Rochdale - Beyond Redemption? (Part One)

I wonder what your initial reaction was to this title?  I love finding out how people's perceptions change, so have a think about it now, and then I'll ask again at the end - and if you feel moved to write and let me know then I'll be a very happy girl!  I should warn you that I have 70s music on in an attempt to bring back some memories, so prepare for random comments about songs and places as I let my fingers do the talking.  Also, if you're reading my blog for the first time, you'll quickly notice that there are a LOT of links herein.  Please don't feel obliged to click them all, but remember that they're there if at a later date you decide you want to know more about me or whatever I was writing about at that moment... One of my rules for life is: It's only complicated if you allow it to be ;O)

Are you sitting comfortably?  Then we'll begin.... 

Reflections

I'm a Rochdale girl, born and bred.  I know a lot of people see that as something to keep quiet about, or even apologise for, but not this girl!  I've been doing a lot of reflecting just lately, so when I saw this view from the Tram last week, I got off at the Morrisons stop and then traveled back to the previous stop, took this photo (and about 4 more, just to be sure!) got on the next tram and went home.  Sometimes you just have to seize the moment because you don't know when (or even if!) the opportunity will arise again.

Reflecting on the past can really put things into perspective for me.  I'm often accused of being an eternal optimist; a charge that I fully accept, but it's not always easy to see the positive when constantly bombarded by the negative, and to me, Rochdale has become a prime example of this quandary in action.

We've so much bad press over the years... I remember a TV documentary had talked about the fact that 1 in 7 people in Rochdale were unable to read or write.  That was about 30 years ago, and I remember a conversation on the school bus as we crossed the canal bridge on Kingsway (which, incidentally, is about 100 yards from where I took the photo above!) where we were mortified by the bad press - and maybe a little bit smug because we were lucky enough to be in the 6 - I wonder what the figure is now?  I'm not convinced I really want to know the answer to the question though, because it might well prove that rather than fixing the problem we've been aware of for all this time, we've ignored it for 30 years and now even fewer people can read or write.

Much like the other publicity we've received over the last few years...  It appears that plenty of people knew about the child abuse that was going on for long before anything was done about it.  Many of the authorities were well aware of what was going on, but the culprits got away with that for many years because of fear in many different forms.  

Fear of repercussions

Fear of bad publicity

Fear of unrest

Fear of everything except what was happening to those children from what I can gather.  It's not good enough, we need to start acting despite our fears, because really, what's worse?  

Rochdale Council don't always make the best of decisions either, and over the years I've watched our town centre decline into what basically amounts to a ghost town and seen at least two of my previous employers move premises to Cheshire and Trafford Park because the business rates are more reasonable in those places. How is it cheaper to rent office accommodation in the beautiful village of Cheadle than Rochdale??  Come on planning officers, time to start thinking about how to make our town great again instead of trying to get as much money as possible for that building standing empty among a whole host of other empty buildings! And yes I've seen you on the TV as well Town Planners - do you want to make this town a great place to live for everyone, somewhere that people from different places want to visit, or just a place for your mates and that bloke with the huge piles of cash in the bank to get what they want?

I can't be the only one who wants to raise the profile of the town, can I?  

Am I??

I was talking to some friends from Oldham last week, and one of them was telling me about the last time he visited Rochdale.  He'd met some friends in The Regal Moon (which many people regard as one of the best Wetherspoons due to it's size, layout and the fact that it's pretty much always busy) before a football match.  The thing that shocked me the most was when he told me about the Rochdale fans singing "Come on Oldham give us a song, give us a song..." and the Oldham fans replied with... 

"You're just a town full of paedos, town full of peados, you're just a town full of paedos..."

Oh. 

My. 

Goodness*

*edited to keep my old Catholic school teachers happy!

Seriously?  That's the song we're likely to hear if Rochdale AFC make it to the TV?  Please - no!!  

I made a bet with my friend that night, that I can raise the profile of Rochdale so that we become known for something other than the horrific things that have happened in our town.  He doesn't believe I can, and we made a bet so here I am.  We shook on the bet, and he came up with his own forfeit, so if I win (and I have until September, but I'm going to be cocky and go for the end of March) then he's going to... Actually, I'll save that for now!  Let's have a little trip down memory lane first!

