Mango's Nan

What a wonderful thing graffiti is. It's a form of cultural art that has existed throughout history.

Obviously it was the Romans who perfected it and even had professional graffiti artists who were paid to go around the various communities and daub the walls with slogans and comments about targeted individuals. Usually the comments were accompanied by explicit sketches of the individuals due to the high levels of illiteracy amongst the plebs who were meant to read them.

Nowadays we've got universal literacy amongst the masses (or certainly we should have in this country) but this still doesn't prevent the would be graffiti artists from providing amusing cartoons to go with the comments scribed.

On a late night walk recently I came across an interesting series of remarks publicised in marker pen on the walls of a subway running under the Huyton slip road of the M57. It's an major arterial route into a particularly creative area of Liverpool, so it should only follow that the artists' work is of the highest quality.

In order to engage the reader and provide prime examples of the sort of talent we have out there, I've uploaded excerpts from the said wall. For those of you who are not familiar with Scouse vernacular I will provide a translation of sorts.

So let's begin with the first picture.

This is a rather disparaging reference to Becky Ashworth. But the poetry is wonderful; a classic Shakespearean couplet,

"Becky ashworth major weed Bum!
 get on her but she's got a chewed up wine gum
 072301495702"

Becky clearly has a reputation for not purchasing her fair share of cannabis and as such she has obviously upset this particular detractor. The 'wine gum' analogy is a reference to her genitals, somewhat graphic and in my opinion, very original if it's drawn from the writer's own experience. Still it beggars the question whether we're talking about a Rowntree or Maynard wine gum.
Despite his hostility towards Becky, the author has obviously put some thought into what he's written (unlike some), although from a purist's point of view the wine gum metaphor may have been inserted solely for convenience give that 'gum' rhymes with 'bum'.

Next we have an exchange between two rival artists, who clearly have had an historical difference of opinion over some literary issue.

"ONLY TING YOU CARRY IS YE MARS COFFIN WHEN I LIGHT YE KEN UP!!

"NA BRO YE mistAken 4 ye nans"

Now as we all know, a person who is "carrying" is generally in possession of some sort of weapon, so I can only assume that a threat has been made by Artist 2 to Artist 1 which has alluded to the fact that he maybe "carrying" in future. That assertion has  provoked a threat to burn down Artist's 2's house (ken) and thereby killing his mother.

The response is equally menacing suggesting that Artist 1's "nan" is in imminent danger.

The passion of both the artists knows no boundaries and may well result in a fatality. Mind you such comments would surely assist any subsequent police investigation into a local arson attack.

Which brings us to examples 3 and 4; Mango's Nan.

This poor lady comes in for some very derogatory, almost defamatory remarks.

   

"MANGOS NAN NoNcen Rottys AND HIS GRANDAD TAKIN SNAP SHOTS"

[noncen= having illegal sex: Rottys= see below] 

"MANGO'S NAN TAKES IT DOGGY STYLE OFF ROTTYS"

You see Mango's nan appears to have sexual penchant for bestiality and not just a general form of bestiality, but a preference for a particular breed of dog; Rottys otherwise known as Rottweilers. One has to have a degree of admiration for Mango's nan, if this is true, because Rottweilers have a reputation for being quite aggressive. We all recall the devil dog in Damien: The Omen, which was a rather intimidating Rottweiler tasked with looking after the Anti Christ. However the film never really went into detail about the breed's sexual prowess. Only Mango's nan and possibly his grandad, who documented the liaison by taking snapshots, could possibly comment on this. It's interesting to see that the sexual encounter referred to seemed to cater more for the Rotty's needs, doing it "doggy style", than to Mango's nan's favoured position (whatever that may be).

The real issue is as to how the author of this comment learnt of this interaction. Did Mango's nan or Grandad actually publicise this. 

Example 5 is quite amusing and put a smile on my face when I saw it.

A vascular looking cock and balls with a smile on his face and apparently in the throes of ejaculation, with the comment next to it of Plod. My own opinion is that this is clearly a flattering image relating to the masculinity of Merseyside's finest. One can only echo the sentiment!

