Lets roll (or cob, if you prefer)

Ayup! A few of you may have stumbled here through my rather rubbish attempts at self-publicity (Im still waiting for the sandwich boards to arrive).

I am, I confess, not originally from Beeston, having grown up in the lovely little suburb of Beeston, St. Apleford, and only moved/ sought asylum here in 1995. Yet I am a naturalised Beestonian, me mum knew Paul Smith and my dad, a Chilwellian, knew Richard Beckinsale from their mutual education at Chilwell Comp. A decade and a half of fascination has manifested itself within me, thus this blog. What other town can be so rife in talent, coffee shops and weirdness? To the casual visitor, it may seem just another tiny node on the backside of a notorious Midland’s city, but scratch the surface and there is so, so much more. Many writers and philosophers have been urgent to alert us to the the wonder close examination of the seemingly mundane can reveal, and that is what I intend to apply here. Tell me about what Beestonia means to you, good or bad, I shall give air to your opinions. Where do you drink? Who do you see round town? Are you an ex-pat craving for a pint at the Crown? A newcomer at the Uni still a bit baffled by the fact we have a statue with a nose-ring as our symbo,l and a town with  a habit of sticking bees on everything despite having no history of Apiarism? Get involved then. Beeston has just become part of Web 2.0. Start up your hovercars, leave the housework to the housewifebots, and become part of the FUTURE, right here.

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4 thoughts on “Lets roll (or cob, if you prefer)

  1. Obrt says:

    Good luck. 🙂 I’m writing from far away and I’ve never been to Beeston, but I’d like to see the Olympics there and all. :)))

  2. Suzanne says:

    As a former employee of The Bean during a working holiday, I would move back just to make sure the Olympians were well-caffeinated. Which would be terrible, as caffeine dehydrates the body.

  3. Soci-O-Path says:

    That nasty little old guy who used to hurl abuse at me until I moved out of “my fuckin’ seat” in Weatherspoons is well and truly dead. He was a character I saw around old Beeston town. Little bastard.

    I miss Kwik Save.

    I never went in that coffee shop. The one near Sainsburys ? They always gave me funny looks. Perhaps I didn’t like Indie music enough, or it could have been that I didn’t own any hideous plaid shirts. Despite the eccentricity of Beeston, if you don’t fit into the high-calibre weird then you must be a danger ! I only came to this conclusion when old bidds on shop mobility scooters started attempting to mow me down.

    The Cow was never really a good pub.

    University Of Nottingham students seem to think they are owed.

    Beeman is awesome though. He looks like my father. Well, Beeman is taller actually. And has more bees. And less whiskey. Beeman is unemployed and hairy though, so a sign of hope to us all.

    I love Beeston. Nicest place I’ve ever known. One day I will be wealthy enough to live in the leafy suburbs off behind Chilwell road. For now I can go to the dentist there, and indimidate teenagers down there for fun.

    There should be a Little Britain series entirely set in Beeston.

    People seem too stupid to operate the traffic lights on Wollaton road. There could be twenty people stood there, nary a finger ever gracing the stop buttons.

    I like that there are rarely Po-leese on the beat here. Firstly because that means we’re a lovely place, but also that people people aren’t too lovely. Because you know, if we were too lovely then the rozzers would be hacking at our faces with those lovely fibreglass shields.

    The fire station is badass also. Seeing the dummy tower whilst overlooking from the car park is still a novelty even now, twenty years after my first memory of doing so.

    Sometimes I am almost please that those rough bastards from Long Eaton are jealous of us. Rough bastards.

    Oh, and our local newspaper is fuckin’ awesomesauce.

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