THE TRAILS AND TRIBULATIONS OF

ECCENTRIC JOURNALISM

Hey! I’ve just finished reading the latest edition of ECCENTRIC CITY,

the world’s first dedicated eccentric newspaper. It’s well fab. Especially the bit wot I wrote. But as I was thumbing through I saw a picture of a bus that was very similar to one that I encounted on the day I was out researching my article, which resurface a very unpleasant feeling.

I had been in local history section on the six floor of Birmingham Central Library for about two and half-hours (although it felt more like two and half weeks) checking and cross checking the facts that I needed for my piece. By the time I had gathered the info that I required, my head was ready to exploded. To avoid making a horrible mess on the library carpet, I decide that I would convene to the pub next door to cool my head down. Anyway, it would soon be rush hour and who wants to sit in traffic when you sit and have a beer.

After a couple of drinks my head began to feel much better. I decided to take a stroll. I left the delights of the Paradise Forum and made way across Chamberlain Square, turned the corner at the council house and there it was. Slap bang in the middle of Victoria Square. A big red Route Master bus. Very similar to Donald Savage’s big red bus on page 26 of ECCENTRIC CITY (though nothing to with the giant bus eating baby

on page 32). But this bus didn’t ask, “WHERE’S DONALD?” This bus was screaming “PIMMS”.

I was approached by a very pretty, very smiley young woman wearing a red promotional T-shirt who handed me a voucher.

“Would you like a free glass of Pimms sir?’’ How could I refuse?

She directed me towards a maze of hastily erected hedges that made up different little blocks. I met by another red shirted young lady who directed me to the bar. There was lot of happy people, mainly office type sitting in the sunshine in their designated block each enjoy their free glass of Pimms. Now, there’s the thing you see, glass. Meaning one. They stamped a big red mark on my hand to indicate that I have had me lot.

Feeling refresh and revitalised after my buckshee bevy, I continued on my way down New Street. But then I got another feeling. A rather urgent feeling. But where could I go. There were all those hedges back at camp pimm, but that wasn’t a good idea. There was only one thing for it. I would to go another pub.

In no time at all I found such a place. Having spent a penny. I thought that it was only fare that I would spend a few more pennies a purchase a beer.

Having drank my drink(s), I decided it was now home time. The rush hour was long over by now and it should be fairly straight run home.

But I got side everything went psychedelic. The beers had mixed with the Pimms and had send my research addled brain in over drive. Plus I’d been drinking on empty stomach. I needed to get home. I needed FOOD.

When I eventually arrived home, it was like the gods had been listening to me. I was met by brother.

“Are you hungry?”

FLIPPIN WHAT, HUNGRY? DOES A DINGO DEFICANT DOWN UNDER?

“There’s some cold peri peri chicken in the kitchen.’’  It didn’t even touch the sides.

After my meal and several slices of bread and butter and umpteen cups of tea I decided to retire to bed. But I woke the morning I felt like kak. The psychedelic that had been my head had now moved down in to my stomach and set camp for next week or so.

So when you are out and about in the course of your eccentric journalism

Please be careful. Stay away from biri biri chickens and don’t talk to any pretty young ladies offering free drink. Stay safe.

By BRENDAN HIGGINS (June 2009)

Note: Brendan’s contribution ‘Poets Corner’ was published in K/3 The Cockeral that beareth (page 23).