Devon Eccentric Colin Shaddick (no it’s official – he came third in this year’s competition), dropped us a poetic line to explain a bit about the origins of his award-winning eccentricity. You could get more of an insight at the Salon del Eccentrica, an Eccentric evening at the Broomhill Art Hotel, Barnstaple on Thursday, June 18 at 7.30pm.

Eccentric! Who, Me?

Maybe this is how it all started?

Imagined kazoo solo.
One hooded and very blue day
when I was at a most sensitive stage,
I was struggling
to wring some temperate words

from the chilly language

that shot to-and-fro,

above my rattling head.

I decided to try out

a few investigational expressions of my own.

I needed to make my mark:

draw a line in the sand.

I waited for a fleeting lull

in the daily hubbub

that continually clanged

from the pots and pans

in the steamy kitchen.

I made my entrance

and Mother turned towards me,

her arms now motionless

and her reddened elbows quivered

just above the popping soapsuds

and waited for the off.

I smiled, and determined to show off my verbal skills,

began my tirade…

They were not well-received words.

I was not allowed to continue with my experiment.

My father hurriedly interjected

and promised he would give me a thick ear…

in a minute.

I had no memory of him giving me anything, before.

I was totally flabbergasted

when he said he’d give me something -

and so speedily too.

I so wanted him to give me something.

I then pictured myself with one thick ear…

and decided it would look quite daft.

I told him that I thought it would look daft,

but he took no notice

and he up and gave me one anyway.

But it wasn’t within the minute!

No.

He said he’d give me one…

in a minute.

It took much longer than a minute.

By the time my thick ear arrived,

a good twenty minutes or so had passed!

Can incidents like the one I’ve just described above,

have a lasting affect on a person’s life?

Time moved on and I slipped inaudibly along with it…

Then, one day it happened –

I think I said something like,

Eccentric…Eccentric!

Who, me?

I’d never given much thought to eccentricity, really…

that is until they said I was eccentric.

They, were the British Broadcasting Corporation.

An eccentric was the last thing I’d contemplated being.

After all, as far as I was concerned

it wasn’t me who was heading in the wrong direction!

Vivid pictures then began to flow through my mind:

eccentrics as mad, frizzy-haired inventors,

or mumbling white-coated professors

ensconced in leaded-light, oak-panelled lodgings …

Stereotype images like that.

So, how did I get into this situation?
I vividly remember my dad treating me like an outsider,
but my mum often said she thought I was an artist

and that poetry was the most noble art.

So, when I left school and flew the uncomfortable nest,

I knuckled-down and made a new start.

I bought myself a Moleskine notebook… in black.

The sort that all the best poets

painters and composers are said to use.

It had an elastic band to hold it tightly shut…

(for when I wasn’t ready for the muse.)

With tried and tested equipment like that

how on earth could any decent publisher refuse?

But I’d get this recurring dream.
“Oh,” I’d be saying out loud.
“If I held the post of ‘Chair of Professor of Poetry’

at a famous old university,

I’d kiss goodbye to adversity.”

I’d be repeating this phrase over and over.

But, I’d be as happy as old Larry.

What a great way

to spend each and every busy-buzzing day.

I’d just tarry… there,

reading piles of good books, (and my guitar mags)

and every so often, quietly gaze down

from my dusty old window

at the pigeons pecking and puffing themselves up

on a perfectly manicured lawn,

in the quaint and quiet quadrangle.

I’d chat to the poetry students

in a fatherly-like way.

(They have scant knowledge

about anything in the real world,

you know.)

“This is the way poetry’s done,”

I would say to each one,

then show them a selection of

my very popular

self-published pamphlets.

They would probably pipe-up and say,

“Caw that’s brilliant, that is, sir.”

Then I’d rock back on my heels

and say to them: “Off you go then.

Order yourselves some copies from Mr Jenkins,

in the lovely old library downstairs,

and give ’em a good read.

But, no cheating though.

Make up some of your own stuff.”

They would then say,

“Oh, sir, pleeease!”

Then I’d relent and say:

“Well, go on then,

but change the words about a bit.”

I’d tap out my pipe on the pitted stone window ledge

and chuckle to myself, muttering quietly:

“Huh, bloody kids, who’d ’ave ’em?”

