Regular readers will know if there is a bandwagon trundling by, Beestonia will do its damn hardest to sling up a grappling hook and climb aboard. There is a greater purpose to this: my burgeoning theory that Beeston is the centre of the universe and all events can be traced to this little corner of NG9 is still, incredibly, treated with scepticism  from some quarters, mainly in West Bridgford. ‘More evidence!’ they cry ‘We demand proof of your unlikely hypothesis’.  This barrage of faithless doubt thus forces one to present before you more irrefutable proof, normally tacked onto an item of current affairs or a recent book, film or telly programme. As I’m not in the mood to try and show how smut-pulp ’50 Shades of Grey’ relates to Beeston (it doesn’t whatsoever, and I only bought it as I was under the mistaken belief that it was John Major’s memoirs), we’ll jump on the Olympic bandwagon: I present to you the 10 Reasons Beeston is linked to the Olympics.

  1. We have a competitor! Yes, the GB Men’s Hockey Squad have a Beestonian in their ranks, Alistair Wilson who grapples with his stick for Beeston Hockey Club on Uni Blvd. Such is my devotion to all things Beestonian, I’m off to see him as we take on Pakistan this Friday. Yes, that’s my level of devotion, and nothing to do with getting free tickets, transport and accommodation from Lady Beestonia’s dad.
  2. Rebecca Adlington has spent the last few years training at the University Pool. Yes, technically not Beeston, but it counts as my printer on The Beestonian is related to her.
  3. Many years ago, I launched a Facebook group called ‘Move the 2012 Olympics to Beeston’, which demanded we don’t let Seb Coe have it’s way, and instead move the Olympics here with my ex-P.E. teacher, Mr Turton in control, and all ahletes would have to wear ‘Stanleys’: oversize Nazy blue shorts you could camp out in.  It became bizarrely successful, to the extent I became email friends with the USA Netball Federation, who seemed to be under the impression that a move to Beeston was a possibility, rather than the addled plans of an ego-maniac. We both, sadly, were disappointed with our mutual snubs.
  4. Many years ago, a couple of years before the Sydney Games, I worked for a local culture and entertainment magazine in Tunbridge Wells, my home at the time. I would get a monthly commission to write articles on local sport matters, which mainly involved going to rugby/golf/cricket clubhouses and getting steaming drunk with the chairman while interviewing them about the history and aspirations of the club. One issue, my commissioning editor rang and offered me a choice of stories: would I like to interview a pair of long-distance running twins who were looking like medal hopefuls in Sydney; or a washed up female middle distance runner whose injury history looked like she was a whole 57 varieties of has-been, but hey, she was local. I plumped for the former, and duly got a piece on the Graffin brothers in print, and was happy when one duly popped over to Sydney, but didn’t get a medal. Which was great until 2004, as I watched ‘washed-up’ Kelly Holmes get a brace of exhilarating won golds.
  5. The opening ceremony featured JK Rowling read from Peter Pan, by JM Barrie, who came up with the idea for his seminal work while on a visit to Clifton Hall. Obviously while staring over the Trent at Beeston.
  6. Dr Tim Brabants MBE, gold-medal winning canonist at Beijing, is a Beestonian. I saw him a few years ago chatting about his win to a journalist in Cafe Nero, but I thought he might be Steve Redgrave so decided not to approach him.
  7. The Guardian  writer Marina Hyde is writing a humourous daily column on the Games. Beeston also has a Marina.
  8. And Attenborough Nature Reserve has hydes. Well, hides.
  9. Beeston Councillors, Pat and Lynda Lally both carried the torch. But not in Beeston.
  10. I really wish I’d just limited this to five. Ok, my real surname is one letter away from being ‘Gold’. Will that do?

Got any more? If so, send them in, while I get up on the podium and accept gold for tenuous linking. And if you think that was bad, I’ll be doing Batman later this week.


