Issue 13 of The Beestonian

The

Beestonian

ISSUE 13 / November 2012: No, this is not Issue 12a… _Page 2 University of Beestonia: The Last Year and the Next BESTonians: The Late, Great Fred Hallam _Page 3

Market in the Diary

Pusztai Meat You… Johnny Pusztai: Recipes To Try #1 _Page 4 & 5 A Big, Double Spread of Oxjam All 'Round New Sign At The Vic _Page 6 Au Contraire: FIREWORKS _Page 7 Beeston Beats: Movember _Page 8 Famous Last Words Horace's Half Hour

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.

Despite a fruit stall that, for a paltry quid, offers enough bananas to keep Twycross Zoo a-float for a week, Beeston Market is of late looking a tad lacklustre. But all that could be about to change very soon, with The Square fulfilling its potential with the first of what could be many very special events.

On Friday, 16 November, to tie in with 'Beeston Food and Drink Weekend', a food market will grace The Square featuring an eclectic set of stalls, ranging from local producers to more farflung exotica. Chinese, Indian and Cameroonian food will be

on offer, and the organisers are keen to support and nurture new local start-ups. The venture is strictly not-for-profit: a grassroots, community-centred project.

All profits will be ploughed back in to the scheme, enabling it to develop as organically as most of the products on display.

Hallams (whose patriarch, the late Fred Hallam, is remembered as this Issue's BESTonan) will be supporting the scheme with a fish stall: cooking shellfish for you to buy and consume instantly. Which beats a soggy Gregg's pasty as your al fresco treat. Not only that, there will be live music throughout

the day from a range of acoustic, and non-acoustic World music artists. Beeston Square is a brilliant venue for music: anyone who saw the acts who played there at Oxjam can attest to this.

At a time when the 'precinct' looks like something from a 1970s television play about the Soviet-era (and the Behemoth-of-Mammon-thatis-Tesco attempts to drag Beeston into a homogenous, dull Anytown) this could be just the shot in the arm that Beeston needs to keep it going through the days of redevelopment and change.

Celebrate independance, celebrate change, celebrate Beeston at its best.

Foodie Weekend 'Beeston Food and Drink Weekend' is on between 16-18 November.

Events include an International Food Market, Farmers Market and Nottingham Ales Festival.

For more details on all the weekend's events go online to: www.letsgotobeeston.co.uk If you’re reading this after the 16th, fear not: more markets are planned for the New Year. Watch this space.

Lord Beestonia

UNIVERSITY of Beestonia As the dust settles on the beginning of our second year at the University of Beestonia I find time to reflect on the year that has gone and look forward to new horizons. It has been an interesting year for us, and for our sister institutions east of Broadgate and beyond, as all was uncertain until our valued students (£9,000 each? – Ed.) walked through the door at the end of September, ensuring our financial security for another year of providing the gateway to a life of learning and a truly higher education.

Interacting with students during our numerous contact hours it appears little has changed ‘on the ground’, students’ concerns seem the same as they have always

been and there appears nothing to fear in the new fees regime.

The government, however, may be panicking a little more. Recent reports in the national press suggest someone got their sums badly wrong (if anyone in the Treasury is looking to outsource their training provision, we run an outstanding distance learning Masters in Basic Economics at the University of Beestonia* and our fees are very reasonable). If the reports are to be believed the new fees regime will end up costing government more than the previous one, as debts will remain unpaid. If this is true it is nothing short of a disgrace. This is something that cannot be remedied by a token resignation, it implies complete incompetency and

dishonesty from the government, and if they felt any responsibility at all for their own actions then we’d be having another election soon.

Anyway, I fear I may have let some actual opinions out there, apologies. There is nothing we can do about the past so we must look forward to a bright and successful future. The work we have done in the last 12 months puts the University of Beestonia in a strong position to make the most of the opportunities the new higher education landscape provides, and I look forward to sharing our successes with you.

Prof. J

*For legal reasons I have to point out here that the University of Beestonia isn’t real, not even in my own head.

