Having looked at the list of all 650 constituencies, I have decided that the following are my top 14 (in no particular order) of really dull sounding constituencies. These are the sort of places you’d be sent to if you did something horrid and very wrong. Something like bumming a dog or letting down the tyres on an ice cream van.

1. Erewash

2. Boston and Skegness

3. Sleaford and North Hykeham

4. Luton South

5. Croydon Central

6. Feltham and Heston

7. Congleton

8. Pendle

9. Dudley South

10. Brigg and Goole

11. Hull North

12. Batley and Spen

13. Pudsey

14. Gordon

I’m thinking that I want to glam these places up. What about a new party for the next election aiming to have a candidate in each of these 14 constituencies? I’ve already decided that I want to put a statue of Marc Bolan up in Hull North and a mosaic of Tina Turner in Pendle. I think these small measures will boost these places profiles enormously and lift them from their dull sounding environment.

I’ve not really given it any more thought than that. Have you got any ideas? Name of party, colour of rosette, policies – I need ideas. I know that you good people never let me down.

As an aside, during my research I noticed a constituency called Tyne Bridge. How cool is that? A bridge that is a whole constituency. I’m guessing the way it works is that anyone on the bridge on election day gets to vote. I wish there was a bridge near me. I’d campaign for that to become a constituency too.

It’s been a while since I popped something on to this part of my website. What can I say? I’ve been lazy, most definitely, but I’ve also been doing other stuff and I’m going to tell you about that now.

For a while I’ve been directing poetry related people to this site, and their response has always been the same.
“There’s not much poetry on it, is there?”
To that reply I can do nothing but agree. There isn’t. To alleviate this problem and to stop people telling me there’s not much poetry on my website I’ve come up with a solution. A shiny new dedicated poetry website where I can plonk all my poetry related work. You can find it at

http://www.poetrycupboard.com

Do go and have a look around. I’d be more than pleased. Hopefully it should prove to be a useful resource for anyone who deems my work worthy of a browse.

So, from now, if it’s poetry your after, go to poetry cupboard. If it’s prose or any of the other bits and bobs I get up to, come here. It all seems to make sense doing it that way.

That’s about it really. Oh, my next poetry book is coming along well, thanks for asking. I’m probably about two thirds of the way through it. I’m hoping for publication later in the year (probably towards the end). I’m quite excited about it because my last two little books were just that, little. This new book won’t be little, it’ll be big. Well, not big, but bigger. It’ll have about 60-70 poems in it. I’m really looking forward to getting it finished and out to the big world.

I’m also working on a couple of other poetry ideas. More details on those when there’s something of any worth to report.

All that is left for me to say is that I hope you’re all well and life is treating you just lush.

Ta.

I thought I’d send a little message to give you some info about what’s coming up in the very near future. It’s been all go here at Lucas Towers.

September 15th sees the release of the follow-up to ‘Poems From the Seashore’. The new book is called ‘The Silence of the Suburbs, The Call of the Sea’ (yes, another seashore theme). It’s a small offering of 32 poems from the same publisher as before, Palores Publications, and is very similar in layout and style to the first book. When it’s out it will be available online at Amazon or through bookshops. However, if you want a copy a before it becomes widely available, you can send a cheque for £3.95 directly to the publisher, and a nice chap called Les will pop one in a brown envelope and send it out to you, postage free. The first 50 will be signed (which may increase its value on ebay by about 7p). The address to send your old-skool cheques to is:

Palores Publications
12 Melrose Avenue
Twickenham
TW2 7JE

The other bit of exciting news (at least for me) is that my first novel, ‘Seaside Tales From Asper St. Jasper’ (yes, the seaside theme yet again) will be coming out at the end of September. For those that may be interested, here is the blurb that will be on the back cover of the book.

–
About 94 miles away from where you live sits the weird and wonderful little seaside town of Asper St. Jasper. Here, in this modest book, are a wealth of magnificently strange tales about the town’s oddball residents and their curious antics. Why does Shanklin Roquefort keep throwing fruit at pensioners and putting signs up everywhere? Will Chunky Fido, with his expertly-honed guerrilla tactics, ever succeed in eliminating soft-scoop ice creams from the town? And what possible reason could there be for a nose to jump off a fisherman’s face and go looking for cake? As you can see, there’s a lot happening in town!