I was born in late 1970, and like most Rochdale babies at the time, I was born in Birch Hill Hospital.  Like most of the hospitals in Rochdale at the time, Birch Hill used to be a workhouse, but by 1970 it was well and truly part of the fabric of Rochdale as a large hospital.  Now it's mostly gone, and I for one feel quite saddened by that, because so few babies will now be registered as "Born in Rochdale".  My younger sisters and brother were all born here, as was my eldest daughter, but my youngest was born in Bury and my grandson was born in Oldham.  Another part of history, gone forever.

In looking into Birch Hill, I found this picture and passage on Workhouses.org, both of which I found really interesting:

The first thing I noticed was that I was born just before the 93rd Anniversary of the hospital.  The second was that the entire hospital and grounds cost significantly less than a 3 or even 2 bedroom house might cost today, and then I realised that the sketch was drawn from the approximate location of the house where my family lived between 1984 and 1987 (At the cul-de-sac end of Whitegate for those interested).  There are quite a few more synchronicities in there, but I won't bore you with them right now.  However I would like to find out about the Orpheus Glee Club!!  They sound like an interesting bunch of people!  The link here shows that it's now possible to buy a house on the land that Birch Hill formerly occupied.  Direct quote from that page: 

You can now buy a two bedroom house in the newly named ‘Birch Hill Gardens’ for £127,995"...  Wait... What??

Last year I saw an article about the probability of a certain white haired ex-celebrity having been up to his nasty tricks at Birch Hill too, and that caused another fracture in my Rochdalian heart.  I used to be angry - no, furious - at this.  Now I've realised how futile that anger and fury is, because really, what does it change?  Absolutely nothing, that's what.  It just hurts me, uses up energy that could be better spent on something less stressful, and takes my focus away from the good stuff."

I've lived or spent time in most areas of Rochdale during my 44 years.  I've been called a Nomad plenty of times in my life, and sometimes I've felt that it held me back a little bit because I never seemed to stay anywhere long enough to put down any roots and stopped me from forming the deep and long lasting friendships that a lot of my friends had.  I didn't really keep in touch with anyone when I left home or school, and even though I've lived in Castleton for over 20 years now, I still know very few people here.  However, the life I've lived means that I have a really balanced view of things.  I've been an immigrant, a LegalAlien, I've learned that I can make friends wherever I find myself, and I've experienced life as a resident of the council estates of Rochdale, Belfield, Smallbridge right up to the comparative luxury of living in a 5 bedroom house in Bamford with my Grandparents.

When I was first born, my mum and dad took me home to Town Mill Brow in the Seven Sisters.  I'm not sure how old I was when we moved to Smallbridge, but I do know that I earned my "Claim to Fame" when I lived there.  Mum and Dad told me that the lady who babysat for me in those days was Bill Oddie's mum, and when we watched the Goodies I'd always imagine him knowing who I was.  I was sure we'd meet one day, and I often looked forward to that, because then I'd know a famous person so I'd automatically be popular!!  Hooray!!... Funny how children's minds work!  

I talk far too much, so you can find part two here

Spooky Coinkidinks

This is copied directly from my notepad, dated 10.10.2014.  It describes a dream I had that day.

At first there was just me  I’d somehow ended up on a different ward of the hospital – well, not on the ward, but outside it in a waiting area of sorts.  There were two women and (another person) waiting outside, and one of the women was telling the other that “he” (the man they were waiting to visit) had caused her a lot of pain over the years (physical as well as mental) but she was trying to convince the other woman (who may have been his sister) that he could and would change.

I so wanted to tell her, but social convention stopped me, and before I knew it they’d gone into the ward to visit him and it was too late for me to say anything.

For unknown reasons (this was a dream, they often seem nonsensical once we’ve woken up!) I’d moved to a seating area nearer to the door of the ward.  Then all the alarms were sounding and staff running into the ward to deal with the emergency.  I tried so hard to flatten myself against the wall and out of their way, but the door opened outwards and almost touched the wall I was trying to disappear into – so I was even more in the way.

They all managed to get in to deal with the situation, and whilst I was left alone in the seating area, I just “knew” that the situation had been centred around that woman’s violent husband.  All I could think of at that point was that I had to speak to her.  I had to tell her that he was never going to change, no matter how much she hoped he would.  I needed to tell her to find the strength and the courage and that she could leave him and would be better without him.  I never did get to speak to her, but those thoughts were so strong in my mind that I almost think she’d have heard and/or felt them anyway.

Once the kerfuffle was dealt with, the staff who’d come running all relaxed and wanted to know who I was and why I was there.

