Lager Time

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?I thought I'd write a thing, being that on Thursday (24th) I'm doing an event which is celebrating 10 years of Beats & Elements at Camden People's Theatre, in London. B&E is the theatre company I co-set up back, with my good pal Conrad Murray. EnjoyLINKS MENTIONED IN THE PEICENO MILK FOR THE FOXES FULL SHOW - filmed at Camden People's Theatre 2015NO MILK FOR THE FOXES TRAILERNO MILK FOR THE FOXES MUSIC VIDEOHIGH RISE ESTATE OF MIND TRAILIERHIGH RISE SOUNDTRACK ON SPOITFYBEATS & ELEMENTS: A HIP HOP THEATRE TRILOGY This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeing?This is the September instalment of Lager Time, which features a short story called Pegasus. It's voiced in the character of Reece who, if you've listened for a while, may remember from a series of stories I showed last year, called Young UnProfessional. This story sees him back school, and his failed attempts at trying to be a hard kid.Hope you enjoy, below are some links to some bits mentioned in the introduction. Until next time.Keep it Lager Than Life.Peas and tatersPaul—- - - - - - - — — - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -LINKSBeats & Elements 10 year birtthday - 24.10.24https://cptheatre.co.uk/whatson/Beats-and-Elements-ten-year-birthday-Kinda-Not-really-Things-can-only-get-betterBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcreeTHE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogy—- - - - - - - — — - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Welcome to Lager Time. Still not quite back in the rotuine yet of putting bits out, or to put it another way, I'm inbetween projects at the moment but I'm really enjoying it. I've been tinkering with little poems, stories and anecdotes which I've been sticking up on the Substack Notes section. So for this month, I've taken two of those bits, plus one older poem and played about with sticking some sound underneath.#1 - On Lockdown#2 - On Laughter#3 - The Unlicensed DiverI'll stick the words to each one below, so scrowll down if you want to read.If you can, please subsribe and or recommend this to a friend. It's slowly growing and Lager Time will be 3 years in old October; imagaine that! Let's keep it moving on, large-up to all the supporters and subscribers.Keep it Larger, wherever you arePeas and tatersPaulIf you're able to, these are ways you can support my workBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcreeTHE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogy This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Hope you're all well out there in Lager Land. This latest ediiton of Lager Time is a Not Quite Live Editon, number 4. First one I've done this year. Been a busy boy aint I?!In this episode I run through a new set of poems and stories plus a couple of tracks from a forthcoming EP More Bars of Boredom. It was a bit all over the gaff as I had to stop the recording twice, once because the music loaded in the wrong place then the other becuase my dogs decided to go nuts, barking, at the man trying to deliver an Amazon package.Hope you all enjoy, the poems / stories / bars will be below. If you enjoy this, please recommend to someone who you think also maight enjoy it.Stay tuned for details of the forthcoming Love Scripted Show at Marylebone Theatre on the 12th August.Pease and tatersPaul If you're able to, these are ways you can support my work BUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcree THE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shop Beats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogy  This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?As previously mentioned, I've been away, hence the podcast silence. This month is just a little update on the Euro's and what I've been up too, plus a few new poems I've got in the works (been a while since I banged any of those out!)Hope you're all good out there in Lager Land, enjoy the sun, enjoy the football, keep it larger than lifeIf you're feeling nice, give it a subscribe. And tell your mates. Please. The ones that might like this. Lovely. Poems below.PaulLINKSLove Scripted @ Birmingham Rep Theatre - Friday 19th JuneBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcreeTHE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogy Get full access to Lager Time at cree.substack.com/subscribe

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening? Welcome to Lager Time. This is the final edition in this series I've been writing, based on quotes from Marcus Aurelius's Meditations book. For each chapter, I selected one quote, then wrote something inspired by the quote. This piece is from Book 12, entitled On Renewal. If you like it, there's 11 more in the archives. I'm taking a little break for a while, but rest assured I'll be back soon. EnjoyP.S – If you're enjoying this, if you haven't already, you can subtribe here and if you think someone else might like it, please be sure to let them know. Much apricated, PaulIf you're able to, these are ways you can support my workBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcreeTHE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shop Get full access to Lager Time at cree.substack.com/subscribe