Don’t be fooled into thinking these tales are for children, though. The abundant cultural and nostalgic TV references that burst out from nearly every page, put pay to that. As does the single use of the phrase, ‘brutal serial killer’, in one of the footnotes. You have been warned.
–

I’ll give more info out to those who are interested the nearer the book gets to release. What I can tell you is that it will cost £8.99 and is just over 400 pages long (don’t worry, it’s quite a big font). Oh, and it’s got a lovely looking ice cream on the cover. I am quite disappointed that we were unable to accommodate the picture of me with a garden gnome on the back cover, but sometimes life can be cruel. It’s a real shame, because it was a far better photo than the one that is going on my new poetry book. In that one, I look like I’ve got a very long face and a tiny head. I look a bit like an alien.

The final bit of news is that I now have a mailing list operating. Mailing lists are a really nice way to keep people who want to know about stuff up-to-date. I like it because I don’t have to bother or annoy people who couldn’t care less about me and my silly adventures.

Anyway, this mailing list. It’s just a way that you can keep up to date with all the bits and bobs that are happening with my books, poetry readings, events etc. If that sounds like your bag, then you’re very welcome to join by going to this bit of my website.

http://www.phillucas.com/contact.php

I do give you this cast-iron super water-tight promise. I will not send your email address on to any person or any dodgy company, and I’ll only ever contact you with things that I think may be nice to share.

So, that’s about the short of it. Thanks for taking the time to read this little message. I hope everybody is keeping well, and I wish only the very best for you all. Do always feel free to drop me message about anything at all. It’s always lovely to hear from you.

With many happy wishes,

Phil x

–

Like many people, I don’t function at all well in the morning unless I’ve had a lovely steaming mug of crow-black coffee. But coffee to me is not just about functioning. Oh no. I’d go as far to say as I Love coffee (note the capital L). From the magical concoctions of the baristas through to the cheap flavour of the last chocolate in the box, I’m there to savour it all. So, it’ll probably come as no great surprise for you to learn that I spend a lot of time in coffee shops. As a writer, coffee shops are my spiritual home. They are the retreat from which I power up my ideas and muse on complex things like lightbulbs or simple things like Bono. They are also a wonderful source of inspiration, for it is from coffee shops that I sit idly in comfort most days watching the odd folk of this world going about their business and leisure. Oh yes, I’ve spent many productive and wasted hours in coffee shops. In fact, I’ll wager that if you can think of a type of coffee shop, then I’ve sat in it. I’ve sat in the big American ones, the American ones that pretend they’re Italian, the Italian ones, The British ones, the French ones, the independent ones, and a fair few others that effort dictates I will not name. Coffee shops and myself are trusted friends. Soul brothers of sorts.

So I think that I speak from experience when I say that there is one thing about coffee shops the world over that is the same. And that is this. All coffee shops give ridiculous names to the various concoctions they offer. Now, I’m a simple man. I don’t wish for a Frappucino Pendalino Super Soft Skinny Mocca Latte with marshmallows and a sprinkling of star shaped chocolate. I’m not under the illusion that I’m consuming a bit of luxury in my otherwise pointless life. No. I just wish for a black coffee. Simple. But, and here’s the rub, I’m not allowed to ask for a black coffee, because it’s not up there on the menu in black, white or multi-coloured letters. What I have to ask for is an Americano. This greatly annoys me, not least because I have to add an ’o’ to the word American. It also annoys me because by asking for an Americano it adds an extra unnecessary layer of conversation with my server. Not that I mind a bit of idle chit-chat you understand, but clarifying whether I would like my Americano with or without milk is not what I have in mind. Granted, I could just ask for a black Americano and avoid the fuss, but I figure that if I asked for a black coffee in the first place I’d be saving myself 3 syllables.

The short of all this is that I have refused for many years to be sucked into this Guardian reading over complication of coffee products. I have always made it my personal duty to only ask for a black coffee, no matter what silly name it goes under in the coffee shop. Sometimes, this works fine and the staff just get me my order, with, I like to think, a little knowing nod, to show that beyond their branded polo shirt, the wily member of staff actually agrees with me and my deviant request. Sometimes however, I am faced with a blank expression.

