Manchester is a musical city…

On Sunday I went to Manchester University Student’s Union to see Throwing Muses. The gig was supposed to be upstairs in the Academy 2, but had been shunted downstairs to Club Academy in the basement to make way for the Mela for Eid upstairs.

I can imagine Club Academy, as a venue, not being that much bigger than the kind of venues the Muses played when they first started out in the US in the mid eighties as it was small and sweaty. The crowd looked as though they were made up almost entirely of people who have been following the band since the eighties.

The stage was really low down so I couldn’t see Kristen Hersh at all throughout, which made for rather an un-engaging experience. I did however have a perfect view of the sound desk, a pretty good view of the bar, and spent a large chunk of the bands set watching a woman with a particularly magnificent rose tattoo and red bob, who was stood about a metre in front of me holding onto a barrier, undulating wildly and a various speeds throughout.

The band, and Hersh, seemed to take a little while to get going, meaning ‘Bright Yellow Gun’, which was about the fourth song or so in, sounded a little sluggish. Hersh seemed to be struggling with her vocals too, I think she had a cold as she sounded husky and a bit tired when she was speaking to the crowd. At times her vocals sounded unnervingly like early Courtney Love.

‘Hate My Way’ was about the sixth song in, and the band seemed to take off from there, with Hersh still sounding hoarse but both she and the band seemingly more relaxed. There were moments when it all really seemed to come together and it was possible to discern what made the band such a hypnotically powerful proposition, and Hersh such a compelling frontwoman, bu there was also the odd moment that was bewilderingly unlistenable as well.

The bands first encore commenced with Hersh performing a stripped down subtle and controlled rendition of early favourit ‘Fish’, and the band rejoined her for about four more songs. They were called back for a second encore afterwards, a blissfully slow and langorous song I wish I knew the title to. Hersh seemed weary as she said a final goodnight, and I was personally relieved that she wasn’t pushed into a third encore. She seemed to have had enough by then.

I couldn’t find any of my friends so after hanging around for 15-20 minutes outside waiting for them to emerge, I headed down Oxford Road. The crowds from the Muses gig were merging with revellers from the Mela for Eid upstairs, and the more spontaneous Eid celebrations outside. Lots of cars were blasting desi and the Asian men (and it was all men so far as I could see) were in boisterous mood.

The further I got down Oxford Road the less Eid revellers I saw. By the time I was passing the Thirsty Scholar by Oxford Road train station the desi had been replaced by the Rolling Stones, Mick Jagger once again moaning that he was ‘Borrrn in a crossfire hurricaaannne’. I picked up a 192 by Piccadilly train station and the desi and Rolling Stones were replaced by the deafening mouth organ howl and stomping feet of a scratch blues ensemble on the top deck, who sounded particularly carried away. I have to confess, I’ve seen and heard some seriously weird things on the 192 but this is the first time I’ve experienced a live gig on it, drunken karaoke not withstanding.

Longsight was oddly quiet for Eid, possibly because the gig had finished fairly early, what with it being a Sunday. I arrived home in perfect stillness and quiet.

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Postscript to last weeks shenanigans

I was speaking to a colleague at work today, who I didn’t see much of last week, and she said that she saw lots of people running down her street in Hulme last Tuesday night, pausing for breath, then running off again, hotly pursued by the police. Apparently the police were chasing rioters and looters from Deansgate and Piccadilly into Hulme… ‘Ooh,’ I said, ‘That’ll be why they were evacuating Oxford Road then…’

The name and shame pictures that have come out in the local press so far would seem to support the general theory that it was a fairly mixed bunch of age ranges and ethnicities who were rioting and looting in Manchester and Salford. Not many people look 10 in their pictures… despite the press reports.

As to the whys and wherefores… will we ever really know? I think we all have our own personal theories, but perhaps we shouldn’t necessarily share them all.

That said, Afflecks appears to be open again (I haven’t actually been into town yet to check, but their site suggests so) despite sustaining damage, which is good news. They are planning a spot of civic pride for the 26th August if anyone fancies getting involved…

http://www.afflecks.com/2011/08/12/afflecks-loves-mcr-show-that-you-do-too/

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Last night… and today

Last night David and I went to the Cornerhouse to watch ‘Break My Fall’. The film started at 6:20pm, and it would have been about halfway through the film when the lights were suddenly switched on and a member of Cornerhouse staff informed us that we were going to have to leave: There was rioting in Piccadilly and it had spread to Deansgate. Given Oxford Road’s proximity to Deansgate Greater Manchester Police and Manchester City Council were strongly advising the Cornerhouse to close for the night.

