe looked beneath, around and behind himself too. His original volumes on ferns and grasses are beautiful, rare creatures worth looking out for in secondhand bookshops the country over.

A fellow of the Royal Astronomical (space), Linnean (nomenclature of all living things), Zoological (animals), Geological (earth, insideout), Horticultural (plants, again) and Meteorological (climate) Societies - here was one Beeston Dude, if ever there was one. I have picked him as one of my Hypothetical Fellow Desert Islanders for his breadth of knowledge and keenness to know more. Ironically, not much is really known about the man himself. However, I’d be willing to bet a Athyrium felix-femina on him being a very reflective, generous and dedicated chap - if a distracted (and probably quite neglectful) husband - and the Granddad to end all Granddads.

Respect is most assuredly due.

Maybe one day he’ll get it.

TF

Follow us on Twitter @TheBeestonian to give us your views or email us at thebeestonian@gmail.com

Follow us on Twitter @TheBeestonian to give us your views.

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Rural strides

A walk to Beeston’s weirder spots.

Think you know Beeston’s outlying rural wonders?

Think you know the true secrets of the sweet fruit of bucolia that surrounds our urban core? Then think again. Our fearless explorers have donned the pit helmet of intrepid journalism, wielded the machete of reportage to delve deep into Beeston’s paths less travelled. by.

The Alexandrina Plantation Butterfly Sanctuary: Technically in Bramcote, or as an ever increasing majority now call it, ‘North-North Beestonia’, this is a winding, craggy sandstone ridge with good views, woody paths and butterflies: tons of butterflies. Due to the natural meadow effect, the non-goth moths flutteringly flock here to feed on sweet nectar, look pretty and unnerve Lepidopterophobics.

You’ll also find plentiful supplies of raspberries, blackberries and other fruit you’ll pick, stick in the fridge intending to make a crumble then throw out after two weeks.

for while the dates of the real Bing are 1903-1977, this one is to a Bing Crosby who lived between 19351996. A Beeston Bing? Enquiries to various council departments and a certain ancestral website have yielded only one ‘John A Crosby’ born 1935, died 1996 in Nottingham. Rumours that there is also a Long Eaton Parallel Perry Como, however these are yet to be confirmed.

“this small hillock is dedicated to Bing Crosby…

A Beeston Bing?

The Hemlock Stone, behind which lie grenade craters.

Photo by Gareth Newton

would be stupid. Go find your own bench. This one’s mine.

Back of Hemlock: We all know the ‘gnarled, twisted stump of rock, something like a decayed Bat seat: The University park mushroom’ (cheers for that, DH has many wonders; we’ve already Lawrence) of the Hemlock Stone, bigged-up the Millennium Garden, and you probably know about the hay meadows, the pike stuffed lake and other wonders; but down by the water there is a little bench in a hard-to-find corner, hidden from Bing Crosby Hill: Overlooking the main path, where a warm dusk A secret bench for watching secret bats. the Trent Valley and antediluvian can be spent observing the variety fields that sprawl East, this of bats that live on the campus. Or this is rubbish and trolls stroll the land, often spotted splashing around across the weir. All we do and you’ve probably strolled know is those who make it there, up the trig point, but more interesting features lie behind the hill. Once cordoned off, these are now open and have some great after traversing the hazardous cliffs, ancient mine-workings, a currents and eddies of the Trent, BMX jumps course and some open never come back the same ‘THE fields, littered with craters. Why SOUTH’ they cry ‘THE SOUTH!’ the craters? These were caused by and burble in tongues about GRENADES. Yep, real grenades ‘beercostingfivequidapint’ and that were tested here in World about mysterious, fat-tongued, War II. I may be in the minority lolloping creatures called here, but I think that’s utterly cool. ‘Jamieolivers’ or some such. In the interest of our readers’ health, Bing’s Bench.

Photo by Lord B Clifton and beyond: Many wealth and sanity, we strongly small hillock is dedicated to drinking cider without numerous rumours circulate about the recommend that they DO NOT Bing Crosby - well, a brass passers-by giving you disdainful mystical land of Clifton and all venture to these lands. plaque on a bench says so. looks. But I’m not going to tell you lands South of the river. Here be LB Yet this is no frivolous fan tribute: exactly where it is, because that dragons, say some, others think 3

“Grenades? ... I may be in the minority here, but I think that’s utterly cool.”