I had my hospital notes with me so I handed them over because it was much easier than trying to explain everything to them.  As one of them read (to himself, in silence) all of the others seemed to get the knowledge of what was in them [the notes] as though the Reading Man could then convey everything to them instantaneously by telepathy.

As Reader asked talked about the content, it became clear that I’d actually written them myself.  It ended up being more like a teacher or some he had a deep knowledge of Psychiatry, but was giving me a critique on my writing style.  He said that he was impressed, because I’d written very clearly, the beginning, middle and end.  I’d “shown a good understanding of the psychology” behind my breakdown, but at the same time, managed to write it all very concisely so that there wasn’t “too much information”.

I felt really proud of myself for impressing him, and the others had also started to look at me with *(admiration? Interest?)  I almost felt as though they wanted to study me.

It was getting late though.  I seem to think that I was starting to worry that I’d been away from my ward for too long, so I was getting a little bit antsy about that, but Reader and his friends guided us (Simon and James were all of a sudden with me) through a seated area that can best be described as a cross between a modern day reading area, an airport lounge, and a café (although there was no food or beverages because it was getting late now)

There were a few other people around and about us now, who seemed to be taking an interest, but had no direct involvement in what was going on

Somewhere in the middle of all this there’d been a passing (hoarde/herd) of teenagers – almost as though school had let out.  Some of them did stop and speak to me – they seemed to want to know more about me, but I’m not sure whether I actually spoke to any of them, or they to me.  I do feel as though some of them did communicate with me, but I have no idea whether we spoke, or what was said.

Simon, James and I were led into what appeared to be a bar area.  There were a few other people there, and Simon took a seat at an empty table.  James sat on a chair slightly away from the table, and I just stood looking at them, and then around the place and I burst out laughing.

Simon’s really tall, and built like the proverbial outdoor toilet, and James is about the same height and built like a drink of water.  The seats they’d both chosen were no more than about a foot off the floor, and the table Simon was sitting at was to the same scale.

They both looked so funny, almost folded in half but sitting on these tiny chairs as though it was the most natural thing in the world!  I exclaimed that we’d been brought to Legoland, and why was everything so teeny tiny, but I appeared to be the only person there who found it strange or funny.  I didn’t want to sit at the ridiculously small table, so I chose a seat that was in a space of its own.  I(t) looked a bit like a mushroom (toadstool?) but when I sat on it, the stem part turned out to be a spring, so I got tipped over and onto the floor!  That just made me laugh even more, and I sat up saying “I’m so glad I’m a mental and can laugh as loud as I want about this kind of shit! What the hell is going on? How did we end up in Legoland? And why am I the only one who thinks its odd?!”

It was at that point that I noticed an armchair to James’ right. I(t) was almost normal proportions, in that it would have comfortably fit a human-sized body in it, and the arms were the right height and distance apart.  However, even that wasn’t really right, because the base of it was only about 2 or 3 inches off the ground, and the bottom cushion was missing.  That made me laugh some more but I took myself off to the ladies’ at that point.

I’m not sure how long I was in there for, but a woman with beautiful long ginger curls knocked on the door to be let in.  I recognised her from “earlier”, but wasn’t sure exactly when or where.  We did chat briefly in the bathroom but I’ve no idea now what we said.  That was verbal communication though, not telepathy.

When I left the bathroom, I was outside with Simon and James.  We were all walking down a ramp and then across an empty car park (except I want to call it a “car lot” because it felt as though we were in America now.)  It was a huge empty, tarmac space, with trees to our left, lining the edge of it.  To the right was just wide open space and scrub.  The sky was a beautiful shade of blue, with fluffy white clouds – and there was just so much sky!

I turned to James and looked at him in confused amazement.  He just smiled that heavy lidded, knowing smile of his and said “Do you feel as though you’ve arrived?  At enlightenment?”

I don’t know how to describe the mixture of bafflement and understanding I felt when I replied “No! No, not at all James!  I know something huge has just happened, but I also know that I have a million miles to go before I get anywhere close to enlightenment!”

James did that quiet, head nodding, closed mouthed laugh he does, the one that lets me know he’s highly amused, but doesn’t give too much away to anyone around us. (I’m really bad at that.  If I find something funny, “everybody” around me knows about it!)

I seem to remember that Simon was just looking at the pair of us as though we were the strange ones – as though he hadn’t witnessed all the weirdness we’d all just been through together.  He may well have said something along the lines of “You’re off your heads you two!”