There had been storm warnings all day, with rumours circulating by word of mouth and on twitter and facebook. Trouble kicked off first in Salford Precinct in the afternoon. There was a scuffle, but it was contained and dispersed. In hindesight it seems very probable that a lot of the people who were dispersed either moved on to Piccadilly, or else onto the the estate in Pendleton. Another thing we realised later on, and especially today, was how unreliable the info on the GMP twitter feed had been.

The atmosphere on Oxford Road as we left the Cornerhouse was odd rather than frightening. We had been advised by the Cornerhouse staff to head for the Aquatics Centre if we were trying to get to South Manchester, so we started to walk in that direction. It would have been about 7:45pm by this time. As we walked we saw lots of buses, many parked at stops on both sides of the road, and a small but visible number of TFGM (Transport For Greater Manchester, the new name for GMPTE) staff near the stops, directing people. Whilst I know it was the standard large incident procedure, it did bring back memories of being in London on July 7th 2005, so I think my adreniline levels kicked themselves up a gear then.

As we walked, I observed a small but noticeable number of people heading down Oxford Road towards Piccadilly. Contrary to press reports, these people were not children and teenagers: They were adults. There were probably more people, like us, heading away from the area, but it was interesting to watch those going the other way. Those of us heading away from Piccadilly appeared either outwardly calm or slightly apprehensive, whereas those heading towards Piccadilly were visibly excited: Some of them looked as though Christmas had arrived early, wrapped up in New Years Eve.

Eventually we both got buses, and parted on the agreement that we would text each other once we were home. David got home first, and I got his text whilst I was on Plymouth Grove. The bus took a very long time to get down Oxford Road, mainly I suspect because they had been told to do long stops to pick up people who were basically being evacuated from Oxford Road.

We picked up the speed a bit on Plymouth Grove, where we passed two slightly self conscious seeming police people, and as we moved along Plymouth Grove talk moved from the riots, and from the scatter bullet phrase ‘Set on fire’, which I had been hearing repeated again and again up until that point, to more mundane matters.

I was on the 197 as this had been my plan all along: As soon as the rumours of a riot started to circulate at work and online, I knew that I would need a new way home: If I’m going out, I have to walk to Piccadilly and get the 192 home as the 191 stops running at 23 minutes past six. All the rumours pointed to riots happening in Piccadilly, so as the day wore on the 192 became an increasingly unviable option. This meant that I could get the 197 or the 42 from Oxford Road, and walk part of the way home, or I could walk all the way home. We’d paid for our cinema tickets in advance, and there was only one showing of ‘Break My Fall’, so cancelling would have been a wrench.

The 197 follows the 191 route until you get to Levenshulme, then it turns off down Albert Road and goes through Burnage and Heaton Moor to Stockport. This meant I had the option of hopping off in Longsight and walking it, or hopping off in Heaton Moor and walking it. Because Longsight has a history of rioting and Heaton Moor doesn’t, and because it’s less of a walk from Heaton Moor, I hopped off at the top of Heaton Moor Road.

It was a bit of a trek home, but all was calm in the twilight. There were plenty of Ladies Who Lunch, or their northern variant: Ladies Wot Lunch, plus their male equivalents outside the usual cafés and wine bars, roaring at each other, eating and drinking… not a care in the world. Fiddling while Rome burned…

Today, things seem to be back to normal. The clean up operation, which was organised on twitter, started this morning. There was still a latent tension in the air and a sense of wariness on peoples faces though.

At work, we all had our ‘How did you get home last night?’ conversations, and judging from the problems other people had I feel I got off very lightly indeed. One colleague had a very near miss with the mob on Market Street whilst trying to get to the Manchester/Salford border, another colleague had a long walk across the other side of town, dodging would be rioters en route to Piccadily, to a bus stop where she merely hoped there would be a bus.