BESTonian - Beeston’s Finest: The late, Fred Hallam Last month, on 16 October, Beeston not only lost one of its most well-known, longserving veterans of the local retail world; but also one of its most fully paid-up members of the Family Man Club: Fred Hallam, of Hallam’s on High Road. He was 76.

Officially, Fred retired from his famous fish ‘n’ grocery emporium in 2001, passing the blue, plastic gauntlet to his sons, Miles and Andy. Apparently, Fred had ideas about being a granddad. However, with no grand children on the scene already, it appeared he'd have to wait a while. Never one to rest on his laurels, Fred indulged his passion and skill for making things (he’d put his hand to building and crafting anything - from houses to garage-stuffing catamarans, and much in between) and also dedicating his time to continuing his efforts for the campaigns close to his heart. Indeed, he was such a well-recognised figure locally partly for his work as president of the Beeston and Stapleford Chamber of Trade in the 1990s, it was Fred who set up one of

the first ‘shop watch’ schemes to help local business owners in the area. He was made of strong stuff – it was in the family. His own grandfather set up shop in Beeston after hawking groceries from a horse and cart in Ilkeston (brave man), and his father never really retired from working at the store and was often found there helping out around the place well into his 70s. Fred inherited the shop and continued developing things where his dad had left off.

We all know the result: Hallam’s is thriving – in fact, it’s one of the most well-know, successful and appreciated stores in Beeston.

People like it even more for being so famously family-run.

Ask anyone about it and they’ll mention the historical, family pictures mounted all around the shop.

Since the store’s centenary there have been many developments and changes in Beeston, not least the proliferation of supermarkets.

But it shows no sign of denting things at Hallam’s. Fred must have been particularly proud to see his sons weather the challenge

Fred Hallam (right) with his son, Miles (left) and Jack Beales - Hallam's' fish manager for 53 years

of Tesco’s parking-up next door – and weather it as successfully as they have.

Finally, after years of waiting, Andy tells me, Fred got his grandkids and, rather like the 36 bus - “there was nothing for a while and then they all started arriving at once”. He really had his work cut out for him. Unfazed, Fred set-to making things for the new arrivals and, before he knew it, had a half-dozen little Hallams to shower with his time, love and attention - Lily-May, Erick, Lola, Isabelle, Archie, and Freddie all

came along within 5 years!

Fred will be much missed by his local community, and the community of the charities he worked hard for for many years.

However, it’s easy to forget that he was first and foremost a hubby, dad and granddad, and none shall miss him more than them.

He leaves behind an impressive family troop of Hallams – Janet, Miles, Andy, James and six grand children.

And a catamaran, let's not forget the catamaran.

TF

Pusztai meat you… … 'hope I can pronounce your name.

"Kids often can't remember what they had last night." called Neil waxed rhapsodically, over a pint, about a Beestonian Master of the Cleaver named Johnny Pusztai, and the wonders that he could do with some airdried beef, I had to find out more.

A bit of Googling threw up an indisputable fact: Johnny is Britain’s Best Butcher. He is the meat supplier for Nottingham’s only Michelin-starred restaurant, Sat Bains (it now actually has two stars, which is incredible for a small building hidden under Clifton Bridge), has been profiled

by The Observer and a welter of food mags… his accolades are many and varied. At the time I write this, he’s potentially due to win an award for creating Britain’s Best Sausage. He runs his butchers, Bedams, from Sherwood, but lives in Beeston, and admits to having his heart firmly here. How this has

slipped under my usually robust radar I don’t know, but it’s time to make amends. So I invite myself round to his house.

Pusztai has an astonishingly

"I was a vegetarian for the first fifty days of 2012, until anaemia and an almost sexual attraction to roast lamb drove me back into the arms of meat." ebullient enthusiasm. He is a large man; well built ("must've put some muscle on, all that heaving half-pigs around" I later point out "Half-pigs? Nah, half-cows" he corrects) and frenetically friendlier than a speed-dating Samaritan.

Despite being 53, Pusztai looks in his late thirties; his hair is thick and his face unlined. I mentally vow to eat more pig to keep the picture up in the attic where it belongs.