Greetings, bonjoour, what's happening. This is the penultimate episode / blog in this series where I've been getting stuck into the Meditations book, and writing bits based off quotes from each of the 12 books. 'Just as those who try to block your progress along the straight path of reason will not be able to divert you from principled action, so you must not let them knock you out of your good will towards them. Rather you should watch yourself equally on both fronts, keeping not only a stability of judgement and action but also a mild response to those who try to stop you or are otherwise disaffected. To be angry with them is no less a weakness than to abandon your course of action and capitulate in panic. Both amount equally to desertion of duty – either being frightened into retreat, or setting yourself at odds with your natural kinsmen and friends.'BOOK 11 – 9BUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcreeLove Scripted show, @ Call and response, ACTA Bristol 30th May 2024https://acta-bristol.com/whats-on/call-response/THE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogy Get full access to Lager Time at cree.substack.com/subscribe

What is my directing mind to me? What am I turning it into now, what use am I making of it? Is it drained of intelligence? Is it divorced and broken off from society? Is it so interfused and welded to the flesh that it sways with its tides?BOOK 10 – 24If you're able to, these are ways you can support my workBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcreeTHE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogyLove Scripted @ ACTA, Bristol May 30thhttps://acta-bristol.com/whats-on/call-response/#more-24704Piped Piper show @ Southbank Centre, London 31st May – 2nd Junehttps://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whats-on/family-young-people/pied-piper-hip-hop-family-musical‘Oh no my sandwiches' Video loopPMA -Persil advert Get full access to Lager Time at cree.substack.com/subscribe

Look then at what is happening now. Only the intelligent creatures have forgotten the urge to be unified with each other: only here will you have no confluence BOOK 9 - 9.3Based on what I witnessed and experienced, growing up around Horley and Crawley, there was a lot of low-level isms - racism, sexism, classism, homophobia - ism and probably more isms - maybe even Marxism, but I didn't know what that was until after I'd left the place, and too many people had done alright off of Maggie Thatcher and bought their council houses for that ever to take hold. There was one guy I remember, who was the father of a kid I went to cubs with and a nice man. He had a long beard and wore sandals with his socks; maybe he was a communist lone-wolf, quietly and unsuccessfully trying to lead local workers away from Benidorm, towards a glorious workers revolution. Alas, I digress.  Most of the racism, seemed to me, to take two forms: the first being jokes: which mainly saw Pakistanis, reduced to the P-word and serving as the main ingredient for crass punchlines, sometimes just puns on typical names, sometimes about skin-colour and culture. The P-word would get thrown around a lot, and was often just a lazy, very ignorant, catch-all term for brown and also darker-skinned people in general, not just limited to Asians: this could include people from Greek, Turkish, middle eastern or Portuguese backgrounds, or sometimes it was just aimed solely at Muslims. Perhaps this was relative to the area I grew up in, as Crawley had large Indian and Pakistani communities. It also had a big Irish community, and there were plenty of jokes about them too.Some of these jokes were fairly innocuous, some were plain nasty, and sometimes they weren't even jokes, it would just be the P-word hurled casually out of a car window, speeding passed some ordinary person just going about their day.The second form would take the lazy parroting of thought-lacking negative tropes, to diagnose broader social-ills, like immigrants our taking our jobs etc. I heard these sorts of ones quite a lot. My guess was, looking back, that a lot of these statements, or accusations, were sometimes made out of fear - fear of losing something, like employment, or identity, but more often than not, like the above jokes, were made innocuously and in ignorance, with very little thought given to the consequences of saying those things.When I was in cadets, I once got caught telling a P-word joke to another kid, and was made to stand-up by the commanding officer, in front of the group and given a severe bollocking. He was a white guy, but he was really angry about it, and fair enough, though I meant nothing by it, I learned my lesson. I remember feeling ashamed, and wished I hadn't said it. I certainly wasn't thinking about what the kid sat in ear-shot of me, who was from a Sri-Lanken background, might be thinking or feeling.There was a third and much nastier form too, which from what I saw, was a lot rarer, but I encountered a few people who would probably fit into this category – and that is those who actually believed in the supremacy of white people, but more relevantly, had a severe hatred of those that weren't them. That also included gay people, Jews and the Irish. There was a pub in Crawley which I forget the name of, which me and my mates would often drive passed, which had a reputation for housing BNP meetings; we never went in to validate those claims, we just knew to stay well away. The couple of people who I came across, who would fit into this category, were as you might imagine, pretty scary. There was occasionally one or two of them in the pubs I'd drink in; and there were always stories that accompanied them - doing jail-time in this prison or that, or running with the Chelsea hooligan firms in the 80's. One of them had a spiders-Webb tatoo on his forehead. Again, just steered well clear of them.Though Horley was predominately white, Crawley was a lot more ethnically mixed, as was the friendship group I grew up with; and I'm all the better for it. We naturally learned things about one another and absorbed aspects of each other cultures. When I first met my wife, who is Goan, she was pleasantly surprised that I knew a little bit about her very nuanced culture. My oldest friend from school is from a proud Goan family, and I knew other Goan families in the area too, as we all went to school and church together. That