“Rubbish and trolls”

Judo the mats…

For 13 years I had no idea that Ryecroft Judo Club existed.

I certainly had no idea it existed at the end of my road and, therefore, also had no idea it was one of the oldest clubs in the country – and one of the most respected clubs to boot. So when an old friend from school, who I haven’t seen in years, got in touch asking whether The Beestonian would be interested in reporting quite why the Australian Olympic Judo team visited a Judo club in Beeston, I jumped at the chance. There may be a Judo term for that – but I don’t know what it is.

So the Oz team visit little ol’ Beeston practically straight after landing over here, primarily because Ryecroft has a national reputation as an excellent training facility – for serious Judo aficionados (those mighty Dans), scarily-fast black belts and white-belt novice adults and kiddies alike. Wow. People have been known to travel from as far as Plymouth for a couple of hours on the Beeston Ryecroft mats. Double wow. But why? Well, it can’t be for the scenery. Ryecroft Judo club is situated behind Beeston Youth and Community Centre – or ‘Polling Station’, as it’s known in our house – so it’s a very unassuming situation. When I arrive one Friday evening – the Friday evening of the Olympic Opening Ceremony, as it happens, so wasn’t expecting much in the way of attendance, if I’m honest. However, not only do I find a room filled with children (girls and boys in equal measure) flexing and wrestling each other around on

A stellar senior mat session at Ryecroft Judo Club included the Australian Olympic Judo hopefuls (the sweaty-looking ones).

the mats, it’s also full of their parents and grandparents who mill around watching and chatting to each other.

The atmosphere is friendly and informal. I only feel mildly like a bit of a plonker as I hope I don’t have to take my shoes off; I was pretty sure I had odd socks on. Nathan, my grunge friend from school, beckons me in from behind the kitchen counter. He is no longer grungy.

He is muscle-HUGE with a shavedhead and... appears to be making tea?

Well. I never thought I’d see the day!

Nathan talks me through as much as he knows of Ryecroft – the coaches, belts, a few judo basics and a bit of the history of the place itself, and then introduces me to Tony Shaw, one of the founding-fathers of Ryecroft.

Coaches, Nick Hawke and Ian Oliver (back row, left) with the Aussie team.

Tony is the godfather of the place or ‘Head Coach’. I can immediately tell that he’s head of the family – it does feel a like a family. In his 70s (though he doesn’t look a day over 60), Tony’s a bit of a charmer. The coaches there on the night, Adele Jones (British Judo Champion and World Sumo Medallist) and Darren Humphreys, started off as kids here - trained by Tony - his grandson is here, and people who have been coming since their childhood now bring their own kids along. Even Adele’s daughter was there, but just watching from the wings – only because, at four years old, she can’t start on the mats until next year.

Tony started the club in 1957 in his home town of Stapleford - the club’s called Ryecroft because it started life in a garage space next to Ryecroft Street. It then moved to the sheds adjacent to Beeston Community Centre. When these dilapidated huts were eventually demolished it got its own, purpose-built space, where it still stands today.

Tony is a natural teacher. He draws people in and they do as they’re told. Discipline and respect are major elements of Judo and the kids, especially, seem to love it for that. Unfortunately, on the night I went along I didn’t get to meet the legendary Ray Topple.

Legendary because he’s not only a National Team Championship Gold Medallist, a World Championships Referee and reserve Olympic Referee... he’s also in his 80s. So this was a great disappointment,

not least because I loved Karate Kid and I kind of imagined I might experience some kind of wisdom epiphany meeting him - he might have sorted out my life in one fell tai otoshi.

Tony told me all the Club stories like some kind of sage, and when he talked about the Aussie visit, it was with more humility than pride. But by all accounts, the Aussie Olympians were somewhat disarmed by the skill of the coaches and fellow trainees at the club that day. Tony was keen to temper Nathan’s declaration that they were quite, almost, throughly thrashed – but let’s just say that the Aussies spent enough time being thrown to possibly see their house from here.

Always the spectator, I declined the kind invitation to ‘have a go’, (“So. When do you start?”, “Never.”) but I feel very glad that it exists, and I do like to feel ‘part of something’ as much as the next person – so who knows, I may pop down... to make the tea or something? A great place kept going by some great people, all in their own time. [bows]

TF Ryecroft training sessions are: Monday, Wednesday and Friday from 7pm (juniors) 8.30 pm (seniors).