We enter his house ('we' being Neil and myself. Neil, with his experimental scientist’s zeal, has lately become obsessed with butchery and curing techniques) – it's beautiful and open-plan, with (perhaps unsurprisingly) a sprawling kitchen complete with a large zinc table. The table is set for three: tasting plates and knives laid around a huge platter of cured meats, olives, chutneys and grapes. "Right gents,' he says 'grab a seat; grab some meat. I’ll get you a beer and we’ll have a chat". Don’t mind if I do. "Let’s go on a journey of taste," he gestures for us to try the first cut: a slice of ham a billion miles from the watery, almost neon-pink stuff I grew up sticking in sarnies. This is cured; spiced – but not too much, with a taste that is so complex and varied

I’d be wading into Pseuds Corner should I even try. Then we tried a similar cut, with olives: again, my tastebuds wept. They were in floods by the time I bit into the slice that wrapped around a sweet chilli jam. The tingle of the chilli had, as my late Gran would have it, ‘made me tabs laugh’. As for the air-dried beef, and the paprikarich sausage, there are no words.

Well, none that will keep me inside my word count parameters.

"This is important,' he says, gesturing at the table, as he cracked opened a beer, ‘the table.

Kids often can’t remember what they ate last night, and it’s 'cos they often eat it from a tray, perched on their laps, in front of the TV. They don’t look at the food, don’t engage with the food.

I have always insisted that we should eat at tables, appreciate the food, engage with it, understand and cherish it".

His extra-curricular pursuits put this philosophy into practice: he does live demonstrations, often to children who he encourages to make their own simple, but

"I have always insisted that we should eat at tables, appreciate the food, engage with it, understand and cherish it." tasty burgers. ‘"They love it. They love the tactile nature of making a burger, enjoy the way it doesn’t have to be a pattie – it can be any shape they fancy, and see it’s simple, and much more fun than eating frozen stuff".

There will be more on Johnny in Issue 14, including: his plans for a very unique take on 'Bubble and Squeak'; his Hungarian roots, and his plans for the future… in the meantime, have a crack at the first in our series of Johnny Pusztai LB recipes.

Johnny Pusztai: Recipes

To Try #1

Johnny's Basic Burgers Serves 4 What you’ll need: 450g Minced Beef (preferably from your local butcher, take your pick in Beeston!)

Pinch of salt 1 Weetabix 1 clove of garlic Dash of Worcestershire Sauce Olive oil for frying Method: 1. Crush up the Weetabix and put a dusting aside. Mix the rest with the other ingredients, squeezing it between your hands until well combined (kids particularly like doing this bit so get them involved). Like it hot?

Add some chopped chilli. Like it cheesy? Throw in some Parmesan.

2. Once well mixed, shape into whatever you fancy (basic patties are boring: try burger fingers or hearts or use pastry cutters for other shapes).

3. Dust the burger with the crushed Weetabix, then shallow fry until cooked and crispy on the edges.

4. Serve with relish, mustard and ketchup.

(5. Make and eat more until you have the urge to enthusiastically pat your belly and smile with contended fullness… )

✃

Woo woo! There’s a few perks when you do a bit of local journalism. When I lived in Kent, following a glowing profile of a Rugby Club, I was admitted as an honoury member, with a free pint in the clubhouse after every match. This possibly now equates to some 420 pints now. I once got gratis admission to a fete in Bramcote. I once even met Nick Clegg. Yeah, it’s just a non-stop rollercoaster of glamour at times.

When I arranged to meet Britain’s Best Butcher for an interview, however, all those years of waving a notepad at people and spending hours stomping around in the cold in the hope I could jump a local 'figure of interest' seemed to pay off. Yes, dear reader, I got free samples. Of possibly the best food I’ve ever tasted.

Let’s rewind a bit. I’m not too au fait with the butchery scene – I was a vegetarian for the first fifty days of 2012, until anaemia and an almost sexual attraction to roast lamb drove me back into the arms of meat. So when a scientist friend

A Big, Double Spread of Oxjam All 'Round.