definitely won me some brownie points with her; no pun intended; but amusing none the less.Of course we didn't all grow-up the same, and our experiences would've varied, especially when it come to any sort of discrimination; but we all had lots in common. Went to the same schools, wore the same clothes, listened to the same music, worked the same jobs, had to avoid the same rude-boys trying to shake you down in the underpass and on the trains, and the same wide-boys looking to fight anyone that accidently stepped on their loafers in the pubs. Regardless of our differences, we came-up together.The other isms, typically tended to involve making sexist comments towards women, or referring to them as birds, middle class kids calling working-class kids townies, which later morphed into the more pernicious chavs. Middle class kids just tended to be referred to as posh, sometimes followed by the C-Word. Depending on who I was with, and where I was, I was one or the other; chav or posh, I could never figure it out; trapped in some undefined class-purgatory; like a dull lesson in school where nothing gets learned. Pun intended.As I got older, I began to develop a very basic understanding of how politics worked in the UK – broadly meaning, I got as far as working out that Labour was left-wing and Torries were right-wing, this also coupled with other simplistic notions of social issues, like classism, racism and sexism, and things like history – understanding that Britian was a colonial power and their involvement in the slave trade. All contributing towards my ideas of what discrimination is, and what pernicious forms it can take, and the different groups it can target. I would much later come to realise, that my understanding was grounded in an idea of liberalism, and stiving towards equality. Though I didn't know a great deal about politics and society etc (and would sometimes get very frustrated by this lack of knowledge) I considered myself left-wing. Though generally speaking, it was an affluent area, Surrey and Sussex, but I could see the effects of poverty around me. My family didn't have a lot of money growing up, so I thought things like the NHS and social security were important, and every now and again, Mum and Dad would school me on things like this. They listened to Radio 4 and encouraged me to read books, which is probably where the posh slur came from, as that was seen as a middle-class thing. And of course, we were also Catholic - for us, there was a duty to help those less-fortunate, even if we ourselves didn't have much.Leaning left, felt like the right to do; no pun intended. I knew people who went either way; but I also knew a lot of people who just didn't care for politics. Though Crawley was pre-dominantly working-class, or upper-working-class, there were lots of people there who'd done well for themselves- setting up building firms and the like or bought their council houses and got on the property ladder, so they would tend to swing right, but not always. The town often went from Labour to Torries then back again.I was interested in trying to understand how the world worked but had no idea where to start. I began to read books, but when going to the library, or going into a book-shop, I just didn't know what it was I was looking for; I just had this feeling that I wanted to learn some stuff… whatever that stuff was.From 17, I had a job as an apprentice in an IT firm, where I was left to my own devices a lot. I had access to the internet, which was still a novel thing for me, and via a Drum and Bass message board that I wasted a lot of time posting on, I found another message board, which would put-up political content. This is where I first learnt what the word subversive meant. At the time, the UK had just gone to war in Iraq and I remember feeling quite strongly against it, probably influenced by the stuff I was reading, but also many people I knew were against it. It didn't feel right, and of course, they lied about the weapons and that. However, I was conflicted, as I'd also spent a few years in Marine Cadets and at one point, when I sensed I weren't going to achieve much at school, I was all-set on joining the Army (easier-going than the Marines.) Through cadets, I probably knew of people who went out there to serve; it was a job after-all, and I had a little bit of appreciation for what they were doing and how dangerous it was. I also didn't like the way some elements of the more middle-class left, would demonise soldiers, who were often working-class; just for doing a job.Though there was no way on God's earth, I was ever going to swap my Nike Air's for sandals, at some point I figured out what Capitalism was. With the irony fully lost on me, I decided it was a bad thing. Using my generous 30% discount from working in huge-retail-chain-store HMV, I went into huge-retail-chain-store Waterstones, who were owned by an even an even huge-er-parent-company; I bought some more books by the likes of Michael Moore, and another one about the Bush Administration rigging the election in America; further solidifying my slant-left. I was finding causes which evoked feelings in me; which at the time of reading felt right, no pun intended. This was even followed by a stint of using a biro to write pseudo-radical messages in public karzis about TV-brainwashing us, and McDonalds-eating-greedy-Americans exploiting everyone. I'd graduated from the fine-art school of Millwall Run From No-one and a crap-tag called Luna, to full-blown political sloganeering.I was 27 by the time I started working professionally in the arts. I felt like I'd already been round the block a bit - had multiple different low-paying jobs, multiple different addresses and had been almost permanently skint since the age of 17, but for the first time I was encountering people who