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Wild Samhuinn In A Northern Sea Of Flickering Pumpkins

Mild Swimming 
Immersing oneself in new pools or other water courses is part of an urban adventure designed to be somewhat exhilarating but not as outlandish or unrealisable as an advertisement of the same theme might suggest. A reasonable lack of concern over being an unofficial member of the misadventure club is an essential part of the freedom of the individual. Going into public spaces wholly unfamiliar, excepting for the extant erudition and information of an Ordnance Survey map or Google Earth, can be frightening and exhilarating as long as you remember to remain aware of the possibilities of undercurrents, objets d'art and real sodden paraphernalia that may obstruct one's freestyle experience. Watering holes can have hidden depths, so modest excitement can be gleaned from fathoming out just how many monkey wrenches might emerge to menacingly grip one's nuts and prompt one to bolt for the fire exit aflame with fear and smokey trauma.
Moon-bathing is a romantic ideal, so midday sun-dipping is usually recommended for urban mild swimming in worlds where happiness can be all too virtual but anxiety and nervousness can be all too real. So, despite the effects of a spectacularly classic modern summer's day wherein cat's and dog's tongues hang out like eager, flesh coloured washing, one can seek the cooling shade of a classic and/or modern watering hole, the likes of which may not have been fully discovered, except by its regular mappers. In the modern British summers, it might merely be a desire to whet one's whistle to avoid getting one's whistle wet in a sudden, BBC-strength squall that has rain spitting through the winds at the earth at a belligerent forty-five degree angle. 

 

CASTLE & ANCHOR, 2 Church Road, Stockton-on-Tees.
A modestly sized establishment on a very busy corner where you can see important veins pumping on the roads of downtown Stockton. The furniture has been rearranged and there's still a feel of recent caulking intended to keep the place afloat in a sea of competitive modernisation. The internal views are enhanced by TVs displaying aspects of the world of sport, possibly to deflect from seeing the church across the road and any consequent contemplation of something more than sporting good and bad fortune. Archived and resolved contests of the beautiful game and current cards from the sport of Kings, Queens and still hopeful sections of the various British classes can be seen from every vantage point throughout the pub.
The upgrade of the husk means the regular, common folk can continue their conversations from the past about the new, technological miasma of plasma that shows the outside from a very well established inside. The pub also has a steady rhythm of humdrum popular music, which creates an ambivalent vibe. The prices are very reasonable in the current climate, and the staff are easily pleasant to all and sundry. This place is a solid house of commonplace affability in a Stockton currently in the eye of a storm of redevelopment.

THE ROYAL OAK, 20 High Street, Stockton-on-Tees. Just beyond the aforementioned Church Road in the heart of Stockton town.
The previous theme of necessary rejuvenation is evident in this pub, upgrading having taken place from its former historical, somewhat vibrant character. The bar is bigger than most and has two guest ale pumps amongst a plethora of popular, everyday beers, lagers and ciders. The furniture is still very comfortable, combining old wood and more modern surfaces very well. This pub, again, has a notable number of TVs dotted around the dark wooden walls, and plays popular but not pop music at a level where you can still talk and listen to the exchanges of clearly frequent clientele. The atmosphere retains a feeling of enduring steadiness under the consistent shadow of economic pressures to evolve, to develop a sense of generic salubriousness. The prices are reasonably comparable to the Castle & Anchor. My visit saw me take up a welcoming window seat that enveloped me like a satiated Venus flytrap. I was able to see the local theatre The Globe from this vantage point whilst quietly quaffing a half of Birra Moretti.

THE SUN INN, Knowles Street, Stockton-on-Tees. Less than a stone’s throw from the Royal Oak.
A small, cosy regular Cider With Rosie kitchen feel with obvious regulars already installed in their apparently appointed places, chatting about old world subjects whilst stealing a glance at the modestly sized TVs on the walls reliving moments of good and bad luck in repeats of already run races. The person serving at the small bar was very welcoming and greeted me as a stranger with a good-natured, cheeky ice breaker to put me at ease amongst the decorative red cross-hairs whose presence made an uncomfortable point of focus for anyone visiting from the not too distant future. The pub is well connected to community agencies and has music nights at weekends.
There was an undercurrent of a group identity of somewhat parochial protective mien. The obvious regulars were very comfortable with their positions, and their long in the tooth easy habitual socialising. The primarily liquid victuals on offer were the nationally identifiable session drinks but there were bar snacks available to round off the experience. 