The Jar Family start things off brilliantly in The Square. (all photos © Lewis Stainer)

Brian Golbey's still rockin' them silver wings, at Barton House.

The Jar Family – The Square shout out that Oxjam was on in

attending alone. Crazy Heart play regularly around Beeston: and you’ll often see them busking in The Square. I suggest you humbly doff your cap/ stetson when you see them.

It can be a thankless job, opening a festival. You have to get a wary audience warmed up and jumping from a standing start. It’s an even greater challenge to do this al fresco, early afternoon to an audience of passing shoppers who have no idea why you’re there.

That requires bags of talent and charisma. Thankfully, The Jar Family arrive with suitcases of the stuff. Like the best bands, they look like a gang, a mix of Geordie and Irish accents and some fantastic clothes and hats. They stumble out of their van, survey The Square and tell me "You have a beautiful town, can’t wait to play it". And wow. I would have been happy with any band, of any genre playing just to

town , but The Jar Family were a treat beyond treats: outrageously talented, wonderfully melodic, jaunty and very funny: slagging off the banks that surround the Square one moment, throwing out self-deprecatory North East asides the next. Shoppers and passers-by became bystanders, and in several cases, dancers…

Oxjam was officially awake, and stomping on the cobbles.

Burning Down The House: The BlueBeat Arkestra / Brian Golbey – Barton House

Joe Barber: Here, There, Everywhere.

Some artists take weeks to organise, Crazy Horse at The Crown (with newest members on percussion). make unreasonable demands when they do show up and generally act Oxjam abhors such behaviour, Raisin’ Cash: like prima donnas before 'phoning and much prefer acts like teenager Crazy Heart – The Crown in a mediocre set with dead eyes. Joe Barber: we asked him if he’d It never struck me until Saturday act as standby should acts not turn that a deep, North East brogue up, expecting he’d perhaps play a sounds so similar to an American small set in a smaller venue, and Deep South accent, when singing didn’t quite expect him to do three country. But it does. Which (maybe more: I stopped counting probably explains Jimmy Nail’s unlikely success in the pop charts two decades ago. Thankfully, Ian Hibberson of Crazy Heart steers clear of dross like ‘Ain’t No Doubt’ and instead launches into a blazing at that point), and not just with Jimmy Cash set that even had a some sub-busking whimsy, but reserved chap like myself making with some seriously accomplished weird cowboy whoops instead blues twanged with the nimblest of applause. The duo became a fingers in NG9. Jaws dropped quintet when two tiny kids were every time he played: congrats to plucked from the audience to play his tutor: our very own musical percussion: the look on their faces scribe, Jimmy Wiggins, who is the (one looking miffed, the other Mr Miagi to his Karate Kid. grinning with joy) was worth Joe Barber kindly stood-in at The Flying Goose, and caused quite a stir. Watch this space!

" jaws dropped every time he played."

Festivals are all about contrast, and it’s difficult to imagine two more differing acts than those offered us by Barton House: The Bluebeat Arkestra (young, multi-

" A blazing set… that made even a reserved chap like myself make a weird cowboy whoop noise instead of applause." instrumental, multi-vocalist, stylistically unpinnable) and (solo, septuagenarian Beestonian Country legend) Brian Golbey [for more on his career, see The Beestonian, passim - Ed.]. He rarely plays these days, so this was a real treat; and a celebration of his sixtieth year playing live professionally.

The Arkestra, however, have a problem. They ring an hour before they are due on to inform us they’re running late: traffic has stopped the music. They are on a tour of Oxjams, and their Beeston gig is sandwiched between Lincoln and Leicester, the A52 is clogged.

When they arrive, I roadie them in, help set up and leave them to it.

Two point five songs into their set and the fire alarm goes off, the building's evacuated and The Arkestra cut their losses and shoot off to Leicester. Here comes Golbey. Regrettably, I miss his set due to buzzing round other venues like an amphetamined midge, but it’s apparently a corker: fantastic music blended with borderline misanthropic anecdotage. All topped with a broad-rimmed Stetson.