were around my own age, who were themselves not long out of university and had barley ever worked a normal job; which for me, was eye-opening. Though I felt way out of my depth, not really knowing anything about the arts; theatre, poetry or literature, I had lots of opinions and thought I'd be alright as I assumed, and rightly so (no-pun intended) that in these circles nearly all of these people were loud and proud left-wingers. Even though I refused to play-down my love of getting tanked-up on lager, donna-kebabs, football and Nike Air Max - I definitely thought we had something in common.What a lot of them had, and what I didn't have, was a university education, which often seemed to come with a set of very specific set of ideas around isms - like racism and sexism; which I came to learn, were very different from the ones I grew up with. I can remember starting to hear terms like white privilege, toxic masculinity, the patriarchy, decolonisation etc, a lot of which, I had to look up their meanings. Another term I learned was Imposter-syndrome ­which was definitely something I felt, being in that world. Whilst I had this near-constant thirst for knowledge, and ideas and opinions always swirling round my brain, I felt in no-way confident enough to discuss any of these ideas that evoked something in me. I just felt like I didn't understand them, because I wasn't smart or educated enough; or people would think I was an idiot, or worse, a bigot, who was way out of his depth; certainly on the last point that was true; but like before, I was interested in learning, and assumed, that these ideas were the right ones, no pun intended, as everyone leaned-left.However, what I began to notice was that lots of these terms and phrases were getting thrown about very casually, and similar to the discriminative slurs I heard as a kid - became catch-all-terms to describe very complex situations; and in some cases, terms like white – would even become a pejorative in and of itself. The more I'd hear them, the more I'd get these moments where my brain would go wait a minute, what?I can remember someone once remarked to me, in what I took as a ­­­­­joking-but-not-joking ­­way – what would a white-privileged-male-know-about-police-brutality?! ­I immediately had images of those coal-miners getting cavalry-charged by mounted-police in the 80's; and I'd witnessed on a number of occasions truncheon-swigging old-bill getting handy at the football, plus I knew of a few lads who'd been indiscriminately thrown in the back of bully-vans and given a shoeing; as well as the numerous times I'd personally been thrown up against fences or walls to be searched, for no good reason; all courtesy of the police.Another time I was at a poetry event, where a female read a poem out, about going to a party with a male-friend, leaving together then going their separate ways. She went on to describe her having to endure creepy-men harassing her on the tube– which I fully sympathised with - until it got to the end bit where she went into an invective about men not having to endure this when travelling around London. I had another one of them wait, a minute what?! - moments. So many of my mates, including me, have been either robbed, physically attacked or both, whilst on public-transport, especially when we were younger. It was something I used to have to factor in when going out - playing cat-and-mouse on the slam-doors, just to avoid the gangs going up and down the trains, robbing mostly young-guys of their wallets and phones. It was around this time, I learned another term ­­­whataboutery ­­– which normally was followed by a sigh and an eye roll if I, or someone else was to ever push-back a bit on some of these very broad and unnuanced claims.What became more and more alarming, was not just the demonisation of people that pushed-back on some of these ideas, by claiming they were right-wing or worse,  ­especially people like me, who was never right-wing - it was the near blanket adoption by seemingly everyone in the arts, into what I think George Orwell described as Group Think. And the more these ideas spread, the more divorced from reality they became. To me, this definitely has aspects of classism to it.With most of these ideas, whether it's queer-theory, whiteness, anti-Racism, post-colonialism etc, they all seem to have some tenets in them, which make me think yea, fair enough, mate. During 2021 when there was a lot of discourse around the BLM movement – lots of black people were talking openly about their experiences of racism – things like having their hair touched by random strangers, I thought, yea, fair enough, mate, that's not on and shouldn't be happening. Most of these theories start from a place of anti-discrimination; so I'm on board with that, and I think most people are. But some of it, is just so wound-up in highly-theoretical academic concepts, it's lost all sense of reality. That feeling I had as a kid, growing up with friends from different backgrounds, that despite our differences. we had many things in common - we had a togetherness - I don't feel that with this stuff, it's highly divisive, putting people into their different categories. My mates used to laugh when I'd tell them about some of the wacky things I was hearing in the arts, until over-time, it started coming into their workplaces too; probably unchallenged.  