"ComeOnGetTheFuckOutOfMyPubIHateYouAll!" - A love letter to The Tudor

The Tudor is dead.

 

The news broke here this morning and an outpouring of love has washed over facebook like a tidal wave of appreciation, gratitude and support.

For those not in the know- The Tudor House Hotel aka The Tudor (or more commonly round our way t'Tudor) is a public house in the centre of Wigan.
Sorry, was a public house.

For Mr Miller, Mrs Miller and Russ the younger have closed the doors to my favourite tavern somewhat unceremoniously.
I awoke today to notifications galore to find it would be no more, like discovering I'd lost a limb in my sleep.
In fact a more apt analogy would be finding out that someone I know and love has died.

Some of you may find this a tad glib or overly sentimental.
Well fuck you. You didn't know the Tudor like I did!
 
This pub, it's patrons and owners, it's insides and outs, it's availability, diversity, history and legends have filled some of the best parts of my 19 years of going there.
It wasn't my local, or what you might call my haunt. It was my pub.
MY pub.
Not in the ownership sense of the word but in the way one talks about a town or team.
Or a love.

It's the one and only place I meant when I said "Lets go to the pub."

When I was just a few months south of proper I first hacked my way through the throng of drinkers to it's tiny bar and got myself a glass of wine.
It's graffiti covered walls, old nunnery cubicles, battered piano and eclectic jukebox reflected it's clientele like a mirror.
"We are you," it seemed to say as it grabbed you by the scruff and whispered in your ear, "So don't be a dick!"
Then it smiled and bear hugged you with the warmth of the horde of customers that filled it to capacity.

This was where I went with my college friends, and where I made new friends. MAN ALIVE did I make new friends. Endlessly. More than through any other life events I've ever had, it has continued to provide me with chums of varying degrees of closeness for so long I wonder where I'll ever find new ones.
Even friends I have brought from far afield have loved the place. I brought my mates from uni there one night when they came to stay over at mine and we had a whale of a time, naturellement.
A year or so later when they returned for another stay their first question was "When are we headed to the Tudor?"

I lovingly referred to the place as a black hole as there was no escaping it's gravitational pull.

Aside from the usual/new/entertaining company that was always to be found there, or the simple fact that my formative drinking/cultural/past-time years were spent there, it housed a vast array of Wigan's live perfomance scenes. There's nary a single person I know that would come under the banner of performer (poets, writers, musicians, DJs) that haven't at some point dipped their performance toes in the welcoming balmy waters of the Tudor.

On an even more personal note, speaking of live acts, it was the very birthplace of PICO.


The spongey sod of mine was first conceived of to perform at a special Christmas gig and was born into being on their stage. He was met well by the forgiving and no-doubt booze filled crowd. Two years later he came back and received similar bouts of applause.
So on he went to perform up and down the country, dragging me with him along the way.
A couple of years back he returned once more to the place which bore him to do PICO's Perplexing Pub P-Quiz for a few months.
To do those gigs in the place I'd grown to be so comfortable in over the years was an absolute delight, but to have been given the opportunity and support by the Millers in the first place was heartwarming and has allowed me to build a level of confidence I had never had before.
I will never be able to thank them enough for this or repay them for what they have given me.
Hopefully this little love letter will go some way towards that.


Over the years it has had several make-overs, expanding it's insides and outs, improving it's lights and sounds and looks ten fold.
But it never stopped being what it stayed true to being- the beating heart of our social life.
It was just where we always went.
As my good friend Jon has repeatedly said today: "It was always 'Back to base'."

It was our hub, our home from home, our safe haven, the first and last port of call. If you were headed to Manchester you met there before you went and headed there after returning on the last train.
I've done the same when going on and then returning from holiday.
I've taken dates and girlfriends there.
I've seen relationships begin, thrive or die within those walls.
I know people who proposed there.
I wouldn't be shocked to hear that nights spent in there resulted in many new family members being made.
I've spent Christmases, New Years and birthdays a-plenty in it's snug. From simple drinks to presents exchanges to full blown parties of every shade, size and fancy dress type.
Days- nay months, have been spent in the deep dark morning hours till well beyond any feasible closing time, whittling away borrowed consciousness from tomorrow's time whilst wringing out the last glorious drops of a great night.
 
We've all drunk the green drink.