The rumours were, of course, flying today as to who was responsible for the rioting, and why it had happened. I heard my first rumour on the bus on the way into work this morning when I overheard a pissed off business man loudly telling someone on his phone that he’d been in Piccadilly the night before, and that it had been the EDL (English Defence League) orchestrating things. This came to sound increasingly unlikely as the day progressed however, and the following rumours began instead:

• The riots were orchestrated by gangsters (Graham Stringer M.P)
• The riot in Salford was orchestrated by gangsters as payback for previous police actions (local media, and possibly local gangsters)

It has rained heavily and consistently today, and this undoubtably helped tonight in that there appeared to be no trouble and no buses appear to have been re-routed. Yesterday we relied on the GMP twitter feed for updates, and we were badly let down by it, so today we switched to the Stagecoach website, BBC Manchester, and the Manchester Evening News. The MEN had the most thorough coverage, both online and in the paper, though I’ve been told Manchester Confidential is also good.

I basically gave up on national papers and radio stations yesterday for coverage as they were all focusing on London, so it was almost impossible to build up any kind of idea of what was going on in Manchester from them, and that’s remained the case today really.

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Oxford Road post Slutwalk

Manchester Oxford Road post Slutwalk...

I spotted this as I was on my way home from work on Wednesday night. It made me feel really pleased, and not just because I had my camera with me for once…

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Peterloo

In the hot and humid early evening of yesterday, I trundled down Oxford Road in pursuit of food after work. 8th Day doesn’t seem to be doing evenings now that a substantional chunk of the students have gone home for the summer, so it was the Cornerhouse for me.

From the Cornerhouse I meandered towards Saint Peter’s Square, which is currently under seige because of the metrolink extensions (not started yet, so far as I could tell) and the radical overhaul of the entire area by Manchester City Council. The library and the library theatre have already fled the carnage, the war memorial and Peace Gardens are to be moved. In a few years time the place will be as unrecognisable to the average manc as it would be to a survivor of Peterloo today.

Matt Smith (no, not that one) local historian, political upstart, and – apparently – deputy manager at a branch of Asda, chose this day to mark the occasion of the Peterloo Massacre, a tragedy which occurred on the 16th August 1819, a hot day much like the 5th July apparently.

As with many of the various re-tellings and analysis of Peterloo (a dark satirical reference to the much celebrated victory over Napoleon at Waterloo, which occurred close enough to Peterloo to be in the minds of many at the time), Matt’s piece was an overview coupled with an exploration of the parallels between life for the average person in 1819 and now. There are parallels: a struggling economy, high food prices, and a overwhelming sense that things are going in the wrong direction and the wrong people are being made to suffer… But I always think it risks devaluing the importance of what happened in Saint Peter’s Fields (as they were then) on that day in August 1819 if we overconcentrate on the parallels with today, interesting though they are.

Having said that, Smith did an admirable job when it came to explaining the flaws of capitalism as a model (he likened it to a bus being driven over a cliff, with the surviving passengers having to pay the driver to buy a new bus, which  then gets driven over the cliff again, and the process is repeated ad neauseum) and the Rotton Boroughs style political arrangements of 1819 (Manchester had a population of approximately 1 million, only 145 people could vote, and only 1 person could stand as an MP).

You certainly couldn’t fault Smith on enthusiasm and energy, particularly during his agit prop moment as a smug Tory M.P complete with Lib Dem sock puppet, and I did enjoy his description of being filled with hope for the future of political protest upon coming across two men, who had previously been scrapping on the pavement, united by a common hatred, pissing up against a giant billboard of David Cameron just prior to the 2010 elections.

Matt Smith is not The Doctor, but you don’t need a sonic screwdriver to talk about history and politics. If it was 1981 I can’t help but think he would have joined The Gang Of Four instead…

The event is part of the Not Part Of Festival, a fringe festival in Manchester which runs parallel to Manchester International Festival. The name is an abbreviated way of saying ‘Not part of Manchester International Festival’, sort of ‘Off, off Broadway’ or perhaps ‘Off, off Saint Anne’s Square’ in this case.

I picked up a leaflet about the campaign for a proper memorial to the massacre, in which 18 people were killed and over 600 people were injured by sabre cuts and trampling. The previous memorial has always been deemed euphemistic and inadequate, and many, many people, including Mark Thomas, have  joined the campaign many years ago to have it removed and a proper memorial put up instead. With the re-development of the square, the council have promised a new memorial, but doubt is being expressed as to whether it will be any better than the previous one.  If you would like to read more about the history of Peterloo, and about the campaign for a decent memorial to the events, please click here.