Issue 10 is out now, and a corker of a read. Find it by going into our sponsors: The Treasury, The Crown and  Belle and Jerome, as well as other establishments we like to visit. Can’t be arsed to walk into Beeston? Then read it online here: clickylinky . Want to help out with the next issue/ advertise with us? Then drop me a line


So life is now complete in Chez Beestonia, which is NOT IN ATTENBOROUGH, despite Eric Kerry being my Councillor, borough and county. I have two tiny, 8 week old kittens, who as I write are engaging in a war with, variably, each other, my Blackberry charger cable, and my ankles. Anyone who has read this blog from the start, get a better hobby.
You’ll also recall that I was working on an article for ages that definitively proved the inherent evil of felines. Now I own two, and frequently gasp at their unbearable cuteness. It’s like Invasion of the Bodysnatchers, but furrier. One thing though, one thing I promise with every fibre of my body and soul: I will NOT, EVER give them their own Facebook account, OK? Never, and I look with a judgemental eye upon you if you’ve ever even considered such a thing. Besides, Facebook is soooo passe. Follow them instead on Twitter @fluffyfurbabyheaven .

Beestonia: Goold Meddles; Issue 10; A Rethink On Cats.

Beestnia Bleats BJ/ Oxjam Kicks Of/ Sheerly Temple.

Welcome back to the ever-burgeoning chaos that is Beestonia. My hiatus this week squarely lands at the foot of Broadband providers; of which for some time I seemed o have two, but no actual broadband. This must be the epitome of triumphant capitalism, but really a bit of an arse for someone who has to type up his thoughts periodically less he is found naked, at midnight, in a public park barking inanities at trees regarding councillors, Beeston Square and the new Batman Movie.

So where are we? Cripes, too much to relate. So to the tune of Billy Joel’s ‘We Didn’t Light The Fire’, here’s a run down of recent stuff:

Tram works/ carpark gone/ Chilwell road/ oblivion

Carnival/ rained a bit/ British summer rather shit

Gloom and doom/ but some hope/ Barton House liferope

Starter gun/ stand-up fun/comedy fest number one.


Where is Soubs/ not here/ Mapperley?/yes my dear.

Anna/ not a fool/ needs at least a heated pool

NG3 she’s too keen / Beeston denied a  new Queen

Pickfords relax, theres no if, her next move is Rush-cliffe


We didn’t call her a liar

But we’re rapidly learning

The Ladies for Turning.

And I’ll leave it at that, as to try and make that conceit work i’ve just had to listen to Billy Joel a dozen times, which is approximately 11 times more than any sane human should ever endure. Lets have some good news.

As you may know, and if you don’t know, I will ensure you know so loudly when they remove your brain at the autopsy it will be visibally seared across the frontal lobes; I am volunteering for Oxfam’s sublime ‘Oxjam’ festival this year, which will descend upon Beeston like a multi-togged duvet of talent over the mattress of joy that is this town. I’m the head of marketing, so if there is anyone out there apart from my mother and some confused Estonians, listen up.

This can only work with you. I’m launching the Twitter feed tomorrow, so if you’re not following me already on Twitter, do so now and i’ll let you know the next step. . Those not on Twitter: get on it. Now. It’s like Facebook but without endless reminders that your ‘friends’ have collected a mango on some terrifyingly awful ‘social’ online game. Anyone reading this play Farmille? Yes? Stop. Go off and run a real farm. It’s a bit different, less verdant, and more inclination to top yourself/ shoot dogs that stray on your land, even if you only grow peas. Go on, do it, and stop telling me about your purely imaginary ‘maize’ crop.


Another piece of great news regards Ryland’s Temple, the strikingly beautiful Hindu wonder that sits on West Crescent. Tomorrow (Thursday) the kids at Beeston Rylands school years 3-4 will be visiting the temple. This is great news, as infant Beestonains will be as infatuated and amazed by the artistic wonderfulness inside as much as I was. Yet don’t let your kids have to tell you about this, get down yourself. You will be dazzled, And no, as I have had to explain to many people already, you do not need to be a Hindu, Just show due respect and have a good look around. Any conversions, I relinquish responsibility for.