It wasn't so much the building as it was the atmosphere and the attitude of those that ran and populated the Tudor that made it such a great place. In my meagre speck of existence on Earth I've never found somewhere as welcoming and comfortable to spend my time, outside of the places I've lived in.
I'm certain many many hundreds of others can say the same.
And that's what makes me sad.

It's gone now and not with a bang, not with a big good bye or a final blow out.
That's what I think makes it feel like a death.
We didn't get a chance to say goodbye.
I found myself thinking "If only I'd have known it was the final night, I'd have gone for a drink last night..."

I never really told the Tudor that I loved it.
 
Well I did. I fucking LOVED that place!
You hear me Tudor:

I FUCKING LOVED YOU!

Yes I'll go to other places to drink or meet friends but it'll never be the way it was when we spent our time in your loving bosom.

But I suppose we're all the better for having been there, having lived and loved and lost in a place that gave us so much. Friends and time and booze.
So yeah, there is sadness at the passing of a place widely regarded as so much more than a pub or venue. But the people that were there learned not to be a wanker just cos you're drinking, or that you can be a dick to your mates as long as they're dicks back, that barstaff can be friends too, that love can be shown by being helped into a taxi, that "Come on time to get the fuck out of my pub I hate you all." is one of the best ways to be told "Goodnight."

To the Millers I wish you a fond goodnight, God knows there's fewer landlords that have ever existed that deserve retirement more than Big Russ.

All the best.
              The bell has rung.
                            The jukebox is off.
                                          The Tudor is dead- 

Long live The Tudor!

Shane Black Multi-Movie Crossover Idea

Dear Shane Black, 

Please oh please write a movie that crosses over the majority of your smart mouth detective characters, revealing them to all be living in the same universe.

Here is a suggestion for the plot:-

Riggs & Murtaugh (from Lethal Weapon), having finally retired, still have the itch to help people & solve crimes. So they start up their own Private Investigation agency.
Whilst on a case commissioned by their old captain to gather some evidence that will help towards solving a murder they are shot/blown up/thrown off a building/killed to death with murder.
BOOM! Plot twist!

At the funeral we see Murtaugh's old partner we never met, cos he left the force to join the secret service, Joe Hallenbeck (from The Last Boy Scout) there to pay his respects. He quizzes the captain about the mystery surrounding the deaths and returns to his LA offices and his PI partner Jimmy Dix, incensed and ready to find Murtaugh's killer.

At the same time, Gay Perry and Harry Lockhart (from Kiss Kiss Bang Bang) are working on a case on the other side of town that is seemingly unrelated, investigating a client's apartment burglary. They're attacked and manage to fend off their attackers, but their client goes missing. With what clues they have they seek to find who is behind both mysteries.

The two pairs of detectives cross paths with each other as their respective investigations overlap.
Fun and fights and a profound use of 'fucks' ensue.

Turns out someone is killing off Private Eye's. Both teams try to track down the killers, each two butting heads with the others while still butting heads with their own partners, but their efforts are helped by some information from Mitch Henessey (from Long Kiss Goodnight).

They all meet up to discuss what is happening when they are attacked again. Mitch is hurt bad and ends up in hospital while the other guys try to figure everything out and who/where the main bad guy is.

As they head into the final fray, the big showdown, they are helped out by Mitch's former client Samantha Caine aka Charly Baltimore an ex-CIA assassin, there to settle an old debt to Mitch.

This muti-combo-meta-mashup will of course allow you to thoroughly pepper the script with 5-6 times your usual amount of your trademarked smart-mouthed quick-witted banter and gloriously well designed ridiculous set pieces of action.

Also, though it's surely redundant for me to mention this, it should of course be set around Christmas.

I ask this as a fan and a lover of great characters and action.
It would be awesome if you could find your way to complying to my wishes. I believe many many others would sincerely appreciate it besides myself.


Might I also humbly suggest a title:

Big Bunch Of Dicks

Yours hopefully,

Pete

CRUMP

Crump.
His foot lifted and placed itself ahead of the other, gently but squarely to the ground.

