Tuesday, May 30, 2006
London calling... and I can hear it from Ipswich
Having been caught up in the hustle and tussle of New York City, I must admit that my travel plans post Bermuda were completely lacking in forethought. Luckily I have made valuable friendships with people from all over the world - and it was bordering on life-saving when Lorna and David offered their loungeroom floor and inflatable mattress for as long as we required (or as Lorna put it - as long as I could stand Ipswich).
For those of you not completelty familar with British geography - Ipswich is located in Suffolk in the area of England referred to as East Anglia. Its the little flappy bit on the coast north-east of London. In contrast to Lorna´s forewarning, I found Ipswich a warm and welcoming little settlement with a dangerously close proximity to the Newmarket racecourse. It couldn´t have been more than half an hour before I was off down to examine the Portman Road football stadium - once the scene of Ipswich dominance over the old First Division led by Alf Rmasay and Bobby Robson. Both are now immortalised in bronze on a road outside the stadium that I was duly informed is now the hub for the local ´ladies of the night´. If that isn´t a metaphor for modern English football than I don´t know what is.
The only observation I could make that would be perceived as a negative observation (although it did make chuckle) was the high volume of Vicki Pollard-types wandering the streets with multi-baby prams and cigarettes dangling from their mouths. This however was not the first Little Britain ˝source˝ character sighted on my East Anglian adventures.
Cambridge is only a short but expensive train trip from Ipswich (and I have quickly learnt how expensive and poorly run the British rail is - operated by Connex most of it - go figure). As a matter of disturbing coincedence I was later informed that the one and only Don Rankin was also in Cambridge at this time. Unfortunately we didn´t get to catch up and talk PP over a few frothies. Who I did manage to see was a man very similar to the LB character who orders ridiculous items from the menu (you know... I´ll have the quail.... and a Yorkie!) More on Yorkies later. Cambridge was small but impressive. Steeped in tradition and possessing a gluttony of glorious buildings, it´s amazing that (allegedly) the University was founded by six students expelled from Oxford. Sounds similar to the PP story to me. Oh stop it. When are payrises out anyway?
That night we headed down to the seaside town of Felixstowe to have dinner at the pub and catch a live band. I was confidently informed by Lorna´s sister Anna that the bands are really good so I was interested to catch some decent live music for the first time in a while. Well I regret to inform you that these guys were no Fauves. The lead singer resembled an obese Freddy Mercury had his equally large daughter in color co-oridinated red and black stripes on backup vocals. The bass player was fresh out of Spinal Tap and the pianist (not keyboard player) looked like and dressed like a librarian. The highlight came when the band ´got whacky´ and decided that rather introduce the band, they would instead introduce the audience. The words lead and balloon come to mind.
Nonetheless such a liking was taken to Ipswich that it was decided to remain at least until Friday night so we could all go out and sample the Ipswich bar scene. And I tell you what - it was worth the wait. More LB sightings, disturbing but distinctively English behaviour and general looseness. I will say this - it is a night I will never forget. On Saturday morning, as the Tractor Boy fans rolled in to watch their side host Derby, we boarded the train to London but with Ipswich forever engrained in our hearts.
For those of you not completelty familar with British geography - Ipswich is located in Suffolk in the area of England referred to as East Anglia. Its the little flappy bit on the coast north-east of London. In contrast to Lorna´s forewarning, I found Ipswich a warm and welcoming little settlement with a dangerously close proximity to the Newmarket racecourse. It couldn´t have been more than half an hour before I was off down to examine the Portman Road football stadium - once the scene of Ipswich dominance over the old First Division led by Alf Rmasay and Bobby Robson. Both are now immortalised in bronze on a road outside the stadium that I was duly informed is now the hub for the local ´ladies of the night´. If that isn´t a metaphor for modern English football than I don´t know what is.
The only observation I could make that would be perceived as a negative observation (although it did make chuckle) was the high volume of Vicki Pollard-types wandering the streets with multi-baby prams and cigarettes dangling from their mouths. This however was not the first Little Britain ˝source˝ character sighted on my East Anglian adventures.
Cambridge is only a short but expensive train trip from Ipswich (and I have quickly learnt how expensive and poorly run the British rail is - operated by Connex most of it - go figure). As a matter of disturbing coincedence I was later informed that the one and only Don Rankin was also in Cambridge at this time. Unfortunately we didn´t get to catch up and talk PP over a few frothies. Who I did manage to see was a man very similar to the LB character who orders ridiculous items from the menu (you know... I´ll have the quail.... and a Yorkie!) More on Yorkies later. Cambridge was small but impressive. Steeped in tradition and possessing a gluttony of glorious buildings, it´s amazing that (allegedly) the University was founded by six students expelled from Oxford. Sounds similar to the PP story to me. Oh stop it. When are payrises out anyway?
That night we headed down to the seaside town of Felixstowe to have dinner at the pub and catch a live band. I was confidently informed by Lorna´s sister Anna that the bands are really good so I was interested to catch some decent live music for the first time in a while. Well I regret to inform you that these guys were no Fauves. The lead singer resembled an obese Freddy Mercury had his equally large daughter in color co-oridinated red and black stripes on backup vocals. The bass player was fresh out of Spinal Tap and the pianist (not keyboard player) looked like and dressed like a librarian. The highlight came when the band ´got whacky´ and decided that rather introduce the band, they would instead introduce the audience. The words lead and balloon come to mind.
Nonetheless such a liking was taken to Ipswich that it was decided to remain at least until Friday night so we could all go out and sample the Ipswich bar scene. And I tell you what - it was worth the wait. More LB sightings, disturbing but distinctively English behaviour and general looseness. I will say this - it is a night I will never forget. On Saturday morning, as the Tractor Boy fans rolled in to watch their side host Derby, we boarded the train to London but with Ipswich forever engrained in our hearts.
# posted by Nick Bull @ 12:27 PM 