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Tuesday 30th November

I woke up to find that it had snowed at last, or should that be inevitably? It looked very pretty, but was definitely more than a little chilly, despite the bright sunshine.

Bright snow, blue skies

Today was the second round of student protests, and I arrived at University Place at 12 midday on the dot. En route from Grosvenor Street I saw an awful lot of police, including several vans and a number of mounted police, which only increased in presence the nearer I got to University Place. The crowd by the tin can was somewhat sparser than last week, and the mood was a bit different too: a lot quieter, and not so eager or excited. The organisers tried to get people geared up with the chant ”You say cutback, we say fightback!” plus there was a little bit of rapping, and a spirited new chant: “He’s got the EMA in his hands, and he wants the fucking lot!” The police seemed friendly enough, some were smiling and talking to students. I spotted some of the schoolkids from last week, who seemed wary but still dedicated. There were some excitable sixth formers who, bored with waiting for the march to start (this seemed to be an issue last week too) and, spotting some fellow sixth formers, began to chuck snowballs. The other sixth formers soon reciprocated, and it wasn’t long before the sporadic chants were accompanied by speedy and ferociously accurate volleys of snowballs: I detected at least one future England bowler in the ranks. Soon, the university students were joining in, and then, at last, it was time to march.

As we headed out onto Oxford Road, we almost immediately marched into a car that had stopped, unable to move now that a seething mass of protesters were heading towards, around, and past it. The youngish (20′s, 30′s) occupants wound the windows down and waved cheerily at us as we walked past. Some of us waved back. Shortly after this, I overheard an initially friendly, then increasingly cagey, discussion between one of the students and one of the police concerning a statement made by the GMP chief, concerning use of “reasonable force.”

The mounted police by Kilburn building watched us pass, and the bridge linking both sides of the Business School across Booth Street East and Booth Street West was full of people, some leaning out of windows, watching and taking pictures. As we approached MMU, I overheard a couple of the students discussing what could only be described as a new interpretation or meaning for the phrase ‘Riot Girl’: Apparently The Daily Mail had printed a picture of a girl rioting at one of the marches, and ran a ‘ladies don’t riot’ type story with it. Dear me, how quaint…

As we passed All Saints park, I came to be standing next to some very giggly male sixth formers, who had a large cardboard placard, written in Arabic. As we walked along, one of them giggled “Did you see her face?” and did a very good impression of someone’s jaw hitting the floor. “What’s on that sign?” I asked them, curious, and they showed me but I couldn’t read it. One of them very gravely translated it into English: It was very rude, and involved called Nick Clegg a prostitute, amongst other things. I lost track of them not long after this, and fell in in front of a couple of boys solemnly and intelligently discussing media manipulation and newspaper bias, proving that media studies, formally taught or otherwise, is rarely a waste of time. We arrived at the BBC not long after this, where more people were on the pavements taking pictures and so on. One of the quainter aspects of marching, I’ve decided, is the waiting at the traffic lights. It makes sense, given the traffic has to as well, but it does feel vaguely surreal: Like being part of a moving mass of people makes you a big lorry or something.

It was as we approached the BBC that I spotted my favourite placard of the day: “Save Defence Against The Dark Arts”. People in offices watched as we continued down Oxford Road, some friendly, some curious.

I’ve had to get my A-Z out to map the rest of the route I think we took, and I think I’ve got it right. If I’ve got it wrong, I think it’s only a few streets out, and I apologise in advance. If I discover from other people who were there that I am wrong, I will correct the streets accordingly.

We went along Peter Street, near Saint Peter’s Square, then along Mount Street, with mounted police at our backs as we came to Albert Square. Some of the protesters at the back weren’t happy about having mounted police right behind them, and someone made a few comments about horses, presumably not thinking that it isn’t the horses in charge, but the riders. I suppose if I’d had someone charge me on horseback, I’d be annoyed as well, but I grew up on the Cheshire border on a street with fields of horses very nearby: I like horses and I don’t have any bad experiences of them, so aside from being a bit nervous as to what might happen if the police decided to exercise a less relaxed form of crowd control, I didn’t feel anything much.