There are much better-placed people in this world, who can provide decent, valid criticisms of a lot of this stuff, without going into the youtube territory of ­­right-wing-anti-wokeness and all that. It took me a long-time to learn that a lot of it, has a foundation in post-modernism, and not liberalism, but the two get conflated; which is perhaps by design. I think most people out there, who don't know the origins of this stuff, and some of the table-turning philosophical mind-bombs, like there's no such thing as objective truth  - will just assume it's liberal; when it quite often isn't.What I can say, from what I've seen, it can certainly make for crap-art. When people feel they have to crow-bar these messages in all the time, into whatever it is they're making, or worse, they see themselves as high-priests having to educate the great unwashed with their righteous art, to me, it's no longer art, it becomes something else, like activism, or worse, propaganda. There's a time and place for both of those, of course, just not everywhere and in everything from poetry to theatre to Netflix and Nike adverts. It's not left, and it definitely ‘aint right. Pun intended.   If you're able to, these are ways you can support my workPiped Piper: A Hip Hop Family Musical at Southbank Centre, Londonhttps://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/whats-on/family-young-people/pied-piper-hip-hop-family-musicalBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcreeTHE SUBURBAN BOOK - My 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy - 2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogy Get full access to Lager Time at cree.substack.com/subscribe

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningThis week, I look at a quote form Book 8 of Marcus Aurelius's Mediitations, talking about computer games and not ever completing themOn Eating That MarshmallowIn the constitution of the rational being I can see no virtue that counters justice: but I do see the counter to pleasure – self-control.BOOK 8 – 39If you're able to, these are ways you can support my workRomeo & Julliet@ Polka Theatrehttps://polkatheatre.com/event/romeo-and-juliet/THE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogyBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcree Get full access to Lager Time at cree.substack.com/subscribe

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Welcome to Lager Time.This week's episode is called On Good Help vs Bad help, and is inspired by a quote from book 7 of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius EnjoyBUY-ME-A-LAGER - https://ko-fi.com/paulcreeThe Suburban Book: - https://paulcree.co.uk/shop/thesuburbanRomeo & Julliet @ Polka Theatrehttps://polkatheatre.com/event/romeo-and-juliet/ Get full access to Lager Time at cree.substack.com/subscribe

Greetings, bonjour, whatt's happening? This week's episode I get stuck into a quote from book 6 of Medittaions of Marcus Aurelius, it's called On the Good CatholicsEnjoyRomeo & Julliet@ Polka Theatrehttps://polkatheatre.com/event/romeo-and-juliet/BUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcreeTHE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogy Get full access to Lager Time at cree.substack.com/subscribe

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningWelcome to Lager Time, legions of lager-lites, grab your tins, your bottles and your pints. My name is Paul Cree and this is my little podcast and blog where I share bits of my writing: stories, poems, thoughts, sometimes music etc.So what's been happening? A fair bit. Last week I was in rehearsals for a theatre show, Romeo & Julliet at the Polka Theatre in Wimbledon. It's a modern retelling, set in Merton, and is all done through live music - Rap, beatbox, singing, guitar and a loop-station. The show opens this Saturday and is aimed at young people, between 9-12 but there should be something for all the family in it. There's over 26 songs in the show that I have to learn, as well as almost a hundred ques that I need to remember. I'm one of the understudies but will be performing between the 10th – 14Th April, much later in the run. Alongside that, it's my usual work with Dream Arts and Fourth Monkey Drama School.Before I get round to introducing the next piece in this little Meditations series, I wanted to hark back to the intro post for this latest season (and also the reason why I started this latest series) where I took about reading books, to chat a little bit about what I've been reading, as I suppose it's relevant. I tend to have a couple of books on the go at one time, one fiction and one non-fiction or light-ish  book.I recently finished ploughing my way through Mister Good Times, which is the autobiography of soul DJ Norman Jay, the man behind the Good Times sound system. It was a decent read as it charts the development of lots of the music that came out of London from the 70's onwards. The book was given to me as a birthday gift, from a good pal of mine, Richard Purnell, who himself is a writer (and wrote one of my favourite blogs about old books with the old dick and balls scibbled in them) Richard has recently started his own Substack blog, which you can find a link to HERE or in the notes of the podcast.So in that Norman Jay book, when he talks about his younger years, getting into football and the like, he mentions reading these Skinhead books by a writer called Richard Allen. The way he talked about them, was that at the time they were some kind of street phenomenon, lots of working-class teens were reading these books; which took my interest. Last month, whilst having a few beers with my two oldest brothers and a few of their old mates, one of them, Dom, by chance was telling me he was re-reading all those Skinhead books. He consequently sent me a link to a BBC documentary from back in the 90's, about the books and the writer, Richard Allen, who seemingly no one knew much about, and was pretty far removed from that culture, yet, he wrote a boat-load of these cult classics, which have become collectors items. So I'm currently reading the first, Skinhead, and it's alright. There's a lot of violence, racism, and sexism - the main character and his mates are horrible, it pulls no punches in that regard, but if it's a