Monday 23rd Feb

So, the King’s Lynn stop of the Cracktown tour has ended, and I’m catching up on all the little things that have piled up on my creaking and spluttering back burner for the past 6 months (that is, before the promotional campaign for the Cambridge show in April picks up). The first task I managed to complete, post-KL, is the Steven Pottle Podcast. Steven is a poet and artist that I was lucky enough to personally meet for a drink around 8 years ago, during the run of his solo gallery show 4Real in King’s Lynn Art Centre. I liked the cut of his gib back then, and his references to pop culture (and to the lost genius that is Richard Edwards) really interested me.

Even back then I felt that our paths would one day cross once again and, due to the magic of social networking sites, I hooked up with him before Christmas for a recorded session of tipsy discussion and poetry readings. It was great, and the results were uploaded here a couple of weeks ago. After the session itself, Steven kindly gave me a sheath of printed poems for my delectation. It was admittedly only until this February, when I managed to complete the editing of the podcast, that I pulled out that pile of poems and out fell a secret sketch present for me from Monsieur Pottle;

Well, Steven, thank you so much – you truly are a man of gifts – and I hope to catch up with you again one day, hopefully at one of your poetry readings in London.

Saturday 28th Feb

Today I visited the Norwich Playhouse team to discuss curatorship issues for the final leg of my UK Cracktown v1.0 tour (a ‘save the date’ reminder; the show runs for the whole month of September 2009). They were extremely kind and supportive fellows, and I bumped into the legendary Jimmy Greaves on the stairs afterwards; partnering with Ian St. John, to me he was a memorable icon of ludicrous soccer commentary when I was a wee nipper (and, of course, a decent footballer before then). He looked younger in person than his tv appearances portray and, in his little tracksuit and befuddled musings on local parking facilities, he was a very sweet, endearing chap.

He was far too trusting, though. Greavsie’s team, setting up for the talk he was giving at the venue that night, left a motherload of rare soccer memorabilia unguarded in the foyer (signed shirt by Pelé, etc.) that I could have easily swiped at any moment. It’s just lucky for them that, over time, I have grown to dislike anything at all to do with soccer.

I felt quite melancholic after the meeting, for some ufathomable reason, but a brisk stroll around Norwich City in the icy-cold air soon perked me up before meeting with my SO for a meal at The Library restaurant. The Grade II listed building is stunning, the décor stately and gorgeously vibrant, and the food fantastic; heartily recommended – the mash with wild boar & apple sausages are really to die for. Officially my new evening haunt in Norwich (well, that and the rough and ready but entertaining Wine Press cellar bar on Guidhall Hill).

18th February

The artist Andy Stringer came back into the gallery for an extremely interesting, and ultimately humbling, discussion and critique about my work in general, and the Cracktown v1.0 blog world in particular. Thank you Andy for the time and consideration you took in evaluating my work, and for your almost-stream-of-consciousness printed essay. The psycho-social/psycho-sexual evaluation of Cracktown v1.0 (and of myself?) was particularly interesting, as well as the beginning section of the essay that detailed an imaginary conversation between observing members of my audience (“and who the fuck is Chris Morris???” indeed!). I may well put the full essay up on here or http://www.barringtonarts.com/ soon, if Andy agrees.

For more information about Andy Stringer, see here.

20th February

I’m nearing the end of the King’s Lynn stage of the tour now, and I’m lucky enough that people are still visiting, and re-visiting, the Cracktown v1.0 gallery show in high numbers. Local children, some as young as 7 years old, have ventured in to point out which works of graffiti were actually created by them – leading me to believe that most of the graffiti in Lynn has indeed been spray-painted by virtual toddlers-with-attitude. In any case, the kids seem to be proud and boastful that their work has finally been framed and screwed onto the glaringly white walls of a gallery.

I am now constantly worried – to the point of paranoia; as it is school holidays during this final week of the show, I am highly concerned that a mischievous child with too much time on its hands will burst into the gallery, nick my insect syringes from the window display (which seem to transfix the eager eyes of passing juvenile gangs), and run off cackling into the wind with them. I am keeping an almost-constant eye on the situation, inbetween healthy slugs from my stock of Sainsbury’s Value Cider (£1.12 for two litres – bargain).

PB