A charming man

Yesterday’s event was rather a fine diversion. Mum turned up and sat beside throughout. We had a good old natter as a steady flow of people bought books. Old Stokie and his clan arrived to cause trouble, though when, at one point, the Police turned up this was apparently something to do with one of Huddy’s entourage. That, in any event, was what Joe-in-Oz, who had been bystanding and eavesdropping, told me later when I picked him up from a bus stop. Joe is a regular Oatcake poster; earlier in the day he had given me his business card, a card that advertises his services as an ‘Advanced Conversationalist’ who ‘specialises in drinking and football arguments.’ At the end of the day I walked away with a bagful of merchandise including: an Abdoulaye Faye mug (a present from OS’s grandchildren, as a thank you for the book being dedicated in part to them – they also signed a copy of ASLNM for me) and a Longthrow t-shirt both from Stoke Shirts dot co; signed books by Steve Mifflin and organiser David Lee; a cd by Boothen End bard Ian Dyer (who stood up at one point and simply stopped the traffic by performance-poeting them into submission); a 2010 calender of football images by local artist Sid Kirkham. They are calling Kirkham, ‘The Potteries’ Lowry.’ He has perfected a technique, particularly in his pieces that represent older days, whereby the red and white stripes of the Stoke City colours and/or the red of a bus are the only illumination in an otherwise monotone landscape; it seemed to me, as I looked at the originals, that that was indeed how it used to be. Sid is represented by Fenton gallery, theartbay.

Then there was a further signed book and dvd by Alan Hudson. Hudson is my new muse. It will take me a while to collect my thoughts on him properly and begin work on a bleak, comic, tragic novella which will be my masterpiece. He makes no secret of his drinking, for which, in one way and another, he has always been notorious; he nearly lost his life getting knocked down crossing the road a dozen years ago. Yesterday he had his right arm in a plaster cast from elbow to wrist. ‘How did you do that?’ I asked. He just gave me a look in reply as if to say: How d’you think? Every time he signed a book he said to the signee, with a twinkle in his eye, ‘The doctors told me I should do nuffink at all wiv this arm.’ We never did do the panel thing, we just had a broken conversation in-between doing our stuff; amusing, fragile and alert in equal degrees, I found him very good company.


Calling Potters, Sid Kirkham

This entry was posted in And She Laughed No More and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

9 Responses to A charming man

  1. Daftburger says:

    I love Sid Kirkham’s stuff as I feel it encapsulates the nostaligia of previous posts on this site and the ‘good’ old days.

    One things true though nostalgia aint what it used to be.

    I would have come up yesterday but I couldn’t be arsed, spent my money in Gregg’s instead! ;-)!

  2. Stephen Foster says:

    Greggs? Is that that bakery in Crewe where an old-Oatie board poster (Mido?) once spotted Thommo but couldn’t be arsed to go and say Hello to him?

  3. Daftburger says:

    You should be honoured that you’re on a par with an ex Stoke player in your ‘fans’ enthusiasm for you! 😀

  4. calvininjax says:

    An evocative picture.

    I certainly remember those old gas lamps.

    I am surprised no one is carrying a football rattle.

    In those days before televised matches, the floodlights had more of a yellow glow than the halogen white we know today.

    He got it right on the gas lamp but not on the floodlights.


    But like OS said a few posts back — I have no style. 😉

  5. OS says:

    Send me the pics Mum took, winger. I’m doing a ‘Gayers Corner’ in my new kitchen and I need them. Just do eet!

    Daftbugger, you’re a waste of space.


    NB: T’was a good afternoon but too many bloody kids about to concentrate on the offerings. Let me know when the next one is on, winger.

  6. Stephen Foster says:


  7. Stephen Foster says:

    ‘Daftbugger, you’re a waste of space.’

    As far as I understand things this is one of OS’s greatest terms of endearment.

  8. Daftburger says:

    But that doesn’t stop the hurt of such hateful comments. He created me and he can also destroy me! 😦

  9. Daftburger says:

    Looking at it again it looks more like, spit, Vale, spit, Park walking up from Royal Doultons on North Road, Burslum. 😦

Comments are closed.