snapshot of those times, even if it's somewhat exaggerated, then I think it plays a part. I certainly don't find myself rooting for this main character, he's an anti-hero in that respect – but I'm enjoy it. It reminds me of a lot of Irvine Welsh books, many of which I've read, or that BBC film Made in Britain that Skinnyman sampled on his first album Council Estate of Mind. I wonder if all those people were influenced by these books.Aside from Skinhead, I'm ploughing my way through a book I first read a couple of years ago, called New Class War by Michael Lind, which came out in 2020 I think, if you want to get a good understanding of the political climate of the last few years in the UK and the US it's well worth a read. And I've also been reading a book by the comedian Rob Becket, off the back of other comedians' books - Romesh Ranganathan and Geoff Norcott. All of which make me a laugh a lot more when reading what they've written, than they do when they perform their stand-up; I've no idea why that is.So, continuing with these pieces I've been writing, inspired by the 12 books of Mediations by Marcus Aurelius, this week I get stuck into a quote from Book 5 and it's called On Mad Skills vs Try Hard. Almost half-way through this series, hope you're enjoying it as much as I am.As ever, if you like this odd little niche thing that I'm doing over here, please recommend it to a mate, and if you fancy whipping the wallet out, you can make a donation on my Ko-Fi account, Buy-Me-A-Lager – there's a few copies left of my first book the Suburban, which you can grab on my website alongside a couple of other bits – then of course there's some music on Spotify, Apple, and videos on You Tube and all that caperKeep it Larger   Peas and tatersPaulBUY-ME-A-LAGER - https://ko-fi.com/paulcreeThe Suburban Book: - https://paulcree.co.uk/shop/thesuburbanRomeo & Julliet @ Polka Theatrehttps://polkatheatre.com/event/romeo-and-juliet/Richard Purnell is Writing - By The Factory Wall (Richard Purnell) – Why a Kindle is Not for Mehttps://richardpurnell.org/2011/04/23/why-a-kindle-is-not-for-me/Mister Good Times – Norman Jay MBEhttps://www.waterstones.com/book/mister-good-times/norman-jay/9780349700670Skinhead Farewell – Richard Allen DocumentaryMade In Britain Filmhttps://www.imdb.com/title/tt0084287/Skinnyman – Council Estate of MindOn reading Books – Paul Creehttps://cree.substack.com/p/on-reading-booksOn Mad Skills vs Try HardThey cannot admire you for your intellect. Granted – but there are many other qualities of which you cannot say, ‘but that is not the way I am made'. So display those virtues which are wholly in your own power – integrity, dignity, hard-word, self-denial, contentment, frugality, kindness, independence, simplicity, discretion, magnanimity. Do you not see how many virtues you can already display without any excuse of lack of talent or aptitude? And yet you are still content to lag behind. Or does the fact that you have no inborn talent oblige you to grumble, to scrimp, to toady, to blame your poor body, to suck up, to brag, to have your mind in such turmoil? No, by heaven, it foes not! You could have got rid of all this long ago, and only be charged – if charge there is – with being rather slow and dull of comprehension. And yet even this can be worked on – unless you ignore or welcome your stupidity. BOOK 5 - 5Back in the mid-nineties there was this striker at Millwall called Chris Malkin. I remember we signed him from Tranmere, after we got relegated from what was then Division 1, I think, which is now the Championship, I think. He was a target-man, very tall - scored the majority of his goals with his head, of course. I don't remember him being prolific, but he would get ten to fifteen goals a season.To me, he didn't play or look like a professional footballer. What is a professional footballer even meant to look like?... to a twelve year old at least; but to me back then he looked about 50, like he should be wearing some cheap ill-fitting suit, cheerily teaching science in a secondary school to a load of dis-interested mouthy twelve year-olds, constantly mugging him off - This gangly awkward guy, with dark hair that jumped with all the grace of a giraffe on a bouncy castle; at least that is how I remember him. But the main thing I remember thinking about Chris Malkin, was: how is this geezer a professional footballer?Here's the thing, making that statement would suggest he was shit, he wasn't. He was an effective striker at that level, who had a decent career in the lower leagues. I think for my simple young mind, to be a pro, and a striker at that, you needed to have loads of mad skills. As in overhead kicks, multiple stepovers, taking on ten players and scoring hattricks (not that Millwall ever had anyone like that… except maybe Christophe Kinet, the smoking Belgian) – all the while looking like you're the popular kid in school that gets all the chicks, like the smoking Belgian Christophe Kinet.There were a couple of kids I knew growing up, who I remember as being amazing players: too good for the playground, too good for the school team and too good for the local teams – they both got on the books at professional clubs, Crystal Palace and Southampton I think  - but never quite made it as pro's. How?! I remember thinking, they've got mad skillsI never quite understood it, because when we are at school, what these kids could do with a football was out of this world, so it often made make me ponder If these kids mad skills aren't mad-skills enough - how much in the way of mad-skills do you need to make it as a pro?!Much later in life, in my early twenties, there was another guy I played 5-a side with, who'd played non-league for a stint. He was amazing, so much so that our main tactic was – just give the ball to Matt, and he would ping goals in