In the olden days the blank expression was usually from those employees who were not best up to date with their minds. More recently however, the blank looks are from Polish girls on the minimum wage. And this is why today, for the first time ever, I stopped asking for a black coffee, gritted my teeth and muttered the dirty word Americano.

The specifics are this. The poor Polish girl at the coffee shop I currently frequent is a relatively new arrival. I have noted that the management started her off on simple table cleaning duties and then slowly, ever so slowly, introduced her to the labyrinthine coffee machine. It was only today however that she was let loose on the customers. Now, this dear young girl does not have a wide grasp of the English language (although her English is probably considerably better than our Polish) so she is at a moderate disadvantage to start with. Couple that with her having to learn the menu of the coffee shop quickly, and you have the recipe for potential disaster. Given these factors, it’s hardly surprising that when I asked for a black coffee she faltered somewhat. But God love her, she did her best.

What she did was look at me blankly, scratch her head and then give me a big lovely smile. It was a smile that said, “I don’t understand a word you’re saying, but here, have my best smile and let’s start again.” Of course, under such circumstances, how could I possibly ask for a black coffee a second time? You’re right, I couldn’t. So I weighed up the situation, reverted to the big black menu board above her and then brought to the fore my deeply engrained sense of British good manners. I then took a deep breath, grimaced somewhat, and from my mouth out popped the word Americano. She, to her credit, understood me perfectly, asked if I wanted it black or white, verbally passed the order to a Chinese teenager with a mullet and gave me another one of her winning smiles.

So there you have it. I have broken one of my cardinal rules. But, now that I have explained myself, I think you’ll agree, that on the odd occasion, I must toe this new-fangled, PC, up-its-own-arse line. I’ve got the EU to thank for that. I blame Leon Brittan.

Do enjoy this.

–

About me:
ok…embarrasing bit out first, due to stupid house prices, i am still in the parental abode!there now the cats out of the bag.i am a happy go lucky person who i think has a gsoh.i like to meet and make new friends but when i am out, speaking to the oppo sex is something i aint all that good at but thanks to msn/yahoo if i do get to know a lass then we can use that to build upto a meet and hopefully another meet and the worlds our oyster.i am a lover of the mature woman, that being from 30+ upto say(off the top of my head)50ish.i love photography and at the moment i have a camera that i got from the tesco in goole for £87.i currently work in a crappy chicken factory on the minimum wage but one day i will get out.my msn n yahoo i will give to anybody that i see fit to have it

Who I’d like to meet:
a female with a good sense of humour, colour unimportant as i aint prejudiced, age well anything between late 20’s til very late 40’s(love the mature woman), i do have this lust/love for the mature sexy and nice looking lass.enjoys all aspects of getting to know each other, espesh the sex/lovemaking part, wether it be in the bedroom or wherever, all in the confines of a r/ship.loves music,film,comedy and outdoor pursuits-walking and seeing the sights(espesh the coast when the weather is superb),cosy nights in as well as out.hopefully will like photos,tho not essential at all.the main thing is that there is communication as without it, the whole thing is doomed before it starts.id love to meet the sexy actress LIZ WHITE, who was in LIFE ON MARS, she played wpc annie cartwright…..she has the phwoarrr factor

I tell you what. When watching The Apprentice, you can’t bloody forget he’s ‘Sir’ Alan Sugar can you?

Now, I’m not particularly bothered about the cost. The moment the unknown fat man in the suit announced we’d won the games, it was obvious to anyone with a degree of nonce that the final price of hosting the games will be about 20 times the initial published figure. I’m also not bothered by the fact, that despite wonderful predictions about regeneration, what we’ll be left with (apart from some useful transport links) is a load of odd shaped buildings that hardly anyone will use. These, incidentally, will all be locked up by 2014 and left to rust (much to the chagrin of people on radio phone-ins). I’m not even bothered about the obvious legacy of debt, or the fact that some folk are misguided enough to believe that a load of athletes coming to London and doing a bit of running for two weeks will increase the price of their homes.

