Oh good lord, its hot. Stinkingly, achingly, t-shirt-wringingly hot. And, being British, when its hot, I have to state that fact loads, despite it being so massively apparent to anyone else under the same weather system. I cracked an egg today and it was hard boiled before it hit the mixing bowl. The Trent has boiled and dissapated, and if it was not for a loyal bunch of vigilant Beestonians laying landmines and barbwire on the cracked river-bed we would now be flooded (oh floods, how we miss you) with marauding Cliftonian’s trying to raid us for our stockpiles of Lynx anti-perspirant. And this one is true; in the hottest week EVER in Beestonia, Sainsburys fridges today failed, and all the Ben and Jerry’s, Carte Dior and Haagen Daaz reverted to a liquid state and had to be removed, leading to another type of meltdown, as those who sought sugary chilled dairy relief from this inferno collapsed weeping in the aisles.
And guess which idiot decides to resurrect his habit of cycling to and from work in Nottingham? Yeah, that red-faced, sodden t-shirted wheezing fellow you might see chugging along on University Boulevard as you effortlessly glide to town in your air-conditioned cars. I hope this serves as an excuse to my lack of updating this place. Its hard to type when you cant see cos your contact lenses are continually washed out by the Niagra Falls that develops over your forehead, and cannot keep still due to being encased in a cloud of midges and mosquitos intent on murdering me with a million stinging puncture marks.
Tonight though, despite it being 28c in my bedroom (28c!!!28c!!! I lived in Portugal for years and even there the night would at least provide some respite, but oh no, not Beestonia, so far from a cooling coast, its sandstone crust radiating the heat upwards during the night….my first act as dictator will be to flood Lincolnshire to give us a closer beach and replace the sandstone with glaciers), despite that staggering night time temperature, I will soldier on. Yes, since you ask, I would like a medal, ta.
Don’t expect a carefully written, constructively analytical examination of Beestonias idiosyncracies and underlying wonderfulness, thats coming, around 2020, when I get round to doing a three year intense course in writing carefully written, constructively analytical examinations of Beestonias idiosyncracies and underlying wonderfulness. Until then, heres a list.
GREAT THINGS ABOUT BEESTONIA: PART ONE
1. Coffee. Like coffee? No? Are you mad??? Its still legal, christ knows how, so before the Home Office notices and bans it get as much down your neck as possible. And where in Beestonia can I procure this miracle drug that can turn you from a calm, sleepy reasonable human into a ranting, anxious, wired human within an emptied mug? Just walk into any building on the high street and theres an evens chance you’ll be able to purchase coffee. From the corporate: Nero, The Orange Shop, Subway, Wetherspoons to the more independant places: Metro (popular with Mothers That Lunch), Belle and Jerome (served to you lovingly by doe-eyed waitresses) and most famously, Stoney Street’s ‘Bean’. I must declare an interest here: Bean is my regular haunt, being within crawling distance of my bed, and one of the Baristas presently employed is my creative partner on a couple of on-going projects. An article on such a Beestonian Institution will follow one day, but tonight its- did I mention?- too bleeding hot.
2. This place: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=9024522466&ref=ts . i swear I didn’t set it up, I don’t even know the authors. There are a few groups on Facebook about Beeston, but this tops them all, even my Beeston Olympics group…why? Because before it existed, a group celebrating Beeston, Leeds was set up called Beeston and Proud, or B.A.P. ‘Come on Beeston’ was therefore set up in response… C.O.B. Perhaps its just me, but I find that the most stupidly amusing thing EVER. Its also got a good list of the weirdness of Beestonia: —
-Beeston’s clock doesnt tell the time
– Beeston square’s three flagpoles have no flags
– Beeston square’s water feature has no water and looks like a giant leek
– There is a monument to a beekeeper but the town’s name has nothing to do with bees.
3. Sunday Card Bingo at the Crown Inn: even in my teetotal year, I would try my very hardest to ensure my attendance at this weekly afternoon of hedonistic gambling. Between 4pm and 6pm, four rounds of this most wonderful of card-games is played out to a packed house. The packed house in question is peopled by a clientele that would make the Mos Eisley Cantina look genteel, but the atmosphere has more electricity than a lightning-struck seventies polyster-populated disco, the hush that falls during every round so thick with hope as the perpetually drunk MC reels off cards, only broken when a gutteral shout of ‘EREYAR!!’ draws out a pub-wide sigh of broken dreams and murdered hope. Last time I was there, the pub’s next door neighbours interrupted this hush with a cacophony of noise, issuing forth from the broken-spellbound masses a collective ‘SHUT UP’. Next door is Beeston Church. The interruptive racket the church bells. I felt proud to be an atheist at that point.
More later, your suggestions welcome. But right now, Im off to lie on top of my duvet steaming from every pore as Beestonia dries to a dehydrated husk, as the pavemants melt into a sea of sticky tarmac, and Iceland starts taking in refugees….night, Beestonians.