Then I’d sing a little song.
Who drew

the very thin line

between sanity and madness? (X3)

Who drew,
who… drew… it?

‘Aren’t all eccentrics bonkers, though,

and think of nothing other than their pet subjects,

and even if they attempted to repair the most simple of things

they’d turn out to be bodgings?

‘Their heads are in the clouds.’

That’s what people say.

Then again,

I do tend to engage my brain before my mouth

and some people have to wait ages

to get an answer.

Sometimes it can be as long as…

say, a goose would take

to complete its hazardous journey south.

I don’t always mean to be rude,

but you should understand

that I like a lot of solitude.

It’s not that I’m particularly shy,

it’s just because…that’s why.

‘An eccentric slice of a British way of life’,

that’s how I was described…

and all because I wrote Japanese-type verse

called haiku.

They thought it rather strange that I sometimes compose

when I’m riding on my baiku.

They wanted me on Radio 4.

I was to talk to Clare Balding about my poetic style,

and while I was explaining it, she would interject a bit.

It was something new for their programme, Ramblings.

Ramblings is a broadcast where everything depends

on supposedly interesting folk and their amblings.

That’s how the final die was cast.

Normality, for me, had breathed its last.

I was now officially ‘Eccentric’

and the BBC had nailed me to their mast.

Whatever happens in the future

as a result of this whirl of eccentricity…

will be secondary.

But that crowning moment

at the ‘Eccentric Club’ will always remain

with me and be the best,

because it’s where I got my title:

‘The Great British Eccentric 2009.’

I’d passed their test.

It now gives me the opportunity

to get so many dark secrets off my chest.
And did you know that…

If you say the word

kazoo, backwards,

it reads, oozak?

It then sounds more

like a question:

‘Oozak?’

That’s probably why

they never called

it that.

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The weekly column from the world of Geoff Clams

Given the media tumult surrounding the Iranian presidential elections, accusations of stolen votes and an inflammatory cultural split, one might be tempted to say that, by comparison, political passions in Britain are either dying, dead or extinct.

Contrast how tepid and lazy we look next to these guys. They don’t feel that the winning ticket is representative, and so they invest their hearts and risk their lives by taking to the streets in their thousands to say so. By comparison, and after decades of being ideologically shunted between the centre and the far-right by two illusory red and blue factions, we just roll over and present our behinds and our livelihoods to whomever is brandishing the lube tube.

Granted, this wasn’t a general election and most are turned-off by Europe because, in all honesty, too few of us are truly informed enough to understand the real implications of the Lisbon Treaty as it stands. What’s more, can an economic bureaucracy like the European Parliament ever look like an arousing or alluring phenomenon? Isn’t there something else on? Can’t we all gawk at some terminally-ill celebrity undergoing chemotherapy instead?

Europe aside, this creeping voter apathy will probably gain momentum, as more and more of us resign ourselves to abject powerlessness and/or misguided protest votes. The recent MPs’ expenses debacle has certainly tickled our anger buds (evidently, it seems that the British are more prone to hate a scrounger than a war criminal/torture apologist/authoritarian creep) but the consensus is, that our ruling elite will soon roll out some new, corrective legislation and the nation’s boiling blood will inevitably cool. What a shame that would be. If we do get the election the majority of us so vehemently demand, can we even trust it to be free and fair? Will we all go back to sleep after the dust has settled and give the Tories a blank cheque mandate?

It is worth taking a retrospective look at our recent elections, now that we have the distance of hindsight. Not just for what the results tell us about the perceived rise in fascism or the death of the New Labour project or whatever else, but to examine the conduct of the polling itself. As more and more political bloggers seem to be invoking the term “Dark Arts” in their analyses of June 4, it seems that a disconcerting picture could still be emerging. Therefore, I would like to relay what happened to me the week I went to the polls.

I live in a very quiet road in Preston (Paignton), tucked away behind the Shorton Valley within a friendly and supportive community. We have many neighbors who are elderly and, who by-and-large, are passionately-engaged voters who still cling to the lifeboat ideal of democracy. It was, after all, their generation’s young men who truly fought and died for this abstract concept. Since polling day, my partner and I have had many over-the-fence conversations with our neighbours and we’ve been able to compare our recent experiences with them. If what we seem to be uncovering is a country-wide phenomenon, then ‘We The People’ are indeed entering the realms of the truly fantastical.