They offer beginners’ introductory sessions on Friday evenings.

Absolutely everyone and anyone is welcome: young/old, female/male; fit/unfit. Sessions are £3; annual membership £25.

ryecroftjudoclub.co.uk

Getting back on the bike Breaking the cycle of educational disadvantage.

Goooooooold!* Many years ago, I decided to launch a campaign to bring the 2012 Olympics to Beeston. I can’t really remember my motives; I’m assuming it was something about annoying Seb Coe. Maybe Steve Ovett bribed me. I can’t clearly remember.

However, what was intended as a piece of lightly whimsical satire became a bit of a hit on Facebook, and soon hundreds decided to support my campaign, including the USA Netball Federation, after I told them that I would support their bid to be represented in the Games, and so they thought my campaign was real. Alas, it wasn’t, and London did an infuriating brilliant job of hosting the thing. But still, Beeston did get a very good showing at the Olympics, even bringing in a couple of medals…

Beeston Hockey Club, recently crowned Hockey Club of the Season, sent Ali Wilson to play for Team GB – I actually caught the game versus Pakistan, it’s a terrifyingly fast, physical sport – and they had a good run before just falling outside the medals.

They’re looking for new members, so if you reckon you can pick up a stick for Rio 2016, have a gander at beestonhockeyclub.com/join.

I’ve been down there myself – The Stick and Pitcher pub does some good local ales, so if you don’t get enthused by short corners and bully-offs then a pint provides retreat.

Britain’s Best EVER Kayaker, Beestonian Dr Tim Brabants, often seen having coffee in Beeston on a Sunday (well, twice, by me, a couple of years ago) already has one Gold to his name, so can’t have been too

upset that a nasty injury ruled out his chances in the final this year.

Still, he gave it his best, and even made the final. I’d be terrified if he was my GP. Imagine trying to get a sick-note off him for a snuffly cold while he competes against the World’s best Kayakers with a ripped pectoral muscle. You just couldn’t, could you?

Humber Road’s finest, Grace

“Beeston Hockey Club is Hockey Club of the Season ” Carter, turned up for the Ladies Volleyball. They weren’t expected to even get a sniff of a set, being 69th in World Rankings and recently fleeced of all funding.

But, incredibly, they pulled off a victory against Angola, with Grace standing out. That’s not just my bias either, the commentator was madly effusive too. A medal at Rio? Finally, Jimmy ‘Bradley’ Wiggins: Our Gonzo-esque music scribe surprised us all by disappearing for a few weeks, winning the Tour de France AND an Olympic Cycling Gold while we thought he’d just gone on a elongated bender. It was a real shock as, aside from playing and selling guitars, we’d assumed Jimmy’s athletic talents were of a more ‘Greco-Roman, arm wrestling/pub marathon’ bent.

LB (*Well, two bronzes, if you give Rebecca Adlington honoury Beestonian status: she trains at the Uni Pool, which is close enough, and is possibly related to our printers.)

Last year’s Nottingham Life Cycle saw the Vice Chancellor of The University of Nottingham and his team riding from John O’Groats to Land’s End to raise funds for the University’s Sue Ryder Care Centre for research on Supportive, Palliative and End of Life Care. This year the team will be tackling the opposite end-to-end diagonal as they cycle over 1,100 miles from Cape Wrath, Scotland to Dover on the SouthEast coast. They’re hitting the saddle this time in support of Impact: The Nottingham Campaign.

With its theme of ‘Nurturing Talent’, it aims to narrow the gap in social inequalities in relation to education, by way of establishing bursaries and scholarships for students from disadvantaged backgrounds, for whom the cost of Higher Education would otherwise mean it was not a viable option, “The University of Nottingham is dedicated to driving motivation and providing financial provision to students from disadvantaged backgrounds. At present the University invests £6 million in bursaries and scholarships each year.

The University’s Vice-Chancellor, David Greenaway, has firsthand experience of the benefits of widening access to education.

Raised in Shettleston in the east end of Glasgow, he was the first in his family to receive a higher education.

He was encouraged by teachers to stay on in school to complete his A levels and from there went on to study at Liverpool Polytechnic and The University of Liverpool.” It’s a brilliant campaign, and well worth any support and/or sponsorship you can give. But it’s not all about giving money - you can take part too.

