added extras

I've been busy adding a few new pages to the blog this afternoon.

If you're reading this via the RSS feed head on over to idleformat.com and check them out. They're listed underneath the big orangey/red logo on the left-hand side of the page.

is tagging really so bad?

From the March issue of Bristol's listings magazine, Venue:

"Is tagging really so bad? It's pretty small-scale, when you compare it to, say, whoever was responsible for ramming the M32 right through the heart of Eastville, dividing the once-united Easton and St Pauls. Look at that giant ugly concrete monstrosity, towering over people's homes. Look at the damage to the community, the pollution of noise and air, whole streets razed to the ground, a river buried in concrete. It's hypocritical to shrug at such ill-conceived destruction but then get angry when a local boy dares to write his name in the underpass he now needs to use in order to get home."

Absolutely this.

The effect of the M32 on Stapleton Road, Bristol (Google Maps)

Bristol's M32: The Grand Opening (news footage via BBC)

storytelling

On Thursday night we met some friends at Clifton's Lansdown pub for an evening of stories, song, laughter, surprise, sadness and alchohol. It was time for the annual Bristol Storytelling Slam, part of the city's Storytelling Festival 2012. This was my first Slam and I'll make sure it's not my last - it was a shame to have to go home, for this was one of the most enjoyable evenings I've spent in Bristol since moving here over three years ago.

Ten brave souls had put themselves forward to tell a tale of no longer than ten minutes. The cosy upstairs room, with its wooden chairs and sofas, was packed by the time proceedings kicked off just after 8pm.

The host, Martin, was brilliant. He kicked things off with a historic tale of his own about Bristol and a one-armed ghost said to haunt the upstairs rooms of local pubs. Then, the first of the competitors began the Slam proper. I didn't think to take down the details of the ten storytellers and wouldn't want to praise one over another (even though this was a competition and the audience would later vote for a winner) because I was full of admiration for anybody getting up and having a go. But over the course of the next three hours or so we listened intently to stories involving mice, snakes, heaven, hell, the velcro-effect of a bald stubbly head, princes, princesses, rolling pins, curry, a dragon residing in a matchbox, a Newcastle Brown Ale-drinking talking dog and a tent-invading hedgehog. Every story was enthusiastically received. It was superb.

The winner was the lovely chap pictured above who was in the UK from Sierra Leone where he promotes storytelling in communities. Wearing traditional African dress he was a worthy winner of the 'ball of string on a stand', otherwise known as the winner's trophy (a 'spinning yarn' I guess). The whole audience fell in love with him - I'm sorry I didn't get his name.

As we left, stumbling into the freezing cold Clifton night air I felt dizzy from too much cider and giddy from an evening of fantastic tales that were still spinning around my head. And I also felt rather sad that there won't be another Slam for a whole year...