On Monday the 1st, I was returning from a meeting with Project Duvall out in Buckfastleigh. As I mentioned last week, they are a Devon-wide arts committee who meet every fortnight to discuss cultural projects and to lobby for potential funding. Overall, it had been a productive meeting up until my being very publicly sick again. Hence, I was feeling a bit jittery after an unpleasant and introspective drive back to Torbay.

As I pulled into my road, which is a cul-de-sac that branches off from a deathly steep hill, I forgot to drop gears and the car stalled. While fumbling with my keys in the bluish nine o’ clock twilight, I noticed an intense buzzing noise in the near distance. I couldn’t ascertain at first whether it was a far-off lawnmower or a close-by hornet, but it was indescribably high-pitched. Looking up the hill, where the local polling booth had just been erected, I noticed something no larger than a small suitcase suspended in the air and silhouetted against the bruising sky. It promptly zipped out of view with a weird serpentine confidence before I had any chance to get a lingering look. Dismissing the object as either another hallucination or an oddly-shaped night bird, I restarted my car and trundled to my driveway. As the night got thicker and followed me to bed, so too a sense of malicious, creeping dread.

In the earliest hours of the following morning, whilst I was shifting and turning in the throes of sleeplessness, the noise reappeared. Much, much louder this time. Opening my eyes, I watched a singular red dot of light centering itself on the bedroom curtains. It turned green momentarily and then back to red. I leaped from the bed and hurtled towards the window, yet, again it hurried off and the buzzing soon became distant. Elusive. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep a further wink and decided to get up at around seven.

On my way back from the newsagents that very same morning, I was invited to share a cider (Al fresco) with my good, kindly neighbour Hugh, who lives at number four. Hugh is a pensioner, originally from Rotherham, who served in the RAF for thirty or so years. When he retired from the ranks, he went into local-level politics as a Conservative councillor and spent four years there before leaving to work on his garden. A great conversationalist who never beats about the proverbial bush, Hugh managed to surprise even me when, after a short, comforting summer silence and a sup of cold apple gold, he asked: “So, have you seen The Drone yet?”

“Drone?” I replied, unnerved. “What’s that then?”

“Noisy bloody camera that’s been buzzing around the streets at night,” he wheezed with the corners of his mouth downturned. “Whatever next, eh?”

“I saw it last night. Twice. It’s a camera?”

“A floating, talking camera, aye. Did you not get the leaflet? The local Police are doing a trial with it.”

“Why here? Unless of course they finally caught up with you nicking cuttings from Mrs. Frattelli’s Lobelia every summer.”

Hugh gave me the leaflet to study at home, which I did. The Drone is an unmanned CCTV camera with inbuilt facial recognition technology and sonar-based capabilities. Remarkably lightweight and agile, it is remotely accessed and controlled by the Police themselves and employs a series of tiny propulsive fans to hover about six feet from the ground. The Drone has been designed to combat anti-social behaviour, and is being trialed in six other counties up and down the land. Tossing the leaflet aside I went to my computer to write an email to the Devon and Cornwall Police Constabulary to air my concerns. I have since received a reply, effectively referring me to the IPCC. What’s the point?

Judith and I saw The Drone again that night. This time it was scanning the opposite side of the valley, hovering busily past a succession of living room windows, doing it’s red light/green light thing. Looking through walls no doubt. Perhaps not surprisingly, we both dreamed about the floating camera that night. I was so tired I slept right through.

Come Wednesday o’clock, and with the heady buzz of intimidating synthetic Police fading in our minds, we awoke to a loud and forceful knocking at the front door.

To be continued next week…

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Our friends in the north (that’s North Devon) are up to all kinds of crazy art antics. Powerhouse of the North Devon arts scene Stella Levy, who’s organising this year’s Art Trek, June 19-21 and June 26-28, has started a blog over on artsculture.

“The last few days have been spent sending out invitations to VIPs for the Art Trek launch at Arlington Court, Carriage Museum, next Thursday (June 18),’ she says.

Find out if she can cajole anyone to make ‘dainty’ sandwich as the blog unfolds.

posted by Cptn

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On a cool evening in a seaside town you can often do with a woolly jumper. Although that’s probably not what David Evans had in mind when he and his family saw a wallaby cavorting around a field in Teignmouth.