There are three community events associated with this year’s event, all varying in scope and challenge - from a gentle loop around Highfields, to accompanying the VC and his team on the Lincoln to Nottingham leg of their journey. All these events occur on Sunday, 2 September and you can register to take part online.

You can also choose to sponsor individual riders within the team or the team as a whole. Go to nottingham.ac.uk/lifecycle for further information and to register.

You can also follow them on Twitter @uonLifecycle for the thrills, spills and punctures as they happen.

TF

Image courtesy of nottingham.ac.uk/lifecycle

Crown Inn Church St, Beeston, NG9 1FY

WINNER for east midlands CAMRA pub of 2010 – 2012 ............................................................... brownales.co.uk

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Beeston Beats…

Image courtesy of martinjackson.bandcamp.com

One of the things you can guarantee as the music writer at The Beestonian is that under no circumstances whatsoever are you ever going to get paid, I mean really never – even if I found a lost Beatles master tape in a garden in the Rylands – zip. No chance (how else do you think Lord Beestonia affords his new lavish ‘pair-of-kittensand-a-house-in-Attenborough’ lifestyle?) [Do you really think sapphire-encrusted collars and helipads are inexpensive, Jimmy? -Ed.] So, let’s assume I do this for another reason.

Might it be my skewed vision of myself as a minor league Hunter S. Thompson? Despite achieving some of this dream, however, whisky drinking is becoming a rarity on these assignments (‘Johnny Walker’, if anyone’s buying - ‘makes me feel like Christopher Hitchens). There are perks to the job, however, and one of which is local musicians giving me CDs for free. As mentioned in a previous article, the worst result of which is that it becomes a coaster.

This issue, appropriately, I decided to review the work of a local artist in the setting of a beer garden (any excuse, fat lad!). To add shock and awe to proceedings I paid for the CD myself - a whole (discounted) £2 which, if I understand correctly, cannot even be submitted as ‘expenses’ to our wonderful leader. [submit them, Jimmy. My kitten littertray needs lining - Ed.] So without further moaning and ado, step forward Beeston’s own pint-sized singer-songwriter, Martin Jackson and his latest solo, acoustic album ‘The Kind of Man’.

Some folks may already know of Jackson as the vocalist for Emperor Chung. As well as being the possessor of an elastic voice, he is also a pretty good guitarist.

Martin’s vocals sound like a cross between a slightly less flamboyant Jeff Buckley and Radiohead’s Thom Yorke (without the need to take anti-depressants after listening to him - sorry, Radiohead fans).

One of my pet hates of acoustic, singer-songwriter types is the bland accompaniment. Martin avoids this well on number of levels, some of his rhythmic stylings and ‘attack’ put me in mind of early Ani Di Franco (a good thing). There are even some multitracked vocal harmonies to boot, the guy can flat-out sing and definitely possesses a unique voice. The production is stripped down at times and could maybe benefit from

a bit more low end at others but, hey! I’m a musician, and how many musicians does it take to change a light bulb? (answer: next issue). So, is Martin Jackson the ‘kind of man’ for you? Checking him out is easily done, he frequently plays live gigs locally. He has a distinct groove going on and is certainly not hemmed-in by the constraints of the generic singer-songwriter form.

Martin, if you read this, mine’s a double Johnny Walker (remember who loaned you that guitar lead... )

JW

Jimmy Wiggins can be found selling guitars and all things guitar-based at The Guitar Spot, Chilwell High Road, Beeston.

Oxjam Update The nights may be getting longer, but rejoice! the 2nd Beeston Oxjam Takeover is fast approaching.

On October 20 2012, DOZENS of musicians, writers and

comedians will descend upon our town to give you some of the finest entertainment available without having to step onto public transport. It’s here, in your doorstep, and dead cheap. And best of all, you’ll be doing your bit for Charity. Could anything be better? Self-buttering toast, maybe, but until then, we need you to get involved. How? If you can give some time up to volunteer, from a few hours to a few days, we need you. If you want to help publicise it, check out Twitter or Facebook (twitter.com/oxjambeeston; facebook.com/oxjam.beeston) to join/ favourite/tweet. Go crazy.

There is no such thing as over-kill here. Talented? Well, we’re looking for acts to ensure that we keep Beeston jumpin’ through the day, evening and night: have you got the ability to do this? If you reckon you make the grade, let’s be ‘aving you.