They Came, They Swore, They Conquered: Arse Full of Chips –The Bar

When you book a band called Arse Full of Chips, you know that you’re not going to get four wheyfaced Indie teens with awkward fringes singing about how girls don’t understand them. Earlier in the day, while appearing on BBC Nottingham’s Richard Spurr show, we’d been gently advised not to mention there name – Auntie only allows ‘Arse’ after 6pm, apparently.

Our Artist Liaison is contacted

by the band, asking what the venue’s policy is on male nudity.

A few 'phone-calls later and we give them the, errr, thumbs up.

You don’t get that with Coldplay.

Following the ska-punk slamdancing Fighting Evil is Cool, they stumble onto stage, bewigged, and romper-suited, and smash into their first song, 'Love Music, Hate Racism Or Else!' which questions the concept of polemics in music "love music/ hate racism/ well that must be wrong/'cos surely Hitler had a favourite song", not the most subtle argument, but

they are called Arse Full of Chips, not Billy Bragg.

The clothes come off towards the end of the set, after some furious drunken conga dancing, incredibly rude lyrics and the whole of The Bar po-going with such fury I swear I saw Chilwell High Road buckle. I’m fortunate; I was stuck manning the door so missed the shedding of pants, but I have heard reports that range from: "he must have been cold" to "…a poorly, bleached slug…".

A perfectly crazed band to top a perfectly crazed day.

LB

New Sign At The Vic

s t a e B n o t Bees Movember, the month formerly known as November, is when brave and selfless men around the world grow a moustache, with the support of the lucky women in their lives, to raise awareness and funds for men’s health - specifically prostate and testicular cancer.

Movember was established in 2003 by a few friends over a beer in a pub just outside Melbourne, Australia.

The goal was simple – to create a campaign promoting the growth of the moustache among likeminded people and having fun along the way. It is about real men, talking about real issues and changing the face of men’s health, one moustache at a time.

Movember now spans the globe, with campaigns in 21 countries in 2012.

Knowledge is Power In 2011, over 854,288 Mo Bros and Mo Sistas raised over £79.3 million globally; with over £22 million of that coming from the UK. Funds raised in the UK are directed to programmes run by Movember and our men’s health partners Prostate Cancer UK and The Institute of Cancer Research.

Now, we all know that blokes have a reputation for a laissezfaire attitude to things, especially when it comes to their health.

Anyone who hasn't heard a story about some fella being forced to see a Doctor about some growth

or pain or other that they would otherwise have preferred to be allowed to forget about is probably lying. But mention a moustache, and most men go to stroke their

“Mention a moustache and most men go to stroke their chin – even if they've never gone a day without shaving " chin – even if they've never gone a day without shaving. So the idea of tying mens health to mens face hair was inspired. And quite unique.

Movember is easy. That too is inspired. All you have to do is sign up and not shave. What's not to like? If you were a woman you'd be expected to run 3 miles in a nothing but a pink bra. Think yourselves lucky. And to all you chaps saying 'But I can't grow a 'tash,' we sat PAH! and TSHH! Got white bits coming through?

Bare patches god-knows where?

Maybe even a diagonal stripe causing you to look like you were glassed as a yoof? Never mind! It's all about individuality; all about the kook upper lip. Go for it and go for it with pride. But make sure you get sponsored along the way.

If you're not a man and want to get involved, you can raise awareness

about the key issues involved in Movember, and supporting your Movembering fellas erm by not squirming when he leans in for a snog, or pointing out when there's dinner in his face hair– that sort of thing. If you're a lady with a potential handlebar 'tash and aren't afraid to flaunt it Circusstyle, go for it! Cross pollination in the charity world is a beautiful thing – who wouldn't love to see a fella runing in only a pink bra for Cancer Research, or a woman with a full-blown, sharplytweaked Biggles-inspired 'tash for Movember? NO ONE. Razor Awareness If at anytime during your gruelling 'tash growing month, I dunno – you might find looking in the mirror and embracing your inner Magnum PI particularly hard, or maybe you miss that Mach III – remind yourself why you're doing this selfless 'tash task - it's certainly not for nothing: • 1 in 9 men will be diagnosed with prostate cancer in the UK – one man is diagnosed every 15 minutes • A man will die from prostate cancer every hour - more than 10,000 men will die of the disease this year in the UK • African Caribbean men are three times more likely to develop prostate cancer • You are 2.5 times more likely to develop prostate cancer if your father or brother has had it • Occurrences of prostate cancer in men are comparable to the rates of breast cancer in women