No, none of the above bothers me. What bothers me is that I have a creeping feeling that the Olympics just don’t really matter anymore. In short, we’re outgrowing the Olympics in the same way that we’ve already outgrown the circus with its scary clowns and wearisome acrobats. The Olympics, seem to me, a spectacle where its component parts just don’t hold wonder and awe for us the way they did in the good old days of history. Gone, I fear, are the times when we would all gather around our rented TVs to marvel at bald Duncan Goodhew swimming quite fast, or swoon as Eddie the Eagle Edwards showed us how rubbish he was at jumping off a ramp with some sticks attached to his feet. Hell, we don’t even need a new Torvil and Dean anymore; not when we’ve got the real ones huffing and puffing through short routines on a makeshift studio ice rink and giving out useful skating tips to minor celebrities.

Be honest with yourself. What do you watch when the Olympics are on TV? The 100 metres final? Beach volleyball? Some obscure event that gets exciting only when it looks like Britain has a chance of winning a medal? The honest truth is that things have moved on. We live in a world where sport is defined through the artistry of multi-million pound footballers and their lifestyles, a world where any answer or need is instantly available online, a world, in short, which offers its inhabitants billions of multi-coloured pleasures for the taking, right here and right now. Put all that up against watching Paula Radcliffe wheezing along a road wetting herself, and you have to admit, I have a point.

There will be many who disagree with the above, and the arguments they counter are valid. Yes, the Olympics are a visual symbol for uniting a turbulent and divided world; yes the Olympics are the premier showcase for the world’s greatest athletes, and yes, the Olympics show us all what can be achieved with determination, focus and belief. But ask yourself these questions. Do you really care? And, come 2012, will you be tuning in to the TV more than occasionally? Probably not I reckon.

So, it was with glee that I came across an advert from a train operating company who were looking for people to stand at the end of station platforms and check tickets. Any rail traveller will know that this is a depressing job in the extreme. Apart from the unsociable hours and ridiculous uniform, this job requires the poor worker to continually field irksome questions from irate punters and be the butt of commuter’s frustrations. It truly is an awful role, and it really takes a special type of person to do it. A desperate one.

Knowing all this, I thought it was almost poetic that the job advert stated:

“A career with us is all about variety. Every day our employees all go home with new stories to tell.”

Yes, they do. Stories about how they nearly got stabbed by some ticket dodging hoodie, how they rowed with some pretentious office worker, and how they had to stand in the cold and rain wearing a silly hat for 8 hours a day.

The advert continued:

“Can you anticipate and deal proactively with problems, as well as working effectively under pressure?”

Now there are two words here that ring alarm bells with me. They are ‘problems’ and ‘pressure’. Why on earth would anybody want to deal with problems and pressure? Especially problems and pressure that are not of your own making? I guarantee you that I have no truck with either word. You won’t get me going within a mile of problems and pressure. I steer well away from such things, and I don’t understand why every other person doesn’t do the same. Besides, who on God’s earth would apply for a job where the employer is blatantly saying, “it’s gonna be pretty crap working for us?”

This muse on two words led me to a further observation. I have noticed how certain words and phrases keep occurring in job adverts. The one I see most regularly is ‘challenging’. Employers are falling over themselves to offer potential employers a ‘challenging’ role. I just don’t get it. What’s the point of going to work to be challenged? I can challenge myself quite happily outside of work; I don’t need some fretless goon of a boss challenging me when I’m at work. Surely the point of work is to do as little as possible and take the money at the end of the month. I really do think people who are looking for challenging work are secretly admitting to themselves that they need the structure of an organisation or company to motivate them, as they don’t have enough get up and go within themselves to do something off their own backs.

Another word I see a lot is ‘busy’. Adverts refer to a ‘busy role’ or ‘busy office environment’. Again I turn my nose up. The last thing I want at work is to be busy. I want time to dream, time to write, time to ponder. Being busy at work is just about the worst thing that could happen.

‘Driven’ is another word I noted. I’m driven all right. Driven not bust my gut for some faceless corporation, driven to spend as much time in life doing the things I want to do, driven to write, driven to sleep at odd times of the day, driven to see all the wonderful bands out there, be in awe of art and read all the books I possibly can.

I could go on, but I won’t. I think you get the idea anyway. I may return to this subject the next time I amuse myself with newspaper job adverts. You should have a look at a few yourself if you get a spare moment. Some of them really are comedy gold. And by the way, I’m sure lots of you will disagree with me. If you do, I respect your opinion, but you’re wrong.