GYBE, Coventry, 3rd October

It being over 9 years since the last encounter I journeyed to Coventry to see Godspeed You! Black Emperor. A worthwhile trip all round.

To despatch the routine -

• The lights dim (I mean dim) and a drone grows in volume. After some time, Sophie Trudeau appears and begins to play, The noise is quite thrilling as the others appear one by one to play.
• As tradition begs, the set begins with "Hope Drone".
• The lights remain dim throughout. I chose to stand close enough to the stage to count them: 3 guitars, 2 bass, 1 violin, 2 percussion. That's eight.
• Passim, visuals from 4 oldschool projecters fill two screens behind the band. These are variously wildfires, scenes of riot and ruin, some vintage military hardware - all calculated to reassure you of how worthwhile the human race is.
• They play for 2 hours, uninterrupted by any vocal link. As they depart, a rather loud guitar loop plays as the visuals continue.
• No encore.

So far, so predictable. Some might say "Surely this is a group of semi-visible people making a loud discordant noise" - how wrong can you be? What more might one say?

• The mix was very well controlled. The violin was prominent throughout.
• The visuals were the best I had seen them use; I stood behind the fella swapping the loops for about 20 minutes and I can tell you he really earned his money.
• It was usually hard to applaud anything as there was only a nanosecond gap between pieces. Nevertheless, a splendid elongated version of Job's Lament drew a lot of applause and was the best appreciated piece on the night.
• Prevailing wisdom is that the dress code for these gigs is black, with an earnest facial expression. Bucking this trend, I wore my post-fashionable Montreal Canadiens t-shirt, which is usually only allowed out when I am performing on guitar. Most others there wore t-shirts/hoodies/whatever advertising their allegiance to a cult I had never heard of. But I saw no duplicates, posing the question of whether it's a cult before it has two or more adherents.

Beyond that, I can report that the Coventry HMV Empire is one of the most comfortless venues I've ever been in, but it didn't matter. I really hope they play Aberystwyth one day.

Xeter

Regular readers may have spotted that I am [sort of, nearly] a child of Exeter. It was with some glee that fate took me to Wroxeter, and I was keen to seek out the similarities.

The name Exeter is derived from Isca Dumnoniorum: "Isca" is a Latinisation of the Brythonic word "Uisc", which means "flowing water" - so, a river. The Dumnonii were the local tribe, and the suffix was important to the Civil Service of the day since there was a another Isca, properly Isca Silurum, whose local tribe were the Silures. The modern name for this place is Usk, so they were quite a way apart.

Wroxeter turns out to be small. Actually tiny. It has just a few hundred inhabitants, so drawing cultural, commercial or industrial comparisons with Exeter is a bit of a waste of time. But in Roman times, named Viroconium Cornovorium, it was a boss place - the fourth largest British town; when the legions left the whole area was deserted so the archeological remains are plentiful and largely unspoilt - you can see them today. Wroxeter church is small but handsome: it has a font made from a pillaged Roman column

and the churchyard gate makes use of two other columns.

A thieving lot, these Christians.

The name Wroxeter is obscure in origin; The original capital of the Cornovii tribe was the hillfort on the Wrekin, (also called Uiroconion). The name Wroxeter may also refer to the capital of the Wrocensaete, a sub-Roman kingdom that succeeded Cornovia. The name Wrocensaete literally means "those dwelling at Wrocen".

Then of course there is Uttoxeter, of racecourse fame. The name is post-Roman, and comes from the Anglo-Saxon term Wotocheshede, which appears in the Domesday Book and translates to "Wot's homestead on the Heath".

There are only the three Xeters in the UK.

23rd March things

March 23rd was unusually productive for Things.

VoR museum

Opening day for the VoR museum. I went down fully expecting large banners and welcoming volunteers - perhaps a brass band. I had obviously forgotten this is Abeystwyth. A nice man reminded me it was opeing day and sold me a ticket, after which I strolled alone among some shny exhibits, having passed through an archway recyled from London Bridge (seriously).

I'd seen many of them before, but the standard gauge Dukedog (on loan) was new, and it's never disappointing to see the Beyer Garratt. One of the highlights of the VoR is standing near a steep incline (there are many) and just listening to a loco labouring uphill - apparently the B-G is so powerful it barely makes a sound. When used in South Africa, two of these monsters were harnessed at the head of timber trains that were very very long indeed.