Now that I’ so far through writing all this down, I fear that many people will think I’m on some sort of hallucinogenic, but thankfully, I’m still in hospital at the moment.  “Thankfully” because my hospital records show that I’m on nothing stronger than my usual tablets for raised blood pressure, antihistamines, 7.5mg of some anti-anxiety tablet, and one sleeping tablet before bedtime.  I don’t seem to dream at night, and that tablet is probably the reason why.  This dream occurred after an afternoon with my daughter, her boyfriend, his sister and their children.  I caught the bus back to Oldham (and the bus driver asked me for directions! WTF?!) and saw the best double rainbow ever (which was also witnessed by many other people – and I have photographic evidence too)  I had 2 slices of cheese pizza in the canteen, a quick smoke (tobacco only!) with Simon, James and Gemma. 

I then went for an hour in bed, which turned into an hour and a half, and the most vivid dream I’ve ever had!  I went to bed at 6.30, and Simon woke me at 8, and now it’s – haha!!  Now its 11.11pm and Guy Garvey is singing “you’ve gone and made a beautiful hole in my heart” on my shuffle of over 1,100 songs.

From the car lot, we suddenly arrived on a (street?)  This part is difficult to describe, because we don’t have them in the UK that I know of.  On our right were small villas/apartments.  Maybe two storeys high maybe more.  They were Spanish style, with a little tiled patio outside each one and a low wall made of those decorative bricks/blocks with holes in them.  All of the buildings were white, with terracotta tiled patios, and we were walking on a sloped path outside them.  To our left was another wall, of approx. waist height.

Suddenly, there were 3 or four other people in front of us, walking in the same direction as us.  They all looked a little bit scary, and although none of them spoke they grunted at us and seemed to be trying to intimidate us, but I just gently turned the main instigator [around] by his shoulders so that he was facing forwards again so that we could all carry on walking together.  The main one seemed to be chewing a large wad of tobacco, and all of them were in need of a shave and a good wash.

When we got to the bottom of the footpath, there were a lot of buildings, bright lights (like Times Square, but not so big) and people, but I was ushered into a small building on the bottom left corner of the path we’d just travelled.

The door led me straight into a bathroom, where 3 or 4 people were standing surrounding another person who was laid in a bubble bath.  I felt that they were bathing whoever was in there, but I couldn’t really see that person.  The two women closest to me spoke to me in English, and I asked if they were from England.  They replied in the negative, and said that they were from Castleford.  That confused me, as Castleford is in Leeds, but they told me they were from South Africa.  I got the feeling they’d been waiting for us, but that was when Simon knocked on my bedroom door and woke me up. 

It’s now 11.54pm, I’ve used my inhaler but not taken my sleeping tablet.  Ironically, my shuffle is now playing the Monster Mix of Faithless’ “Insomnia”.  It may well turn out that I need to reuest a sleeper but I’ll try it without and see what happens next!

*When I wrote the part marked with the asterisk, I became aware of the possibility that this was something much more than just a dream.  I have a feeling that the mystery behind that will reveal itself before too long.

I wrote all of the above on the 10^th October, and the only thing I’ve edited is a couple of names.

So then last Saturday, Valentine's Day, I was having a drink with James and another friend of ours.  James played us a song that I'd never heard before, and one lyric jumped out at me enough for me to say "Right boys come on, we're going on a night out in Manchester tonight!"  There was a bit of dissent from the boys as we're all pretty skint, but we managed to pull £70 together between the three of us and decided to go and see how long it would last before we had to come home.  

We called round to James' house so he could get changed, and James and I went into the kitchen for a glass of water while Rod was talking to James' mum.  I've only been to his house since I was discharged from hospital on the 15th October, because I didn't know him until I was admitted, and on Saturday I noticed this picture on his wall for the first time.  I couldn't believe my eyes, because my immediate reaction was "Bloody hell James...  That's the path I walked down in that dream you read about while we were in hospital!!"

I can't upload the picture of the street at the moment because I don't have the cable with me for my camera, but I can take a photo on my iPhone and load that.  I'll replace it soon with the original photo I took.  This is weird - but wonderful!!! <3 (the time is 1 hour out, this was actually taken at 11.01 on the 14th February, and the other photos on my camera will bear this out for anyone who's really skeptical.  

