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This blog contains book reviews, comments on interesting things and a smattering of self promotion. Enjoy.

Also, check out my mission to listen to 200 years worth of 'songs named after dates' here.

Monday, 12 July 2010

Sweet Home Wolverhampton

For the past week and a half I've been settling into the new house and something almost resembling adulthood. I write this having just returned from Asda with freshly purchased draining board and cutlery draw trays.

Since my last post I've done a few things which I feel now qualify me to describe the local area: I've made several trips to Asda, seen the park on an event day, and, crucially, I've visited the pub. The area in question is, roughly speaking, Whitmore Reans (which even, sort of, has its own online newspaper). Our road, Fawdry Street, is one of several roads in the area which don't really lead anywhere, which is perhaps why the pub at the end of the road seems to be doing so well. It's the sort of pub which looks like it could be one of the main settings in a soap, and like almost all pubs in Wolverhampton it's linked to the Banks brewery. The conversation comes in a clattering of Polish and Yam Yam. The Banks and the curry are good, the current guest ale, Boondogle, tastes like vinegar. There is a bowling green at the back, half of the clientele look as if their preferred method of transport is a chopper or a truck, and Fridays and Saturdays are karaoke nights. Like a pub should be, it provides an interesting cross section of the community.

The nearest main road is the Stavely road, which has a few shops. This is our main conduit to Asda. In the other direction is a building with a sign painted on the side which reads 'Jazz's Barbers', in big, blue letters, accompanied a picture of a man who from a distance looks like Charlie Patton, but as you get closer, looks increasingly like a dodgy eighties hairdresser's model.

We visited the local park at the time of the Wolverhampton City Fair, which seemed to mainly involve people firing cannons, driving motorbikes or monster trucks, and setting themselves on fire.

Visit the Black Country, heart of the Wild West Midlands (or have I just been playing too much Red Dead Redemption)

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