The three Stockton-based mild swimming locations had a theme in common, that of being economically evolved to accommodate temporal compromise so as to appeal to visitors and indigenous alike. The first two particularly had necessary ambivalence to the common purpose of public places and coercive zeitgeist. All three shared an existentially lexically compromise to the point where community responsively shields itself from wider collective psychological tropes.

All three had walls which, could they talk, would regale any listener with tales of yore that might encourage, through their vital, shared voice, fresh thought and more active cognition and comprehension of the existential experience of mild swimming.

THE STOCKTON, 122 High Street, Redcar.
This pub has grand old furniture, an old-style wooden bar, new TVs on a number of the wood panelling walls and good old fashioned prices.
It has an appeal for regulars in its upgrading to visual information while retaining a tangible reminiscence of older and apparently simpler times.
The pub also has a significant amount of natural light as the summer sun is welcomed in by windows which are on the generous side. Looking onto a small beer garden the large back window resembling a lazy eye – a very large TV half obscures it - allows enough light to read any racing card by.
Although it has a couple of modern flashing-light gaming machines, one can still 'hear the gentle sound' of its regulars handing over their noiseless tenners to continue what are now seen as antiquated ways and wishes to maintain a slightly uneasy status quo. The limited, staple bar, however, means that only the diehard customers might get whatever they want, as there is no evidence of beautiful, mythical sirens pouring out their ambiguous promises from the mainstream pumps. Although I was satisfied by a high quality draught Guinness on offer.

PIG & WHISTLE, 27 Station Road, Redcar.
This pub is quietly confident of its particular and olde worlde feel: the furniture is unashamedly old and very comfortable for an extended stay. It resembles a museum with its different rooms and it has a double-faced bar to easily serve all of the various places a visitor can ensconce themselves.
Two of the rooms are reminiscent of old 'snugs' and have many pictures of old Redcar and paintings and photos of local historical referents. Only one of the compact rooms has a discreet TV that can be turned on by request, so you don't need to evoke moving images of the outside world if not desired. The main bar room has an extended area where pool can be played without distraction. This bar space also has the locals who congregate during the day time even when visitors are scarce. One drawback with this pub might be identified by the limited range of drinks on offer but one could easily feel inclined to compromise in favour of spending time in the understated convivial atmosphere.

O'GRADY'S, 18-20 Queen Street, Redcar
An Irish welcome to all-comers is offered by a well-appointed, tastefully furnished repro watering hole that serves an extensive menu of food at reasonable prices.
It has two ale pumps living alongside the customary typicals, as well as a number of significant TVs informing of the outside world of sports. There's no music in the background as the TVs have low but audible sound for those interested in the various events covered.
The layout is constituted of primarily restaurant style tables as it is also an active hotel which provides victuals for temporary residents visiting Redcar and the wider north east coast, and anyone wanting to go through an absurdist defamiliarisation of a place they live in. Its three-pronged character (pub/hotel/restaurant) means it can be confident of significant numbers of regular and irregular customers throughout the year. This place has a certain charm about it with its nicely adorned decoration coupled with genial snippets of Irish-Gaelic wisdom on the walls, and it can boast a general sense of openness that means it can flourish in the present conditions without need for any further upgrades. 


The timings of visits to these urban mild swimming holes create a kind of Jekyll and Hyde character to proceedings. Afternoons would be the Dr Jekyll as chemical experimentation is sparsely undertaken by mostly economically inactive swimmers, treading water, still staring at a starless firmament. Evenings would be the Mr Hyde aspect as dilettante debaters might raise their lubricated volubility tussling over a chair whose status is worthy of scrutiny: one arguing that the chair is freer than they feel, the other countering with a form of quantum of solace view that although empty, the chair is not free but merely physically bound by well established rules of existence.
Afternoons see somewhat tentative ripples of conversation between groups which are common to the place and are aware of the place being very common to them, without any accompanying Aaron Copland or ELP fanfare.
Afternoons are for wandering anthropologists and unattached individuals sheltering from various existential climatic variations. Evenings are for the bravest of observers whose vitality of experience is more visceral than cerebral. These timid excerpts of mild swimming are from afternoons.


414 comentarios:

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  1. Λεωνίδας et Les quatre cents coups dixo...
  2. Batalla de Stockton: (10 septiembre 1933) Incidente entre miembros de BUF y antifascistas en Stockton-on-Tees, Condado de Durham, Inglaterra. Chocaron miembros de la Unión Británica de Fascistas (BUF) y manifestantes protowokes del Partido Comunista local y del Movimiento Nacional de Trabajadores Desempleados (NUWM), muy superiores en número.
    La pelea acabó en tablas.