from impossible angles, using both feet, whenever he felt like it. I believe he got as far the reserves for a sixth-tier side, but never even made it at that level; so, again, I'd think How much mad-skill do you need to make it as a pro??? And what is the average mad-skill level of a pro? Insane skill???Not until many years later, did I start to think, that maybe there is a bit more too it than just being technically brilliant with a  football at your feet. Obviously, just not to me.There's that famous Alex Ferguson quote, which goes something like ‘Hard work will always overcome natural talent when natural talent does not work hard enough.'Now the case of Chris Malkin, I've no idea if this is true or not, but I imagine he was on that training pitch early every day, putting a 1000% into every drill, following every instruction exactly, attending every charity appearance or children's ward trip at Christmas, boots always clean, performing every task to perfection. And a cursory glance on-line, tells me he's running his own physio-therapy practise, which would suggest he would've had to undergo training for to get certified; which was probably hard work. I think this is how the Neville brothers made it as pros at Man United – they're tactic was just work your bollox off and be as diligent as possible. In my mind, these are the people that mainly make it in the world of professional football and probably life in general. Even the tiny percentile of players who genuinely have mad-skills, like a Ronaldo, have probably dedicated their entire lives to this football caper, obsessively, since they were kids.For the last fifteen years (give or take a few where I had to go back to part-time) I've (just about) made my living (on and off) in the arts, working as a writer and a performer, of sorts. Prior to this, I've had a number of different low-paying jobs, some of which were pretty tough, at times. This job, at times, believe it or not, can be tough, but not tough like grafting on a building site, in the depths of winter, eight hours a day, for not-a-lot-of-dough. The toughness of what I do is in the insecurity of it and the occasional difficulties of trying to work with vulnerable people. I'm self-employed. Most of my money is earned through running workshops or working on community projects, often in and out of educational settings, working with mainly young people, but not always, showing them what I do, or working with them to create something: theatre, poems, music etc – and occasionally, I get paid to perform or write something, that gets performed in some sort of performance-venue, with lights and that.What I do is related to shows: stages and lights, dusty velvet curtains, I guess. Occasionally I'll meet people who'll ask what I do, when I tell them, sometimes, they say something like I'd love to do what you do… which I'm never quite sure how to respond to it, but sometimes, they'll go on elaborate; because:I write songs / I paint / I write poems  / My mates say I'm funny and I should do stand-up  / I was amazing in my school play as the donkey.…  / I wrote this amazing song once…none of which I have any problem with, until it occasionally goes beyond this into the tricker conversational waters of:   I'd love to do what you do…. But how did YOU get to do it?? You?? If I had YOUR luck I would be amazing at what YOU doWhat I often interpret as being implied here is: I'd be much better at it than YOU if I was as lucky YOU, YOU don't deserve to do what YOU doThe latter example, being the bitter one, is quite rare to be fair; but it has happened on a few occasions. The most common comment is I'd love to what you do implying something is stopping them from doing something they want to, due to something beyond their control, like some invisible force of unfairness, which I've somehow avoided.When these rare conversations take place and get to the this point, being the judgemental prick that I can often be, my response in my head to their statement of longing is no, you probably wouldn't want to do what I do, because chances are:you're not going to want to spend half the time skint, and the other half worrying about where the next load of work is coming from.You probably like holidays and probably won't want to go years without a holiday to go on, you probably expect holidays every yearOr more importantly, whilst you're in the formative years of any artistic pursuit long before you get paid even the smallest bit of money for your art:you're not going to want to make the necessary sacrifices, like choosing to not go with your mates on a Friday night, or play computer-games or watch Love Island when you get home from work, so you can work on this weird little arty-thing you do, which they probably won't understand or mug you off forAnd then then once you've got a bit of something that you might want to share to the world:haul your arse round a load of half empty open-mics on a cold Monday evening, where no is listening or you are routinely heckled by drunk locals who think you're a cunt just for stepping in front of a mic, or whatever the laborious soul-destroying equivalent is for other art forms.All of which is necessary, in order to develop and hone your craft. It can also be pretty boring and repetitive. It takes a long time to get even remotely good at something, especially, when you don't have that much talent or self-confidence to begin with; which is true in my case.I've met a few people in the game, who may well have had a shiny spoon hanging out their arse to begin with, or who've had the red-carpet rolled out for them in terms of funding and opportunities, with neither examples having ever earned any of it, but most people I know, who are successful in this, have had to work their arses off and made plenty of sacrifices in order to get where they