Once we got into Manchester, I asked James to decide which pub to go to because I don't really go out in the city very often, and his pub of choice was The Castle. I loved this idea, and said so... "Ooh perfect James!  Sarah means Princess in Hebrew, so now my boys are taking the Princess to the Castle!" and off we went.  

I couldn't find anywhere for us to sit, but Rod found a couple of spare seats in the back room and I sat on the bench while they sat on a stool each across the table from me.  I wanted a candle to take a photo of my beer bottle, which I'd originally thought was called "Mermans", but then realised it actually said "Timmermans", but the two on our table had burned out so I borrowed one from the table next to us.  That was when James told me that the guy I was sitting next to used to be the bassist for The Fall.  It was their song he'd played that decided us to go out!  Synchronicity!!!

I told him the story of how we'd ended up in the pub, and when I told him the name of the song he looked at me in amazement and said "I mixed that track!" (In fact, I think I showed the photo to Ding when I was telling him the story.)

Open mouths all around - especially when I looked at the lyrics again on Monday morning.  Just have a look at the last line (although a lot of my friends will be quite surprised by many of the lyrics in this song)

Tales from the Castleford crypt

Your future is our clutter
Is unable, a necessity
That doesn't involve a problem
This new approach
Is on the borders of necessity
I say to you, I say to you
Keep your own clutter
The encyclopedia of building and plumbing
Is on the CIDV, underneath you
The Masque of Red is coming around
We're gonna get married

On the floor of behest
Don't book down
Just keep and stay ahead

S.H. is a chance I get
In the land of finance retail
Slippy floor, in hospital
Talk taken on the land
I'm 95% more inside
Pay drake
I'm 95% in inside of B Drake
Walking down a little road
A beautiful lake I see and behold
Going closer, it's gorgeous
Then all I see is a slippy floor
And then I see
The slippy floor in apartment hall
You might like to scoff and guffaw
The slippy floor in view, apartment hall
Revere, wanted, two times, side gate
And you try the needle and pull on side gate
Your non-existence
Slippy floor
S.H. is a chance I take
In the land of finance retail
And all I get
Is a slippy floor in a hospital
Walking down the little road
A beautiful lake I see and behold
Going closer to inhale
Its gorgeous aroma and allure
But then I see
It's a slippy floor all over me
And all I get is a slippy floor
And all I take is a slippy floor
In apartment hall
The chance I took
Taken in the land of finance retail

A slippy floor all over me
I'm 95% inside of B Drake
Point taken in the land of finance retail
But all I see is a slippy floor
All I get is a slippy floor
All over me

One last cigarette's gonna do it
1-9-8-6 generator
That's all he wrote
1-9-8-6 generate...

"Received: Tuesday, May..."

"And I'm wondering if you happen to know his number or can get it for me? I would like to speak to him, uh, if it's not too much trouble. If you could let me know [...] I hope you're both well. All the best to you, bye bye"

"So apart from mixing that, there's not really much more to do with it, is there?"

[ These are Y.F.O.C. / Slippy Floor Lyrics on http://www.lyricsmania.com/ ]

http://www.lyricsmania.com/yfoc_slippy_floor_lyrics_fall_the.html

I really could not make this stuff up.  Ding will be happy to confirm I'm not making it up.  Several people will confirm that they read the original story of my dream whilst I was in hospital, and there are a lot of things in that dream that made no sense at the time but now they do.  It's all incredible, and I will have a LOT more to say on this subject, but it's late and I need some sleep.  In the words of Mr Schwarzenegger, I'll be back ;) 

Oh, and that £70 got the three of us into Manchester, bought our drinks all night, and got us and home again at 8am on Sunday!  How's that for miraculous?!  We had an awesome night!!

Library of the Later Day Saints

I love my life!!  I got up later than planned today, dotted around the house a bit, popped to the shop and then ummed and ahed about whether to bother going to Manchester today because it was getting late.  In the end I muttered to myself "I don't know what to do... shall I go or leave it til tomorrow?" - and as I asked the question, The Cure appeared on my Magical Mystery Shuffle singing "Just Say Yes".  Decision made!!  Thank you once again MMS, great decision!!

I walked over to the station with no idea when the next train was due, but they're every half hour so it didn't matter too much.  As it turned out, I must have just missed one, but the three robins that were playing in the trees and bushes made the time pass fairly quickly as I watched them and took a few photos...  