Go to oxjambeestontakeover. org to book an audition, or pop into one of Beeston’s Oxfam shops to apply.

We want to raise at least five grand this year. Each and every penny will flow into Oxfam’s coffers and thus on to do good ‘round the world.

We’ll also be running some fundraisers beforehand: get involved.

Our last was a tremendous success but we still need YOU to come and join us: you’ll be making a world of a difference.

LB

Horace’s Half Hour Massage the pulsating grey matter… Why not do it outside?

Send Your Answers In For A Chance To Win… The Eternal Respect Of Your Peers.

1)

In which magazine is there a

4)

The Gum Tree is the common

7)

Alfred Wainwright became

9)

The mother of which royal

pub called The Dog and Hammer?

name for which tree?

famous for writing about which

bride was born in Bramcote Park:

2)

5)

National Park?

Sarah Ferguson; Sophie Rhys Jones; or Kate Middleton?

The film The Shootist, was the

Who played Fred Flintstone in

last film from which American actor?

the film The Flintstones?

8)

3)

6)

200 million years old, and composed

10) The Detroit Red Wings and the

of Barium Sulphite (clue: not

Phoenix Coyotes take part in which

Horace)?

sport?

Who or what is a Sweet

William?

Ingar Kamprad was the founder

of which chain of stores?

What local landmark is around

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Au Contraire: The Great Outdoors

NORA: As I sit here, about to write this, I notice a cumbersome and just downright ugly spider hanging out on the wall like he pays rent or something. There are also moths sitting on the closed window, begging to be let in. Yes, I might be boiling in my little room of hardship but guess what, moths, you can’t come in and that’s really all that matters in life right now. As for you, reader, ask yourself the following question – where do spiders and moths come from? Well they sure as hell didn’t materialise out of nothing and into my room. They came from outside. You know that place where kids go play on sunny days and crazy people go hiking – the outdoors. They migrated from the garden, which is quite ironic because I’m victimised when I go outside and I’m victimised when I retreat indoors. Now, for most people this really isn’t a problem.

There are sick people out there who actually keep spiders as pets and think moths are pretty. But those people are just broken. In the head. Trust me when I tell you that I would rather spend the weekend in a crazy house than have to deal with moths and spiders, or any other insect for that matter. Including butterflies.

Because they’re just day moths.

Everything that I’ve done outdoors in this life has ended badly. I went to feed the squirrels in the Arboretum but somehow ended up the victim of an evil

squirrel which harassed me for my apple. Even simple tasks like putting the clothes out usually end with a spider crawling on me while I run around the garden like a crazed horse. I was once chased around University Park by Satan embodied in a goose. I’ve stepped in dog shit cleverly concealed in the grass and have had to just go home and cry. I foolishly walked down the canal and to Attenborough Nature Reserve just to be stung and later rendered temporarily disabled by mosquitoes because I’m apparently allergic to their monstrous feeding ways. I can see you now, sniggering at my pain, thinking you’re untouchable.

Yeah? Well here’s a little story for the next time you feel like getting your walking shoes on heading for the Peak District or wherever else it is you hiking weirdos like to go.

People have been mauled to death by cows on numerous occasions.

That stupid hiking stick of yours still look appealing? Well if it does I hope you’re also going to enjoy head trauma and broken ribs because it looks like cows aren’t fond of us.

I on the other hand will just fester in my little house and only venture out into fresh air and lovely sunshine when absolutely necessary. If anyone feels particularly sorry for me though, you can apply to be my personal mosquito net holder and moth assassin. So long as you don’t expect any payment that is. ND

TAMAR: I’m just back from a camping trip in the Peak District; can you give me minute while I tighten my gloves?

There.

Ready. Ding Ding! - let round 1 commence...

While I was away in [mock shudder] the hideous Great Outdoors I sat in a field we’d just put our tent up in and watched as my chap poured me a massive glass of cider. Behind him, springing about were a lather... a lollop... a love-in of Leporidae (I don’t know what the collective noun for tiny, baby rabbits actually is but it should disarm even the greatest cynic in its cuteness). Too young yet to know that humans were a no-no, (hooray!) they came close enough to sniff about our bare feet. Later on we saw full rainbows leading to our tent, wild trout being outdazzled by kingfishers along the river; horses who come up to you to say hello at only the briefest beckoning (‘Oi, horse!’, since you ask), and the largest hedgehog you will see in your life warming itself by the BBQ. Outdoors, people say, “Mornin’ ”, even if you’re in your pyjamas with your fringe a la Edward Scissorhands. Out here, no one cares what you look like, what you do for a living or voted in the last election (ok, maybe they care about that last one...) because you’re OUTDOORS. Together.