• 2,209 men in the UK were diagnosed with testicular cancer in 2009 • 47% of testicular cancer cases occur in men under 35 years and over 90% occur in men under 55 years 2012 Will all this reality in mind, those days feeling sorry for yourself 'cos you look more 'Xylophone Man' than 'George Clooney' will feel less important, even less so on the day at the end of November when you realise you've not only raised a shed load of money for mens' health charities, but that you might also have honked on about it long enough to have put a grain of sense into someone you know who's been putting off getting something checked out because he 'doesn't want to bother anyone' (meaning he doesn't want to get his balls out for a Doctor he hasn't seen yet - and who might also be a woman) or because 'it's nothing' (he's Googled it). Maybe now, because of the hair on your top lip that you're growing in the shape of something that would rival Kew's topiary box hedging, he'll go bother someone after all. Y'know, just to check it's nothing…

To register individually or as a team for Movember go to www.movember.com but be quick!

Jimmy Wiggins is unwell.

However, he's still growing a 'tash for Movember. Drop by The Guitar Spot if you'd like to sponsor him. Make sure you tell him how handsome and hairy he is.

7

Au Contraire: FIREWORKS but feel it’s a case of 'you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all'. Sure, fireworks are exciting, amazing, and the best thing ever to kids. But kids grow up and become, well, me – belligerent and generally opposed to anything fun. Besides, I don’t need to be looking at your shiny, colourful fireworks every ND year. I am not a moth.

Nora D: Once again, Bonfire Night nervously hovered over us like a germaphobe at a festival toilet. Make no mistake, I’m not opposed to having what I like to call the 'Kosovo Experience' once or twice a year, but fireworks are never limited to just this one night. In fact, it’s Bonfire Night every night as soon as it gets to the 1st November. It’s almost like they had some strange bail system back in 1605 and Guy Fawkes, the persevering individual that he was, had over a week’s worth of attempting what would now be considered terrorist attacks.

I have many issues with fireworks.

For one, I despise loud noises so, just like my cats, I tend to get jumpy and frustrated, and I’m sure that if I had a tail it’d go all bushy too. I enjoy the simpler things in life. Like silence for instance.

Then there is the fact that once the noise starts it never stops – at any given time of day, there is always some imbecile setting off fireworks at lunchtime. Now, I’m no expert here but surely you’re supposed to do it at night, when the fireworks will actually be seen?

Try telling that to the morons who run the primary school I have the misfortune of living near.

Cheers for the unnecessary noise!

What I, and the unfortunate

people around me, really enjoy is the downright ugly faces I make and the tyranny I unleash on those geographically proximate, all because of the relentless ‘shelling’ taking place between the 30th October and all of November.

Another issue I have developed with fireworks is the lack of control people have over them, especially when the people supposedly controlling them are drunk. From personal experience I know it is never OK to allow your half drunk father to set up fireworks on New Year’s Eve. What’s even more out of order, but completely not up to you, is your entire family hiding from stray fireworks in the shed while you have to cower behind the recycling bin because there was just “not enough space for you too”. But that’s the Happily Ever After version of uncontrollable fireworks. Every year around Bonfire Night or New Year you turn on the news and hey presto! there’s some fingerless idiot conveying his sob story. You know, the one that goes “I were drunk as a skunk and thought I was hugging me wife.” Really it was a Mortar Mine and he is now faceless and will forever be known as Stumpy at his local.

Finally, while I have been to a lot of firework displays I can’t help

Tamar: You most certainly are not a moth, Nora. But to damn fireworks because of the few idiots who light them idiotly just flies in the face of Reason. Rather like a moth.

I love fireworks. Utterly.