Crump.
The feet stayed apart, the space between them measuring in time more than distance as he hesitated to lift his back foot or even shift the weight.  But he knew he couldn't stay there much longer.
He raised it, slowly, hesitantly.  No noise.  He needed the silence, depended on it.  But he couldn't risk staying still. For a moment, a flicker of thought allowed him to weigh up which would be the lesser of two evils: noise or stillness?  The moment wasn't long enough and his own momentum forced his hand.  Or rather his foot.

Crump.
In sank slowly into the soft white, the muffled sound the only tell-tale noise that he was there, the footprints the only evidence of his past.  Another step.

Crump.
As preoccupied as his mind was with the situation of the moment he so desperately wished he wasn't in right now, that didn't stop it from still running needless background operations.  Such as how beautiful everywhere looked like this; exactly what his footsteps sounded like; how he actually might truly love to spend a crisp Sunday afternoon strolling under the bright low afternoon winter sun and listening to his dull enchanting footsteps if right now he didn't seriously need absolute goddamn fucking silence as he crept along another step.

Crump.
He paused.  His silent echo-less surroundings hanging still as if the world was holding it's breath.  In all this silence he believed he'd heard something, something other than his own footsteps.  Or thought he had.
His neck snapping from left to right looking for who knows what, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever could have made the noise he may not have heard.  Hoping to explain what it was.  Hoping he hadn't heard it.  Hoping, praying, it was nothing.
No movement.  No sound.
The world breathed again as he took another tentative step, wishing for an absence of sound but knowing his wish can't be granted.

Crump.
If only the world had a mute button.  He wouldn't be making that sound, that delicious memorable sound.  That damn dangerous sound that draws attention from the ears.  He knows if he can hear it then the wrong ears can hear it too.  And still, while he worries and fears and ponders his plans his brain throws up questions.  What's the word for it?  As he dreads the next steps he already knows he must take, it asks: what does it sound like?  His heart in his mouth, leg raising ready for the next footfall, it inquires: Can you describe it? Can you name it?

Crump.
The answers come as quickly and undesired as the questions.
Like biscuits crushed between blankets.  Like celery bitten beneath pillows.  Like bones ground between the teeth of a mattress.  A soft dampened crack, the dull crush as it compacts beneath the heel.  No one word.  It needs a word.  A forgiving, suppressed, crumpled crunch.
And just as the new word formed in his mind, giving it a real sound and weight, as if it had been a word all along, he heard it again.

Crump.
He had not moved.  The sound made did not belong to him, or more specifically to his feet.  It was the sound of a footstep, another's footstep.
He was being followed through the snow.



I wrote this last winter as I was trying to come up with an onomatopoeia for the noise your feet make in the snow.
I'm a tad disappointed we haven't had any snow here over winter, especially since we had such an awesome wealth of it last year and the rest of the world seems to be getting more than it's fair share.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it.

Until next time fools,
Pete

Who Are You Gonna Call?

WHAT YOUR FAVOURITE GHOSTBUSTER SAYS ABOUT YOU

Years ago, MySpace was a new social hub where people from all over the world could meet without the limitations or needful boundaries of physical presence, or they might share insights into their personalities by answering and posting questionnaires created by 15 year olds, or express their creativity by embedding low resolution animated GIFs throughout their profile page.

At the time I reveled in it, able to finally connect to others across the globe the way all those terrible 'modern' sci-fi movies had promised me (or forewarned against if you were to believe the cautionary tale subtext of the Sandra Bullock vehicle The Net).

With this new-found technological marvel at my fingertips, I of course stepped timidly into this new world with one goal in mind: to meet girls.

In life I can be a little shy when first introduced, so I never really mastered the confidence to approach women and simply strike up a conversation. Given the chance to get to know them I feel a tad more confident but it's that initial opener that has always been my meet-and-greet Achilles heel.

Behind the facade of my well crafted MySpace profile however, I could initiate conversation with ease. But how to go about it? What's a good opening line? What can I ask that is not only an interesting question that makes me stand out from every other new 'friend' that's telling them they look hot in their profile pic, but also gives me an answer that may help me gauge what kind of a person they may be?

For my own satisfaction it'd have to be something geeky, preferably movie based- but "What's your favourite movie?" is way too bland. I needed something fresh. Something insightful. Something… retro.
And then it came to me:

"Who is your favourite Ghostbuster?"

Suffice to say it worked. A few times. I even started using it in the non-internet world. Not just with girls I wanted to talk to but with anyone I thought I'd like to know more about.