I only managed to capture one at a time on film

You can just about see one of them in here if you look carefully

A couple of days ago a friend posted a photo of a tree on Facebook and a big conversation ensued around the photo because he'd mentioned that his tree had eyes.  It's not something I've noticed before, but now that he's said it, I've noticed eyes on lots of trees - including this one!  During the same conversation, another friend mentioned that she'd seen two robins earlier that day and expressed her surprise because apparently robins are usually quite territorial and live alone without socialising.  Two days later I see three! <3

I loved the red bushes beside this one <3

Who knew?  The trees have eyes!

Looking at it from the other side, it reminded me of a Totem Pole!

 (And now my MMS is playing Big Yellow Taxi - "they took all the trees and put them in a tree museum, and they charged all the people a dollar and a half to see them" - and while I was uploading the photos Cat Stevens came on singing King of Trees...)

Once I made it into Manchester I walked down Deansgate towards the John Rylands Library where I'd planned to go to do some writing.  I'm hand writing a rather special book and it's draughty in my kitchen, so I'd decided to go there after hearing Guy Garvey talking about it with Mark Radcliffe during a feature BBC 6 Music ran last year some time.  I've walked past it countless times but had never been inside so this was the perfect time for me to go there. However, because I'd been running behind time this morning I only had about 90 minutes until closing time.  I decided I may as well get an hour done and could go back again tomorrow, but once I got into the Reading Room all thoughts of actually writing disappeared as I wandered around in awe.  If you've never been then I highly recommend it - it has to be one of the most beautiful buildings in the world, and the books in there are incredible!

It was actually built after John Rylands' death by his Cuban wife, Enriqueta (I doubt she got her hands dirty with the actual construction though hah!)  She was his third wife, Britain's richest woman and the first to be granted the Freedom of the City of Manchester and when her husband died in 1888 she decided to build a library in his name.  Thank you Enriqueta!  She spent far more on the books than she had on the building itself - and when you see what it looks like inside, you'll begin to get some idea of just how much money that must have been.  In 1892 she spent almost the same amount as the construction had cost, on buying a collection of 40,000 volumes that had once belonged to the Earl of Spencer (who, I imagine, would have been an ancestor of Princess Diana) and then in 1901 she spent £155,000 on a collection including works on paper, bamboo, palm-leaf and even bone!  It's all so cleverly constructed, with bookcases that protect the books from dust and humidity so that the collection should last for centuries to come.  Have a look at the reading room though!

The beautiful stained glass windows and a statue of Enriqueta

The architecture reminds me more of a cathedral than a library

In between the lights, the archways lead to individual alcoves

Even the ceiling is a masterpiece

One of the alcoves

Another alcove, with computerised database of every work contained in the library

Some of the books, hidden behind glass to keep them dust-free

Scholastic theologist John Wycliffe

William Caxton, who introduced the Printing Press to England

Even the radiator covers are beautiful!

The attention to detail is fantastic

Some of the books are huge!  You  can also see the art exhibition on the top of these cases

I only saw two of these clues, I'll try to find out what they are tomorrow

Red dragon sleeping next to the voluminous volumes

As you can see, it's really easy to get distracted by the beauty of the building - this is only a small selection of the photos I took, and I don't tend to take many pictures as a rule.  I'd noticed some illustrations in the display cabinets and had a look at them but kept feeling guilty (why??) about my book sitting there waiting for me to write in it.  I did sit down with it at one point, but the alcove I sat in was so beautiful (as was the chair I sat on!) that I got distracted again and ended up taking more photos.  Look at the window though, wouldn't you forget your reason for being there?!

I got talking to one of the staff as I was taking a photo (he kindly offered to move something out of the way for me) and he pointed out the artist of the pictures on display.  I hadn't realised he was actually there, but it turned out that tonight was the launch of his exhibition so he was just setting up his merchandise.  I asked if it would be OK to hang around and he was more than happy with that, so my 90 minutes suddenly turned into 3 hours!  Hoorah!!

The poster advertising Alan's Later Day Saints

Other side of the poster

I'm so glad I stayed!  I'd looked at the pictures and thought they were quite amusing, but when he showed me the stories that go with each one, I spent some time reading each one as I looked at the corresponding image and quickly came to the conclusion that Alan Birch is a genuis!  Waterfoot is a lovely little village just north of Bury and Rochdale and it also boasts a wonderful grammar school where my youngest went to sixth form - it always reminded me of Hogwarts when I went for parent's evening, and here I was in a library Harry Potter would have felt completely at home studying in!