So you say, “Mornin’ ”. Life slows down to a pace we’d forgotten exists; your day begins when the sun says it does and you go to bed when you’re knackered.

If you’ve never clambered over a stile to discover that your footpath is blocked by cows, then you’ve never lived. And if you don’t clamber back over said stile to research a detour, you might not live much longer. It’s true, I suppose, that the beasts of the field are a bit of a ‘down’ side of the countryside. But they look pretty from afar and are gorgeously docile and stupid-looking when observed from the other side of a dry-stone wall with barbed wire atop. I don’t like cows, it’s true. They scare the brain out of me. But it’s semiirrational. Just carry a stick and look confident. And dog-less. They

don’t like your dog. Besides, seeing as we drink a lot of milk and eat a lot of beef, they’re kind of essential and our countryside would never be the same without them. So long as we’re farming them here, they stand a better chance of a happy life, and our farmers get a living in which they may just about break even (if they’re lucky). A Britain without farms would be a bleak place indeed. Those pretty green fields, separated by hedgerows and stone walls would all be gone. Old lanes and tracks no longer used by carts and drovers would melt into nonexistence if it weren’t for walkers, ramblers and the farmers who maintain them for the better of their land.

People who stay indoors all the time get that grey-green pallor not at all dissimilar to the colour I’ve painted my living room walls - it’s not called ‘Pasty House-dweller’, but it could be.

Sluggish and ‘nesh’ all the time, it’s no wonder wild, or semi-wild, creatures spot them a mile off.

Indoors types are the weak one of the pack, the straggler. They lump along making the lowing noises we know to be ‘moaning’ but creatures recognise as a call to a challenge. So it’s no wonder they’d go for you, Dimitrova. You’re easily picked off if you’re squealing like a bee-stung banshee.

I always think (and shall make no apologies for it) you can tell a lot about someone from whether they love or loathe countryside/ gardening/nature stuff. I’m no ‘animal lover’ and I don’t read Countrylife, but show me a fella who likes to grow stuff or happily go for a good stomp to a pub in the middle of nowhere, or someone who knows her Willow-herb from her Willow Warbler... and I’ll show you a good egg. I’ll also show you someone who’s more likely to be happier, live longer, have fewer illnesses and more sex than any grey, indoor, sad-Alec you care to mention.

So, Mizzy, if you don’t want to die a young, miserable, dried-up celibate, you’d better go and buy some wellies and put them on...

TF

Famous Last Words…

Get in touch on Facebook, Twitter, Beestonia’s blog or via email. We’ll publish your rants, raves, rebuttals and kind words here for all to see...

Dear Beestonian, The other Sunday a group of athletes, all Crown drinkers, spent a wonderful day watching the Men’s Olympic Marathon and in the process enjoyed several pints of excellent London Pride, Timothy Taylor Landlord and an Adnam’s beer I can no longer remember the name of! All these beers were £3 in a City of London pub than doesn’t even open at weekends normally. So whilst ‘Save the Great British Pub! by James Brown’ raised many valid points in attempting to explain the decline in pub drinking, I think he is a bit quick to put the major blame on taxes and beer duty.

According to CAMRA website, a typical pint costing £3.10 composes £1.30 in Taxes, business rates etc.

However that still leaves almost £2 and considerably more than £2 given the price the Crown charges for posh lagers etc. So if a 5 day a week pub is clearly making a decent profit on a £3 pint in Central London, why are prices so high in provincial Beeston? How is it that Wetherspoon’s can charge £2 with the same overhead costs and again clearly make a healthy profit.

That the beer in the Crown today is truly superb is without question however there is no doubt that the Crown is expensive. This is especially true when you consider the volume of beer that’s shifted. Yes profit margins maybe small (and I truly wonder how small they are in the Crown?) but given that aside of the Vic and Last Post, the Crown must shift ten times the volume of most other local pubs, a number of which are not currently up for sale/ lease and haven’t been for quite a while, it has to be generating a very healthy profit.