And finally the piece de resistance, a short video of  10 foot penis with the comment below,

"Were you get this pen from bro, 

Staplez lad"



A short but informative exchange between 2 artists which clearly has a smattering of product placement in it. Theo Paphitis will be pleased that his wares get such a resounding endorsement no doubt increasing the value of his children's inheritance. If you need  a pen to write graffiti go to Staples.

The video in my humble opinion sums up the whole genre of street graffiti. A 10 foot penis, big enough to impress but wholly unreal.

LEWD, RUDE AND HUMOROUS!!!!!!!!!

See you down the tunnel.



Working Class Shame

 

I've been researching the Peterloo Massacre recently and I became quite irate about it all.
You see here we have a landmark moment in British socio-political history and when you go to Manchester all there is to show for it is a red plaque on the side of the Radisson Hotel.
Don't you think that's a disgrace?

On 16th August 1819, four years after the Battle of Waterloo, in a time when people were still influenced by the American and French Revolutions, somewhere in the region of 80,000 people marched peacefully to the heart of Manchester. That number represented almost half the population of Greater Manchester at the time, a real show of working class strength. Their cause, well it was this; at the time voting rights were limited to male land and property owners ie the ruling elite. That represented less than 1% of the population. They were the ruling classes.The constituency borders were outdated. The whole of Lancashire with a population of over 1 million had just 2 MP's. In other parts of the country certain unpopulated areas had more MP's than the whole of the Northwest Industrial belt. More than half of MP's iin Parliament were voted in by just 154 votes.
It didn't matter that so many working men had laid down their lives for this country in the wars with France, nor that they had placed the UK (or Great Britain) in a position of global industrial superiority.
They were not eligible to vote.
In France they were and had done so since 1792.
But here any notion of one man one vote, regardless of class or property fell on deaf ears..
So in Manchester they marched. They marched in an orderly and peaceful fashion; men, women and children. They marched in their Sunday best from all the surrounding mill towns; Oldham, Rochdale, Bolton, Bury, Salford and beyond. They made there way to St Peter's Fields near to Deansgate and expected to hear a speech given by Henry Hunt a radical orator who lobbied for Parliamentary reform and the extension of democracy.
But it never happened.
Magistrates located in a nearby building, fearing unrest and disorder, read the Riot Act and then ordered in mounted Yeomanry made up of local land and mill owners. Some of these men were drunk and were clearly out of ontrol. They rode in amongst the massed crowd and began to slash indiscriminately at the men, women and children present.
By the end of the day 15 were dead and between 400-700 innocent people seriously injured. Many were children dressed in their best clothes, taken there by their parents to witness what should have been an historical moment.
The news of what happened spread quickly, not just locally but also globally. It was commented upon by journalists, academics and artists, amongs them the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, who wrote the poem Masque of Anarchy in commemoration of events that day.
The reaction of the establishment was typical; the magistrates were commended by the Prince Regent, there was only one (unsuccessful) attempt to prosecute any members of the yeomanry, new sedition laws were passed to prevent publication of the truth of that day, journalists were prosecuted and imprisoned as was Henry Hunt himself.
One of the victims killed was John Lees of Oldham. Lees was a mill worker and father who had fought as a soldier in the Battle of Waterloo. It beggars the question as to whether he was on the right side that day. Killed for his political beliefs expressed in an established and democratic fashion.

And all that we have to mark that occasion and the events of that day, all that we have to remember the innocents who were massacred on August 19 1819 is a fucking red plaque stuck on a wall.

We as working class people should be ashamed of ourselves. These were our forebears, these were working class heroes, nay martyrs for the cause and we remember them with a red plaque. There should be a lasting and impressive monument to those who died that day.
There was once but it's gone now. It should be re-installed and there for all to see and remember.

Consider this;
When Thatcher died we, the people, financed a State Funeral that cost millions. A statue had already been commissioned to commemorate her and further it was reported recently in the press that British Prime Minister David Cameron is supporting a £15 million project to honour Margaret Thatcher, an expensive statue of her in Westminster is to be replaced, a road in Grantham is to be named after Thatcher and there is an online petition to rename Heathrow.
I for one feel physically sick when I see this. Flying in to MTA, I'd rather crash on the runway than land there.