Other pictures exist.

Bryntail lead mines

There were mines just all over the place, but the Bryntail site is distinguished by having many remains of buildings, wheel pits etc, all in the shadow of the Clywedog dam. It is a short distance to the very productive Van site, so ironic that despite huge investment and innovation by a Cornish engineer, Bryntail never produced much and closed very shortly after the fellow's death.

Other pictures exist.

Llanidloes

A refreshment break in Llanidloes - didn't meet any Chartists.

Alison Cotton

Something drew my attention to A Cotton opening her tour at Gregynog. A cursory search suggested that if Godspeed You! Black Emperor operated in the folk music sphere, this is what they would sound like. A must-do. On arrival, the Gregynog organisation was just as expected (yeah), and the remainder of the audience looked as though they knew just why they were there, and might all be related to Vashti Bunyan.

The lady plays drone viola, but is actually a vocalist and her unaccompanied singing dominated (a pest, as she had a sore throat and had to abandon an attempt at one song. Never mind, we got lots of others). She played from her very recently released Engelchen, about two Tyneside sisters who rescued large number of Jewish children from the Nazis. She sported gold boots and eyelids, and from time to time was accompanied by Chloe Herington on percussion and harmonium. Both of them made interesting use of loops and other electronics. If there's one thing in the world I don't need it's another T-shirt, but I was easily persuaded to buy one in her support.

Support came from Elizabeth Still, who played a fabulous short set. She was a bit of a one-woman band with lots of instruments and electronics. Apparently the founder member of Haress, of whom I had never heard - there's always something new.

I Want To Go To Togo, Ghana, Togo

We all know that a happy combination of luck, aggression, predestination and geography causes the base meridian of longitude to go through Greenwich. In earlier times there were several others: Paris, Copenhagen and Berlin all had "their" meridians but we won out (anyway, wouldn't it be stupid to call something the "Greenwich Meridian" if it went through Berlin or Copenhagen?). Incidentally, the French clung on to their Méridienne Parisienne well into the 20th century, silly lot. There is some interesting psychogeography to be done in following it.

Knowing that it goes through Greenwich is useful, but where else? France, plainly (but not through Paris 😀), but where else? Google to the fore, we can draw a circle that goes from pole to pole and back, following the 0° and 180° meridians (Click to enlarge, obvs.).

No surprises that the majority of this is sea (counting the arctic as sea, which it is). The 180 meridian intersects very little land (all Russia), and the 0 meridian is just wet in the southern hemisphere. There are, however, four countries which intersect twice.

The UK

Maybe it's cheating to consider the Humber Estuary as an interruption - make your own mind up. The meridian just misses Flamborough Head, but if were visible, you'd see it.

Russia

Given its size one cannot be surprised that Mother Russia figures in the list. Off the north coast of Siberia (north of the 70° parallel) lies Wrangel Island [О́стров Вра́нгеля]. The Island was named by a Briton after a Russian Admiral who was German, but it has a variety of other names derived from languages more appropriate. It is designated in its entirety as a "nature reserve", which might mean anything in modern Russia.

There is a great deal to be read about this place; it was home to the last surviving woolly mammoths on earth.

Spain

The shape of Spain's Mediterranean coast provides a 30Km (or so) land intersection just south of Valencia. Pleasingly, the Meridian exits toward Africa at Marina Greenwich.

Togo/Ghana

When those Imperialist bastards decided where to draw national boundaries in Africa, they plainly decided to have a laugh when it came to Togo. Leaving Burkina Faso, the Meridian enters Togo, leaves it, enters it again (from Ghana), then leaves it back to Ghana and onward to the seaside.

The first Togo stretch is about 2Km long (my estimate - it really isn't easy to get precise measurements from Google).

The second stretch is rather longer, at something like 30Km - again, rather approximate.

I have searched in vain for images of the Meridian meeting/leaving Togo, thus far with no joy. Any I receive will be posted here without delay.

Many inflatable unicorns

A twin-porpoise trip to Shrewsbury, both fulfilled.

Firstly, a trip to the world's first iron-framed building, and a trip up its smashing tower. Some pictures exist elsewhere.