I don't want to give too much away on here, because it's far better to go and see for yourself, but he's kindly given permission for me to share the story of one of his Later Day Saints.  I also bought some postcards with images of Saint Lotto (complete with a hand coming out of the clouds with it's thumb up!), Saint Last Minute (Alan's a Manchester City fan, but I won't hold it against him - I married one once) and Saint Selfie!  The imagination that's gone into the pictures is brilliant, but for me, the real genius is in the story behind each one.  As a teaser, I've decided to share St Tweetus with you.  This is partly because Alan had mentioned his Twitter account @abirch5 and that he really wasn't au fait with it all - I'd like to think he's just about to get a baptism of fire in that regard - don't let me down folks! ;O) #alanssaints

Saint Tweetus

Here's his biography according to Alan:

Saint Tweetus 
Saints day 1st January 
Born AD 1988. Florence

Saint Tweetus was born in Florence, Italy.  His father, a computer programmer, and his mother a postmistress, took great care to have their son instructed at home, and afterwards sent him to Rome  St Tweetus had there for tutor the famous pagan Grammarian Donatus.  He became master of the Latin and Greek tongues, and made such progress in oratory that he for some time pleaded at the bar.  Alas, due to his looking younger than his years, he never got served.  In anger he retired to his spartan rooms, and led the life of a hermit, throwing himself into the study of Information Technology.  He was visited by luminaries such as Saints Hawkins, Zuckenberg and Gates and was even introduced to Jobs.
He traveled to Silicone Valley in USA, turning his back on religion and immersing himself in work.  
The group discussed their tribulations and experiences of social exclusions, and the seed for Twitter was established.  St Tweetus spent 3 years alone in his rooms, seeing only 117 characters in that time.  On the first of March 2006, he announced to the world the creation of Twitter, an online social networking system.  The reaction was spectacular, and he soon had millions of followers.  He was martyred in 2015, when he was attacked by a gang of Trolls, aided by some 2,000 pensioners angered by their inability to access technology.  His shattered mobile phone is now a guarded treasure in the Duomo, resting in a knitted mobile phone sock, one can still see his final Tweet, "AAAAghhhhh LOL!" on the screen.

It's a good job librarians have evolved since my younger days, or I'd have been shushed right out of the door, because every one of his Saints' biographies is written in the same vein and I chuckled to myself a lot (although I did manage not to do my usual huge belly laughs, or I might have been evicted anyway, evolution or not!)

Alan has 80 prints so far, with 20 of them on display at the Library and the exhibition runs until 29th June 2015.  He'll be producing a new Saint at fortnightly intervals and is hoping that other people will get involved and suggest new saints or even submit their own!  Interactive exhibition at it's finest!!  At the end of June he'll select one drawing each from the Under- and Over-16 age groups, the winners then being offered the chance to attend a printing class at his studios.  I imagine that will be a great day, as he's such a friendly guy and his sense of humour is obviously very sharp!

See what I mean about loving my life?  Had I waited until tomorrow I would have missed all of that, and would likely never have realised that there were such brilliant stories behind the etchings - and now I have another new friend or two.  

One of the reasons I particularly wanted to go to the John Ryland Library was so that I could do some research into Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī.  He was a Persian poet in the 13th century, and his works are some of the most romantic I've ever read.  Funnily enough, he's a Muslim Saint.  How's that for synchronicity?!  I only discovered him a few weeks ago, and now I can't get enough of his work.  It's stunning!

I'm listening to Deepak Chopra's "A Gift Of Love" now, and wondering how I've managed to get to this age without ever having heard of Rumi before.  It's really difficult to choose a favourite, but one that works particularly well for my blog (and my love of meditation!) is this:

"There is nothing in the universe that you are not.Everything you want, look for it within yourself - You are that.."

And another, that I would have loved to read whilst I was in hospital:

"Don't get lost in your painKnow that one day your painwill become your cure."

I love him.  I must pack some tissues for tomorrow though, because the books I'm reading are from the 19th century so I'm not even allowed to take a pen into the room with me.  Somehow I don't think it would go down very well if I were to spill tears all over the pages!

My day carried on in the same vein once I'd left, but I'll do a separate blog about that so that you don't fall asleep on me... 

If you get the chance to go to see Alan's exhibition before the end of June though, I really do highly recommend it - and if you can come up with some new saints for him then I'm sure he'll create a back story to have you in stitches as well!!