There's nothing that makes me involuntarily smile so much as a giant, dahlia-style bursting of gold and silver from a mile-long rocket that then precipitates like jewel-bright raindrops made of the stuff of stars. Who doesn't want to stop the car (safely) and get out when they hear an opera of giant BLAMs in order to see the resulting battle of light in the dark, damp sky above? No one.

Fireworks are ancient. They are both Art and Science; get the chemistry wrong and not only might people die - but your rocket may be a damp squib of nothingness. Nobody likes a damp squib rocket. Invented in China in the 10th Century, even the commonest of common folk could buy them and set them off for fun and celebration. Which, you have to admit, was never more needed than in 10th Century China.

These days, however, it probably goes without saying that firework displays should be left to the professionals – people should put down the Catherine Wheels that never nail properly to the shed and go to their local public-spirited event. The 2004 Fireworks Regulations in this country kind of make this unavoidable anyway.

Not many people have a garden or yard as big as 26ft, which is the distance you should be from your blazing glories. Thought you're much more likely to get burnt holding a sparkler than anything else. So public displays are the best

all round. Not least because they're usually free and pack more fireheat and punch than you can buy from B&Q. Beeston's was at Beeston Scouts this year. I wasn't there myself, however.

This Bonfire Night, for me, was spent at Chatsworth House where, for a tenner, I enjoyed a vat of hot chocolate and a sausage cob bigger than my hand in front of a bonfire bigger than my house in front of a house bigger than my town. Then, promptly at 8.15pm, there was the finest, longest display of the elements alight than I have ever seen in Real Life (I'm not including the firework videos on YouTube I regularly watch in the cold, dark days I call Between-Novembers).

Pyrotechnics are made of metal.

They are not for wimps. Or cats.

Or dogs. As the new owner of a baby cat, I still say this doesn't deter me. She'll learn to love them. Infact, she seems OK with them so far - hardly a whisker has flinched. Big Deal. Besides, I have to live through claws in my knees, my fringe being eaten and every single pair of tights I own being RUINED by kitten toes anyway.

So maybe it'd be Pay Back anyway.

I was once at someone's house for Bonfire Night and a firework went astray – it flew into the kitchen where the host's youngest was sitting quietly eating a veggie burger. This was closely followed by another which hit me square in the ankle before, luckily, fizzling out. I don't blame the fireworks; I blame the fireworker (well, firelighter is probably more accurate). I don't know him anymore. But I still love fireworks.

Everything about them. I love their names. I love the way they are described when you buy them – that something which is simply made up of Aluminium and Chlorine and Carbon and Iron could be called a 'Mag Star Platinum Chrysanthemum with Time Rain and Salute' is a thing of beauty and joy forever.

Don't rain on my parade, Dimitrova. Unless it's from the sky, screaming, with a red tail of fire and a BANG! TF

Famous Last Words…

Facebook us, Tweet us, email us or even scribble us a proper, handwritten letter (we love those the most). We’ll publish it here, usually un-edited, for all to see…

Dear Beestonian, It was good to see so many at the ceilidh at Barton House back in September.

We're currently organising a New Year's Day ceilidh there: a lively evening of dancing and music for all the family. All dances are explained by our caller and there's a Licensed bar. January 1, 2013 - 8PM to 11PM Adults £7, 16 and under £3 For tickets email: beestonceilidh@ gmail.com or phone 07535968666 – Steve Benford (by email) Dear Beestonian, My friend used to drive to watch his beloved United Arab Emirates F.C (Manchester City!), he drove through Disley and for years passed The White Lion Pub. It always puzzled him as to why a pub called The White Lion would have a sign showing a picture of two zebras. Eventually curiosity got the better of him and he called in for a drop of the amber nectar, once served he quizzed the landlord as to why there was zebras on the sign. The landlord asked him a question back as to why he had called in, “because you had zebras on your pub sign”. The Landlord smiled and replied “you and hundreds of others call in to ask that question, it paid for itself within 2 weeks”. What genius!

So one cleverly altered sign pulled in a whole bunch of new punters.