Let's get together and support a cmpaign to commemorate Peterloo; so called by the press of the time who likened it to the great battle of Waterloo.
Leave me a comment and let's do something about this. Take down the red plaque and replace it with something more fitting.

Surely that's a cause worth fighting for.

From the Gladstone to Seaforth

What is peculiar about the following piece of dialogue....

"Can I 'ave a can of coke and a packet of chicken crisps?"

Well if you didn't already know it is the one sentence in the English language that exaggerates the Scouse accent to such an extent it that makes sandpaper seem smooth. It creates more throaty retches and saliva than anything I know and lends itself to those who seek to mimic my own Liverpool twang. Stick a 'like' or two (probably just after the 'ave and at the end of the sentence) and you'll have sufficient spray flying around to force any shop assistant to reach for their brollie... 'like'.

I love Scousers; they are inherently funny, sometimes without knowing it. Like my dad's mate on the docks, Coco (so-called because he was deemed a clown for a variety of reasons), who suggested avoiding a visit to one particular dock cafe for the following reason;

"Ah, don't go in there," he said, "nobody ever goes in there cos it's always chocker!"

"Chocker" for those of you who aren't familiar with the Scouse vernacular means 'very busy, to almost busting point'.   
Likewise there was the the famous speech given by one particular Union Shop Steward, who urging the members to strike, gave the following impassioned plea;

"Comrades, I want you to use your ignition and vote for the industrial action recommended. And remember this, that an abstention is as bad as not voting at all."

God, it must have been a great place to work on the docks in Liverpool in its hay day or at least in the 60's and 70's. The pay was obviously shit, but what a laugh those guys had. The strange thing about it I suppose is that because of the class system that existed within education in this country at the time, there were so many men who were intellectually capable of far more challenging jobs. This was reflected in the politicisation of the  Liverpool Dockers. It just doesn't exist in working class industries like it used to. My dad, like so many dockers, I suppose, read Marx and Engels and had a copy of Chairman Mao's Little Red Book. How many workers today would study such radical political philosophies. We're lucky if manual workers even bother to vote these days.

Well I'm going to finish this post with my dad's favourite joke. It's a bit dated now but more than anything sums up the psyche of the Liverpool Docker. Southerners deemed them, militant, lazy and dishonest. But we all know that they were philanthropists in the way that Robert Tressell saw the working classes. Kind hearted men who used their hard graft and manual skills to keep the rich upper classes in the luxury they so enjoyed.

A cargo ship was sailing through the South China sea when it came across a junk full of refugees from Vietnam; so-called Boat People. Their boat was on the point of sinking and the Skipper of the cargo ship ordered his men to throw them a line and get everyone on board.
Once this had been done and having fed the Boat People, the cargo ship continued into Sydney. On arrival there the Australian dockers shouted up;
"What's your cargo Skipper?"
"I've got a load of Boat People here" the Captain replied.
"Oh crikey!" the shout came back, "Take 'em away we don't want any more ethnics here, the place is starting to crawl with them. We're full of Chinese and Abo's we don't want any more."
So taking the hint the Skipper set off and made his way to the USA. On arrival at New York harbour the Yankee dockers shouted up;
"What's your cargo Skipper?"
"I've got a load of Boat People on board," the Captain replied once more.
"Goddammit!" the dockers cursed, "Get them out of here we got race riots all over the city and don't want any more foreigners. We aint taking them off you."
So the forlorn Skipper headed off once more, this time crossing The Pond and making his way into the Mersey Bay, down the river to the Docks. Having tied up the Scouse dockers approached his ship and the shout came up;
"What's your cargo Skipper?"
"Well I've got a load of Boat People I picked up in the South China Sea," the Skipper replied expecting the worst. There was a slight pause and then the shout;
"Are they on pallets..."

Power to the People. Viva la Casa!!!