He told the BBC: “We went out and, sure enough, wandering around in a field until it got dark there was this wallaby.”

Years ago there were wallaby’s at the near by Holcombe, according to David.

But psst, the last picture is of some kind of wild cat, which are a more common sight hereabouts.

posted by Cptn

(image: a wallaby, not the wallaby)

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A few things over on D+CFilm have caught our eye this week, not least South West Screen’s notion that naming something after a Devon myth alienates people from up-country.

Exeter filmmaker Ashley Thorpe has funding for the latest in his Penny Dreadful series The Hairy Hands from the regional champion (that’s a reference to South West Screen, by the way), but they want to change the title to something, well, a little less Devon.

“I think they’re missing the point and the source of the appeal,” says writer, director and independent filmmaker of the year award winner, who’s recently had his films shown at Cannes, Ashley.

We say it sounds like the thin edge of the culturally homogenized wedge. Have your say over on D+CFilm.

Also on the site is a behind the scenes of the latest Ashley Wing film Robbing Peter, a darkly humorous tale from what we can gather (and a bit of a who’s who in the South Devon filmmaking scene).

Other stories include the announcement of a screenwriter talk at the Exeter Phoenix and a documentary filmmaking course as part of the Dartmoor Arts Summer School.

Got films or film stories, get in touch with D+CFilm on info@devon-cornwall-film.co.uk

posted by Cptn

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Are you talented Tenor? Dartington International Summer School is looked for one to be the dastard Pinkerton in Madam Buterfly.

The role is part of the summer school’s Advanced Opera course, which runs from August 15 to August 30. According to them it’s aninvaluable opportunity for singers on the threshold of their professional careers.

Plus there’s a 100% bursary available for this position, which includes all accommodation, food and course fees are included, plus access to concerts.

If you’re interested, you’ve got to at least prove you can carry a tune in a bucket and send a short recording and a CV to summerschool@dartington.org

posted by Cptn

For more arts stories, visit arts+culture

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The latest Lemanis album The Truth About a Push Me Pull You is set for a physical release on June 15, which means we need to make sure we publish the our review, so you know just what you’re getting into when you shuffle off to buy it from actual shops. For all you potential punters, a more authentic option would be to see them live at the Plymouth Hippo on Friday, June 12.

"As luck would have it," said Lemanis’ Phil, "we have a large line up gig this Friday at the Hippo.

"It’s set to be another fun one with support from Port Bandanas and Kat Marsh (that’s a good thing for those of you who don’t know). Music plus beer and all the fun intrinsically entwined within."

Or you can order the album from the Lemanis Myspace, or Amazon, or Genepool.

posted by Cptn

• Share your other ‘truths’ with us! Comment below

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Picasso, Matisse, Emin… and now, after a Saturday workshop at Plymouth Museum, add Smith to the list of people who have produced monoprints, (although unlike the list of artists before me, income from my efforts wouldn’t even cover the bus fare home).

Monoprinting is a printmaking technique which creates a one-off image.

Basically, paint is applied to a smooth surface and is then transferred to another (paper, material etc), either by hand or by press. It’s a simple technique, but one that can be used to produce a wide variety of unique images.

The monoprinting workshop is just one of the adult art activity days, ranging from papermaking to rag rugging, currently being offered by the recently revamped museum. Helen Round, who helps to develop the organisation’s programme of activities, was keen to reintroduce the days after having her enthusiasm for art encouraged by a workshop ‘many years ago’.

Helen, who is a textile artist and member of the Drawn to the Valley group of artists, led the workshop. After a quick introduction it was down to business with a sentence guaranteed to make the collective stomachs of the participants drop: ‘I’d like you to make a few sketches from the museum exhibits.’

It soon became apparent, however, that fine art drawing skills are not a prerequisite for printmaking.

After covering a sheet of plexiglass with acrylic paint we placed our sketches onto the painted sheet and traced our drawings. As well as the traditional pencil, Helen encouraged us to use our ‘other’ hand, fingers and erasers to transfer our images and achieve ‘interesting’ effects. Removing our drawings revealed a positive image on the back of paper and an inverse in the remaining paint. This was transferred, using a roller, onto a piece of paper to create another print. The variations on this technique are many – layering paint, smearing colours, adding cut-outs to the painted plexiglass for example.