  3. Un Gaviero Bizarro cabalando vuestro piélago de calamidades dixo...
  4. What I'm coming to, though, is the big blue whale in Stockton.

    In the late Sixties the formaldehyde-soaked corpse of a blue whale toured Britain's towns.

    Stockton was among them and so, too, were Doncaster and Grimsby.

    Someone, somewhere must have decided that we Northerners needed something to cheer up our dull days.

    And Orca's cousin came our way...

  5. Buckaroo Keriot dixo...
  6. Un oxigenante festín para los que aun desempolvamos aquellos días de furia de vez en cuando. No se comerán nada os porcos a orillas del Tees. De eso puedes estar seguro. Pero van.

  7. THE NOTORIOUS 404 error, “Not Found,” dixo...
  8. Los ingleses ocuparían tierra en cualquier parte del mundo, aunque más no fuera una roca o un banco de arena o un pajar.
    Tienen 400 años de instinto codicioso en la sangre.

  9. Will Cocks dixo...
  10. El hogar no es donde naces; el hogar es donde cesan todos tus intentos de escapar

  11. Xabutu Bréfetes dixo...
  12. Munchos reguerinos fain un reguerón

  13. Don Celta de Estorde dixo...
  14. Nadie se los ha visto de frente. ¿Y quién sabe acariciarlos sin parecer que acaricia el revés de sí mismo? La lluvia no les llega. La edad no los alcanza; he visto codos niños en la piel sarmentosa de algunos ancianos. Suponemos que sacan brillo al hueso en que se sujetan, como cuando de pequeños nos hacían restregarnos con bayetas en los pies por los suelos de los pasillos recién encerados. Su virtud es esa: tener un nombre hecho de brevedad y monotonía que parece replicar su propia inadvertencia corporal. No son invitados a ninguna fiesta de la vida. Nunca les da la luz pero a veces originan súbitos calambres; entonces, brazo abajo, corren eléctricas mariposas improbables y turbias.

  15. Spion Kop dixo...
  16. El 24 de enero de 1900 terminó la batalla de Spion Kop.
    Muchos fondos de estadios de fútbol en Inglaterra se llaman Kop en homenaje a.
    El más famoso de todos, el del Liverpool.



    Los Reds buscan hoy su 14ª final de la Copa de la Liga.
    El Fulham, aspira a un West London Derby en su 1ª .

  17. Stat Counter dixo...
  18. Existe un privilegio del origen, también un hechizo. Tomamos de las cosas inaugurales sus pliegues y sus inclinaciones, su contorno, la edad que tenían. Interiorizamos el exterior que, debido a su proximidad, hemos vivido como interioridad. No nos rehacemos. No se es más que una vez. Y entonces volvemos, con el pensamiento, a aquello que ocurrió sin que lo supiéramos, sin nuestro consentimiento. Utilizamos un resplandor complementario, lejano, para disipar la incomprensión, las sombras que acechaban la primera inmediatez. El pasado nos acompaña. No habremos estado, en la medida en que está en nosotros, presentes en el mundo, si no hemos traído al registro de la conciencia los acontecimientos que nos detuvieron, nos magullaron, cuando fue el momento, debido a que no los comprendimos. No teníamos la fuerza, los medios, el tiempo, la cona.

  19. Hud Bannon dixo...
  20. In the North Sea of the infected, the immune man is king.

  21. Prosélito Priápico dixo...
  22. La libertad quedó reducida a los mercados. Con la ilusión de una autorregulación divina, que jamás existió en la tierra, donde sobrevivirán solamente los más fuertes. Los grandes capitales que decidan jugar en todos los territorios donde puedan hacer negocios, mientras la humanidad pone el culo para que se lo rompan.

  23. Brann Rilke dixo...
  24. Su ojo es una simple raya negra y su pecho un infinito de rémoras apelantes de humedad. Su ciclo es largo, en él se reúne, como si fuera cáscara, un silencio azul que arroja proyectiles como si fueran pensamientos.

    Algernon Mouse, enloquecido, nada como acróbata del buceo. Nunca fueron tantas las miradas que intentan descifrar su existencia.

    La forma es una cáscara, no lo olvidemos.

  25. El Filibustero de los Ojos Grises del Destino -uno de los pioneros-. dixo...
  26. The tail of a beaver is so rich and buttery when it is cooked, it’s almost easy to forget that it’s meat

  27. Wystan Evelyn Parsnip Pimpernell dixo...
  28. Towards the evening glass of beer, I found the one prayer that seemed to serve the winter mood: O Main, You’ve done enough, You’ve robbed me of enough, I’m too tired and old to learn to love, leave me alone for ever.

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