On the surface It's a very simple question that seems to be asking something quite inconsequential, but if you think about it, in all your favourite movies or TV series involving a group of characters you probably have a favourite. And you'll almost always have a valid reason behind it, even if you're not fully aware of it.

Whether that preference comes from a single line they deliver, how they dress, who they're played by, their actions towards others- it always boils down to who you are. Your own personality. How you perceive others through your vision of the world.

So what does that have to do with the Ghostbusters?
Well it just so happens, whether the writers intended it or not, that the individual members of the spook hunting crew from Ivan Reitman's 1984 fantasy action comedy represent several different personality traits. My theory is that you can combine these personalities to form the 'body' of the Ghostbusters. Let me walk you through it… 

Peter Venkman (played by Bill Murray)- The Mouth.

Peter is the talkative one, sometimes it gets him into trouble, but almost always it gets him out of it. Or at least closer to what he wants. He's ambitious but only truly in the pursuit of money and lust. He's abrasive; cocky; quick witted; funny; charming; sarcastic. Basically he's a little bit of a dick. Yet he isn't the most intelligent on the team. More 'street smart' than 'book smart'. 

Egon Spengler (played by Harold Ramis)- The Brains.

Egon did the science behind their entire enterprise: the proton packs, the traps, the containment unit. His knowledge is unparalleled and his work is tireless, but this has come at the heavy price of being socially disconnected with other humans. His emotionless approach to things is what keeps him level headed in a crisis and though he is willing to get his hands dirty from time to time, he is clearly not as adept at the physical aspects of the job as he is with the theoretical.
 
Winston Zeddmore (played by Ernie Hudson)- The Hands.

Winston is your typical blue collar employee. He has no real interest in the work or the study of ghosts or any other paranormal phenomenon. He is a breadwinner, simply there to make a wage, but never shying from the work. He is straightforward in his approach to every situation and is very much the everyman, the labourer, the manual worker.

Ray Stanz (played by Dan Aykroyd)- The Heart.

Ray is the emotional core of the group. He is connected to each member of the group in different ways (a clear bond of friendship and camaraderie with Peter; a mutual love and knowledge base of science and the paranormal with Egon; a good workplace-colleague repartee with Winston). His friendship with each one connects them to each other through him, uniting them, allowing them to work as a team. He is also a bit of a nerd who loves what he does and geeks out on it regularly.

If you look over each one of these profiles you will probably find some or many of these traits can be applied to your own personality, with one of them being the most identifiable to how you feel about yourself. This is a fairly well known ancient medical/psychological theory knows as the Four Temperaments, which associated four different bodily fluids with four basic states of being: choleric (ambitious and leader-like), melancholic (introverted and thoughtful), phlegmatic (relaxed and quiet), and sanguine (pleasure-seeking and sociable).
There's actually a really good Cracked.com video all about it.
If you're feeling cynical you could say it's also a little like 'cold reading', where you are convinced that you can see apparently personal specific details in a suggested statement that actually contains details that could easily apply to almost everyone. It's easy to see why you might think that, just look how similar the Four Temperaments synch with the descriptions of the Ghostbusters.
This is not coincidence, it's simply ever present. For centuries we have been provided with many differing examples of this line up throughout literature and all forms of story telling, especially when it comes to 'teams'. From d'Argtanian and the Three Musketeers, through through the houses of Hogwarts in Harry Potter, up to the kids in South Park and of course The A-team, with hundreds more examples in between from all across the globe.

But it  does work, and even better is that it works when you apply it to other people. Think about your friends. Who's the mouthy one? Or the quite one? Who's the one that brings you all together? Who keeps themselves to themselves?

Now take that principle and apply it to potential partners.
For example, I like Ray. I enjoy his character and I see similarities between myself and that character, I also like those qualities in other people.

So if a girl tells me she likes Ray I know we're going to get on.
But if she likes Peter or Winston or Egon I also know what she likes about herself and other people too.


It's the perfect conversational tool. It can spark off a back & forth about your similarities or a debate about your conflicting choices, all the while feeding you info about the person you're chatting with. It's never steered me wrong in the past

So now you know what it all represents and reveals, I supposed there's only one more thing to ask yourself:

Who is your favourite Ghostbuster?


Until next time fools,
Pete