After a couple of hours of experimenting with this technique we moved on to a press and printing inks. Plastic covered cardboard rollered with ink was passed thro ugh the press together with a piece of paper pre-soaked in water. The effect of the press was to spread the inks very thinly into the wet paper, allowing for multiple layering of colours and the addition of different shapes to the print through the use of stencils for example..

The final monoprint can also be used in other projects. Stitching, colouring and collaging are just a few techniques that can be added. And of course the wipes used to clean the plexiglass (which, worryingly, are primarily used to clean babies’ bottoms) can also provide inspiration for mixed-media creations as well as an interesting visual record of the day

So much of the success of a workshop is down to the facilitator. Helen was excellent – showing us the basics and encouraging us to experiment. Materials were plentiful, so it was with straining carrier bags that we left the workshop at 3:30pm.

So I guess you want to see my efforts? Miro, eat your heart out…

For further information on adult art workshops visit the Plymouth Museum site.

posted by Heather Smith

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‘Whoever comes are the right people’ is the first principle of Open Space Technology, which is the technique the Exeter Northcott will use to inspire a theatrical revolution in the South West.

Apparently Open Space Technology (which sounds like standing around chatting) was pioneered in the UK by Improbable Theatre.

“Our vision is to have every corner of the building buzzing with conversations, heated debate and quiet coffees about what theatre is and what it can be here in Exeter and across the South West,” says the Northcott.

“Anyone can come and start or join a discussion and if you’ve had enough, you can go and join another one or start one of your own. We aim to ask questions, slay a few demons, share our inspirations and come up with a few ideas to take theatre forward.”

This redefining of South West theatre takes place on Saturday, June 13 between 10am-6pm and Sunday, June 14, 10am-2pm.

And unless you’re thinking the right people are those who pay (a weekend ticket is £20/£10), lunch on Saturday is included in the ticket price, free refreshments are available all day and all ticket holders receive a full printed report of the discussions that take place on the first day, so don’t be so cynical and get using that open space!

posted by Cptn

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A Tree Warden scheme is set to be relaunched by Teignbridge District Council and the Tree Council, and they need volunteers. You don’t have to be an expert, but you kinda need to like trees.

Anyone can join the scheme, but the under 16s need to be accompanied by a parent when performing duties.

A a Tree Warden volunteer you’ll get full training in things like surveying woodland and non-woodland trees, summer and winter tree identification, tree planting and aftercare, woodland ecology and management, seed collection and tree law – which apparently isn’t something confined to Lord of the Rings.

Tree wardens are need in: Bickington; Bishopsteignton; Buckfastleigh; Christow; Denbury & Torbryan; Dunsford; Ide; Ilsington; Kenn; Mamhead; Manaton; Moretonhampstead; Newton Abbot; Ogwell; Shaldon; Shillingford St George; Teignmouth; Whitestone and Widdecombe-in-the-Moor.

If you want to take park call Selwyn Sanders on 01626 215853 or email selwyn.sanders@teignbridge.gov.uk

posted by Cptn

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Katie Marie, she of the weekly column Not Bad For A Girl, got in touch to say a big thank you to everyone who voted for her in the Palm FM poll. And as a sign of her appreciation she’s offered her nominated song 3-1 as a free download on the site.

The song is available on the PRSD, and you can download it at your leisure. We’ve plonked it up on our (not so secret) Secret Page, so finding it shouldn’t be any bother.

Oh, and we have a direct link to the page, with the password in our latest newsletter.

Check out Katie Marie’s column, Not Bad For A Girl, every Thursday.

posted by Cptn

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With all the inside gen on what’s been going down at PRSD towers, plus a little heads-up on one of our (not too secret) secret additions of offers and giveaways on the site, the latest newsletter has a unique insight into the current PRSD developments

Exciting much!?

Well, we think so, so we’ve decided that if you sign up for the newsletter and email info@peoplesrepublicofsouthdevon.co.uk, we’ll send you the link to the newsletter you missed. Now, you can’t say fairer than that.

All that and you can still follow us on Twitter; Facebook; MySpace; Friendfeed and via RSS

And remember, sign up to the newsletter

posted by Cptn

(image: an old email newsletter)

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