We passed by the Christmas markets in Albert Square, then we were onto Cross Street and heading for Corporation Street,  an enthusiastic chant of “Tory Scum!” went up, along with “Our Street, Our Street!” and “You say cutback, we say fightback!” and so on. Because this is an area where tourists and posh people tend to graze, our presence was met by aghast glances and appalled stares in the main. Well, it was near Selfridges after all… A small and rather optimistic section of the crowd attempted to get some of the fur coated, aghast middle-aged on side by calling out “It’s your children’s future too!” and a brief but spirited chant of “Join us! Join us!” went up. Needless to say, the invitation was not taken up, and many probably went home to leave “Disgusted of Nether Alderley” type comments on todays reports instead…

As we approached URBIS (or rather, what was Urbis, and what is soon to be the new football museum) I spotted a number of protesters up at the front who were waving large red flags with the communist hammer and sickle design. They seemed to be welcoming us to Cathedral Gardens, where we were shunted up a small hill onto a largeish bank of grass for the speeches.

I left at this point, as I had to get to work and didn’t fancy the speeches much, so I once again missed what happened next.

The Manchester Evening News has reported tonight that 5 people were arrested, two for public order offences, two for assaulting police officers, and one for breach of the peace. This all appears to have occurred post Cathedral Gardens, either on the return journey to Oxford Road, or on Oxford Road itself. They give the number attending the march as 1,500, which would make it half the attendance of last weeks march, which sounds about right.

I also have it on very good authority (ie – not from the MEN) that the Roscoe Building occupation now numbers considerably more than last night, as 400 people got in and many have “stayed to help out”.

www.roscoeoccupation.wordpress.com

www.standagainstcuts.wordpress.com

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Movement

After the Whitworth, I walked back down Oxford Road towards 8th Day. Just before I got there, I passed a middle aged man who was sitting on the pavement outside one of the innumerable café/takeaways, reading a book. Just as I was passing, a woman stuck her head out of the door and told him his dinner was cooking now, and he could come in for it soon.

In Oxfam in Piccadilly, my browsing of the books, CD’s and handbags was soundtracked by the deliciously mancunian ‘The Hour Of The Bewilderbeast’.

On Market Street I moved swiftly past the bellowing evangelist, who rants rather than doing the more traditional catechisms, and soon came across a clarinet player, in his sixties at least I’d estimate, playing ‘Pretty Woman’ as a fifty something Bez lookalike in a hoodie, trainers and trackies did a sort of Bez like hip hop ish shuffle to it. When I was coming back, they’d switched to ‘Stayin’ Alive’, but it was much the same dance. The crowd they drew suggests a big local cult following.

The bus back home was packed, and had an alarming start when a scallie ripped open the emergancy door from the outside and started bellowing insults at his two friends on the back seat. After a couple of minutes he slammed the door shut, then appeared at the window on the other side, jumping up and down like a terrier, whilst battering the window and shouting. A particularly stern staredown by an older guy in a hoodie in front of the back seat only seemed to encourage him, he started jumping higher and more urgently whilst making ‘I’ll ave yer!’ type gestures. The bus driver closed the door about thirty seconds later, leaving him on the pavement with the luckless souls who’d decided to wait for a less full 192.

I did once consider doing a bus blog, but decided not to because it wouldn’t work if you use mainly the same bus route. It would have been better to do it when I was  a casual worker, travelling to lots of different bits of Stockport, as I used to get the 313 and the 11 on a fairly regular basis, and all the bizarre stuff that didn’t happen on the 192 usually happened on those two bus routes.

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The Whitworth Gallery

I headed out on the 192 after breakfast, into an icy, bright, bitterly cold day. I got off the bus by Downing Street and headed down Grosvenor Street to Oxford Road, and then down Oxford Road to the Whitworth Gallery.

Before I continue, I should point out that I’m not an artist, and as such have no artist’s eye, no aesthetic eye for technique. I have an instinctive and untrained approach to art: I either like something, or I don’t like it, and I could never make an intellectual argument out of what I do or don’t like. I prefer oils to watercolours, a historical preference, but aside from that, am pretty much open to anything.