For every great sign though there is always a bad sign (and yes it would not be a note from me without a moan on my soapbox). How many times do we see “all day breakfast served 9 till 11am” or “cask ales sold here” only to be told when ordering that they sold John Smiths smooth (I’d rather drink

the contents of the urinal trough). So, dear pubs, keep up the witty, clever signs and drop the false advertising ones please. Here are a few that make me chuckle: – James Brown, The Crown Inn (email)

Dear Beestonian, Any readers fancy joining a lively, Beeston-based choir?

Did you enjoy the Oxjam Music event?

Would you like to be a part of the rich seam of musical extravagance that is developing in Beeston?

Beeston Voices are looking for enthusiastic potential tenors and bases (men or lower voices) No previous experience or audition, just come along and give it a go…

If you like singing and would like to be a performer and meet like-minded people in a supportive and fun way, why not join us at John Clifford School, Nether Street on Monday evenings at 7.30 pm (term-time)?

We are a fairly new choir, our style includes contemporary, pop, gospel and a bit of world music and we will be reaching out to local audiences in the next few months. Our conductor is very enthusiastic and supportive and we always go home in a better mood than we went out. The evening begins with fun warm-ups; hot drinks and cakes are served mid-way.

You don't need to read music or have been in a choir before and we get sent soundtracks so you can practice at home in front of the dog!

So, why not give it a try? Email beckyhelenhowes@yahoo.co.uk for more information.

– Becky Howes et al (Facebook) Dear Beestonian, I just wanted to thank the people of Beeston who were so accommodating last Saturday when we gathered there to collect signatures for the No More Page 3 Campaign. We got 200 signatures to add to the total which currently stands at 52 400.

If you missed us, The No More Page 3 Campaign is asking The Sun to remove the images of bare breasted women from page 3 because in 2012 we think women should not be represented this way in a “Newspaper”. You can find us on Twitter and Facebook and sign the petition at https://www.change.org/ en-GB/petitions/dominic-mohantake-the-bare-boobs-out-of-the-sunnomorepage3 More action is planned in Nottingham on Saturday 17th Nov to mark the anniversary of Page 3, meeting in The Approach at 12.30pm. Join us and share the revolution. Boobs aren’t News!!

– Lisa Clarke, No More Page 3

THOUGHT FOR THE MONTH "Disobedience leads to trouble" – Paul Feast 1938 – 2002

Horace’s Half Hour

Contact us: thebeestonian@gmail.com pages/thebeestonian @TheBeestonian c/o 106 Chilwell Road, Beeston, Nottingham NG9 1ES

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

Gentle Yorkshire burrs and Dean of University of Beestonia: Prof J. Assistant Editor, Print Design: Tamar.

IT support and gentle encouragement: Queen Weasel / Luke / Ian 'Birthday Boy' M. Illustrations and General Feline Matters: Lottie.

Top-Notch Scribes: Nora Dimitrova, Jimmy Wiggins and Tamar Feast Quiz by Horace.

Printing by Nottingham Offset Printers - a Beeston Company.

1.What instrument was played by

5. Who is Ayda Field’s husband?

in Scrabble?

'40s band leader, Glenn Miller?

6. Magwitch is a character in

10. In the TV series 'Porridge',

Huge thanks to all of our contributors, sponsors, stockists, regular readers and anyone who has picked this up and resisted the temptation to mop up spilt beer with it.

7. In which US state is Amarillo?

Beestonian Richard

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Let’s Get quizzicaL (answers are below. but don't cheat. No one likes a cheater)

2. What is the name of the Sheffield Speedway team?

3. What colour is Percy in

'Thomas the Tank Engine'?

4. What is the most common blood group in the world?

which Dickens novel?

8. True or False: David

Cameron’s face looks the same upside down?

Godber was played by

Beckinsale - but what was his first name?

9. ‘Beestonian’ would score what

1. Trombone 2. The Tigers 3. Green 4. O 5. Robbie Williams 6. Great Expectations 7. Texas 8. It's a matter of opinion 9. Nothing. It's not a word 10. Lenny