I should add that I have been drinking in the Crown since 1974 and that there is no question that it is the best I have ever seen it. We have been through dark days and epic days, stuck with a landlord who only drank Tizer serving beer that was truly awful - still we came and drank.

Sunday lunchtime - you had to get in early or there was no chance of a seat!

The Crown clearly demonstrates that price isn’t the major factor. Despite being expensive it’s clearly extremely popular - what sells beer is a quality product and friendly bar staff and many thanks to them for it! However a drop in prices would undoubtedly go down well with the customers.

– ‘Lord E’, Beeston (via email)

Dear Beestonian, I’m not AA Gill so I’ll cut to the chase. ‘Bonito’, the new Japanese restaurant in Beeston is one of the most dismal and disappointing experiences I’ve ever had, rescued only by being so completely appalling that it eventually transformed itself into grand farce, such a huge parody of any expectations I might have had that at least it left me laughing and with a story rather than just annoyed, incredulous and confused.

The name should have given us a clue; part of the problem with Bonito is that it doesn’t appear to really know what it wants to be or who it’s catering for. Walking in at what should be peak dining time we found just seven tables, only three of which were occupied and the room decorated in a style halfway between a Wimpy burger bar and an Indian diner. The single painting visible in the entire place was a red and black Chinese pagoda scene which spoke eloquently of the proprietors’ knowledge of all things Japanese. The confusion continued with the arrival of the solitary waitress, a very young, blonde, flustered and desperate to please but seemingly so lacking in any kind of organisation that in such a sparsely populated and small room she still managed to take our drinks order to the customers at the table next to us.

When the menu arrived it boasted a splendid mix of Japanese-themed food, seafood, noodles, sushi, tempura and grills but - just in case we’d turned up to a Japanese restaurant not actually wanting to eat anything Japanese the last two pages listed Indian food, burgers and anything else they could think of. We ordered a selection of three different appetizers and a couple of main courses but afterwards were told that most of those were unavailable. It would have been nice if we’d been told at the time of ordering but these things happen, so I ordered a replacement main and a sharable side dish instead. Unfortunately ‘these things happen’ could well be Bonito’s motto... when the two starters arrived they were bland, uninspired and disappointing. I’ve had nicer from the petrol station at Sainsbury’s. Sal’s main course arrived, a very average Miso noodle soup with chunky noodles long enough to wrap around my head. Not that I tried that, but I could have done to spend the time waiting for either of the other main

courses to arrive. Still, I was waiting in the expectation of something special, as I’d ordered one of the most expensive items on the menu, their much-vaunted ‘Black Cod, served on a bed of bamboo leaf with ginger and wasabi’. When it finally arrived it was the smallest possible potion of fish next to a damp and stringy rocket salad. The ginger and wasabi were nowhere to be seen, nor was the ‘bed of bamboo leaf’. What there was wasn’t bad though, the sauce was very nice indeed. I’d finished and still we waited for the side dish, a tempura selection. We waited, and waited. The lights flickered off momentarily. The waitress was looking curiously at her notepad. Again, when it arrived it was adequate but in no way interesting, on time or representative of the glowing description the restaurant gives itself on their website or two Facebook pages. Then the lights went off completely. We couldn’t do anything but laugh, and the fervent apologies from the kitchens made it even funnier, but it really was time to pay and leave.

As it happened we had enough cash – just – to pay the bill (they didn’t take cards at the time). The only pleasant surprise of the evening which was that the ‘10% surcharge for drinking your own alcohol’ (handily not mentioned at all by the waitress) was less than half what it should have been, so we decided that would be enough of a tip in itself and left, with both the manager and the waitress hoping we’d enjoyed the evening and saying they’ll look forward to seeing us again. I fear they may have an even longer wait than we did.

– Tim Pollard (edited), via email (see unedited version on Facebook).

[I’m sure both Bonito and the Crown Inn will wish to respond to these comments. If and when they do, we will of course give them ‘the floor’. Ed.]

Thought for the Month “An Eagle may soar, but a Weasel doesn’t get sucked into a jet engine.”

– Steven Wright

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The Dreamy Team Editor, writing, sobbing, production, control-freakery, puns and Statesmen-like Ambassadorial duties: Lord Beestonia.

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Quiz by Horace.

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