Olafur Eliasson has transformed one of the gallerys into a forest as part of the The Land Between Us exhibition on place, power, and dislocation, and I went with great hopes of this but was slightly dissappointed. I really, really liked it, but felt that it was a bit small and that the light from the surrounding galleries invaded the forest of trees too much, meaning it was hard to get the feeling of sinister darkness that I felt it needed. Having heard this exhibition reviewed on Radio 4 a while back, I wasn’t sure what to expect as I’d had great difficulty envisioning what the forest would actually look like, but it really is lots of spindly trees planted on the gallery floor, very close together, so that you feel like you’re inside a forest. There are paths that take you through to the other galleries, and paths that twist back on themselves, and it does work in terms of evoking a forest, but the daylight seeps in too easily.

I did enjoy Walls Are Talking: Repeating Patterns though, which explores gender and sexuality through examples of wallpaper for boys and girls, men and women. Examples include specially commissioned pieces, for example a subversion of a japanese print by Allen Jones, with sub manga figures in bondage gear. There’s also a print of sexy 50′s housewives, flashing knickers and suspenders in each pose, by Emily Dupen/Hopkins, and some feminist work, which is tied to either a birth of midwifery association. One of their prints showed white silhouettes of heavily pregnant women in birth and labour positions, which were made up into patterns, and repeated against a single colour background. This was very effective because until you really looked at it, it was possible to view it as a pretty patterned wallpaper, and only when you looked more closely did the intent become clearer. I have a necklace that I bought last year from Enigmatic at Afflecks Palace (a shop that does cute and dainty with a twist very well) which, when you first glance at it, appears to be made up of a series of little silver sequins on a fairly fine silver chain. You have to get really close to it to see that the discs aren’t sequins, but are in fact tiny silver skulls. I think this particular piece of wallpaper design worked on a similar level.

Elsewhere in the Walls Are Talking exhibition are a pop art-esque library of beer cans, and a deconstruction of a Bond girl wallpaper, on gold foil, which acknowledged the mode of death of the Bond girl in Goldfinger, and the eroticisation of a dead naked girl daubed in gold paint. There’s also Playboy, the Spice Girls, and either Power Rangers or Gladiators (I’m sorry, I forget which it was…). There were also some ‘women through the ages’ designs, including a really disturbing sepia one depicting the early seventies, in which a series of blonde women are depicted holding flowers whilst wearing white nightgowns. They all look doped up to the eyeballs, and it exudes a gentle passivity that is incredibly sinister… Barbie and Sindy were slightly further on from this, just before the Spice Girls.

The Land Between Us runs until 23rd January 2011

Repeating Patterns runs until 16th January 2011

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Wednesday 24th November

Today was the second anti-cuts, anti-tuition fees protest, but it was local protests this time, not a big one in London. Or not just a big one in London. The Manchester one assembled at 12, but people were there before then, so I wandered around for a bit outside the Tin Can (University Place), watching and listening, and looking for a friend of mine, who had been handing out leaflets the day before. Didn’t spot him, but spotted some good banners and placards (‘Cut Pizza, Not Education’ on a Pizza Hut box), several involving witty yet vulgar plays on ‘cut’ and ‘cunt’, plenty that simply said ‘Tory Scum’ (the chant of a generation, post Millbank), a Socialist Worker ‘Fuck The Cuts’ one… seemed to be a lot of nervy, gee-d up protesters, who were either new to it and didn’t know what to expect, or fairly new to it and for whom the novelty hadn’t worn off. There were also some sixth formers and school kids, looking very small and excited… Seemed like quite goodish numbers at this stage, and the idea was for the contingent outside the Tin Can to march towards MMU, and hook up with the malcontents there before continuing onto the town hall. There were a lot of police, even at this stage, and some GMPTE staff (for traffic reasons, presumably, given it was Oxford Road) and campus police from the University. It all looked pretty relaxed, and still seemed pretty relaxed when the march started at 12:30, but I didn’t get to see anything after that.

There haven’t been that many accounts of what happened next, but from what I’ve been able to cobble together from commenters on The Guardian, and the article that the Manchester Evening News did, then there was some kind of stand off near the train station, with students sitting in the road and being charged by police on horseback. Anyone who was in that bit of Manchester could tell you that the traffic was thoroughly gridlocked for a number of hours, but comments on both the Guardian and MEN articles would suggest this isn’t the full story, and that a full account has yet to emerge… if anyone would like to write and send me one, feel free, (cakemaiden@gmail.com) but I expect it’ll emerge on one of the protest blogs soon…

http://standagainstcuts.wordpress.com/the-hard-times/

http://roscoeoccupation.wordpress.com/

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