Second, to attend the entertainment of Mr and Mrs Willcox (née Fripp) who are touring their Sunday lunch. One wasn't quite sure what to expect: queueing for a beer on arrival I texted the Frau "The regulation KC audience has brought its wife" - Mr Willcox will be surprised to see an audience that is 50% female. She was quick to point out that actually the regulation Toyah audience had brought its husband. The stage was scattered with inflatable unicorns, instead of the 3 massive drumkits KC fans might expect.

Fashionably punctual the band appeared. Mr Willcox in his customary funereal garb, and Mrs Willcox in an outfit that would have been awkward to wear on a bus. She provided lively banter throughout, reminding us early on that he is 77 and she 65. There were a few occasions where we got a monosyllabic comment from him, rather more than I have heard him say since I saw him in York in 1974. There was a solitary drummer who, despite coming from Leeds, did not fill the space that three do, two keyboard artistes (one accompanied by her teenage daughter), a bassist, two guitarists, and Mr Willcox. He sat still througout, as one might expect, although was downstage, which I had not see before, and was unaccompanied by the massive cabinet of electronics that is his customary security blanket.

The set list was straight from the Sunday Lunch, and Toyah was very happy for us to sing along with her, which I think we all did rather well. Interestingly, the guitarists were of such quality that Robert could be seen just strumming rhythm from time to time. But he also set himself free on a few occasions, notably playing a version of "Enter Sandman" that we certainly hadn't heard before. My neighbour enquired whether I expected them to perform any KC pieces - I thought not. I was correct, although they did do two Bowie pieces on which he has been an original musician (Fashion and, of course, Heroes).

The English Music Hall is alive and well, and of great quality.

And I found this - isn't it lovely?

Not one, but two!

Montague Burton's retail acumen is well known: ideally chosen corner plots, a style recognisable from 100 yards, complete understanding of the psychology of the customer base, and teetotal dance halls or snooker halls above the showroom. Appealing to the less well moneyed gentleman, his shops were to be found in nearly all industrial or otherwise working-class conurbations. Lucky old Aberdeen: not only two Burton buildings, but separated by a distance of less than 100 yards.

Like so many others, these splendid edifices are in need of a little TLC. Number 1 on Union Street is currently vacant: the building is instantly recognisable, and has one surviving foundation stone - highly likely there were once 2 or more.

Number 2 is a very short step away on St Nicholas Street: also instantly recognisable, but no foundation stones remaining - the building has been reworked at street level at least once. No matter - the upper stories are easily viewed by a pedestrian walkway.

In spotting this frontage, it suddenly became clear that one could see both buildings at once.

I don't know if this can be done anywhere else in the world. When you consider the Keighley Dee-Fest, and meetings with Ben, Katie and Jenny, this seems to have got the Orkney holiday off to a very good start. (Ironically, we parked outside the latter-day incarnation of Burotns. So three, I suppose, on one day)

The game is up

The jury remains out on precisely which drugs W Shakespeare had been smoking when scribing Cymbeline, but we'd all like to know. It's not commonly staged: In 1970 (I think) I performed in a production of this play, directed by a far-sighted teacher of English; I saw it again on the West Yorkshire Playhouse stage the evening before one of my weddings in 2006, and then once more last Saturday, produced by the RSC in Stratford.

I managed to enter the auditorium with some very cocky foreknowledge of this madness, but had forgotten (before checking) that this is where the phrases Boldness be my friend (A1,s6), The game is up (A3,s3), and I have not sleep one wink (A3,s4) originate. Now you know.

It's fairly well known that he got a little wacky towards the end, but this play scales amazin' heights; the appearance of Jupiter at the end, descending from heaven amid thunder and lightning, was even better that that depicted by my late friend Peter Gleeson on the Hele's School stage half a century ago. The RSC could have taken advice from us on the length of the play, which kicked off at 7.15 and let us out at 11pm, with two very short intervals. During the second interval we got to look inside a props cupboard which included a dead chicken and a dead goat. How I wanted to nick one (or both) of these.

In preparation we viewed Anne Hathaway's cottage, which remained in Hathaway hands into the C20. There was, recently, a Hathaway gathering at the place, when those attending did not have to pay the £13 entrance fee. I told them I was a Hathaway and asked for a refund: while too courteous to tell me to bugger off, they weren't giving in.

The Crowne Plaza Hotel has corridors that make you feel you are in an Escher drawing

Interesting, but insufficient to make the shocking service bearable.

Anything else? The usual RM hotspots.