are. Or they just didn't have many mates in the first place, even then, they've still had to graft and wade through the self-loathing.For all my many faults, and I have many, this is the one thing where I can say I've worked pretty hard at it and made plenty of sacrifices. And look at me, I'm flying, mate…. Well not quite, I'm surviving, just about, but it helps to keep things in perspective for me when I think about the vast majority people who have an artistic craft or passion, but never make anything from it, not that financial gain should be the objective, but it does help, because you need a lot of time to persue this crap and still keep the roof over your head.For me, part of my drive to make a career out of all of this, was that I thought it was the only thing I was remotely good at. I wasn't academic, I had no qualifications and since dropping out of college, I'd worked in a string of low-paying shit jobs, which I myself was mostly shit at; trying to pay bills and have some sort of life on top of that was really hard. It was a pretty miserable existence; minus a few laughs, most of which involved me being drunk or stoned (though there were plenty of times I did turn this down in favour of staying in to do this) – the only other times I remember being happy was sitting on my own, beavering away trying to write rap lyrics or stuff like this. At least doing this, skint or not, I've created some stuff, that exists in the world, that I'm proud of, met tons of people, had some great experiences and made loads of memories. Being a brain surgeon, plumber or programmer just weren't on the cards, mate, maybe this was the only way to live some sort of meaningful life. But to get this far, has involved a lot of sacrifice.A lot of the gigs and opportunities I got, in the early days, were probably because I was in the right place at the right time, so I got lucky in that respect - but I had to put myself into the place, in the first place, in order to be in the right place and make sure I had something to offer should someone notice me there. Most of the work I get now, is from people I've worked with before, or my name has been given to someone, because I turn up and do the best job I can; and I do feel like I have a unique skill-set and a load of experience under my belt, so I have something unique to offer.What I didn't have, at any point, was mad skills. I had some ability, which was undeveloped, as in, I could perform a bit, rap a bit and write a bit but nothing polished or super stand-out. I may have stood-out amongst my friends, none of which did anything like this; but that's easy. Some people are happy being that geezer in the local pub who plays guitar / is well funny / does magic tricks but that was never enough for me. Putting myself into places where there were lots of people like me, doing something similar, but with more talent, or honed skills, experience and confidence, kicked me up the arse to get much better at what I was doing and made me realise I'm not special at all, just another prick in the arty-haystack (see what I done there). So I had to graft, and even then, it's not like I've made it. Whatever that even means.When working with young people, I often come across ones with natural talent, and naturally, they'll shine in the groups they are in, and the groups will want to elevate them to front and centre; even when they don't always deserve it. Whenever I see them not trying that hard, I try my best to implore to them that, it's just now how the game works, and try and paraphrase that Alex Ferguson quote, as opposed to blowing smoke up their arse and letting them sit on their laurels; because life aint that long, and in the end, has little sympathy or patience for a 40 with rapidly fading good looks, who should've been a footballer, painter, actor, rapper, because they had mad skills Get full access to Lager Time at cree.substack.com/subscribe

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Welcome to Lager Time, legions of lager-lites, grab your tins, your bottles and your pints. My name is Paul Cree and this is my little podcast and blog where I share bits of my writing, stories, poems, thoughts, sometimes music; I don't get out that much these days, outside of my work, so this is my little outlet for the creative things I like to do.And so onto this week's piece itself, continuing with the Meditations theme, this week's piece is based on a quote from Book 4 where I talk about why I didn't like Grime.Keep it Larger Than LifePeas and tatersPaulLINKSDream Arts - https://www.dreamarts.org.ukPictures from Devon show - https://doorsteparts.co.uk/scratch-share-night/Romeo & Julliet @ Polka Theatre Tickets - https://polkatheatre.com/event/romeo-and-juliet/BUY-ME-A-LAGER - https://ko-fi.com/paulcreeThe Suburban Book: - https://paulcree.co.uk/shop/thesuburban This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Welcome to Lager Time, legions of lager-lites, grab your tins, your bottles and your pints. So this weeks episode is called On Bull-Shit Detection and is written in response to a quote from Book 3 of Marcus Aurelius' Meditations' in case you've not got the memo about what I'm doing over here. Hope you enjoy itLINKSRomeo & Julliet @ the Polka - https://polkatheatre.com/event/romeo-and-juliet/Lakeisha Lynch-Stevens - https://www.instagram.com/lakeishals/?hl=enConrad Murray - https://www.instagram.com/rodium/?hl=enBeats & Elements - https://twitter.com/BeatsElementsIf you'd like to support my work the best thing you can probably do is introduce it to someone who you think might like it, as weird and niche as this little thing is. Alternatively, you can make a donation on KO-FI, or BUY-MY-BOOK – The Suburban – plays I co-wrote with Beats & Elements – Hip Hop Theatre Anthology or just stream my music or watch the videos or whatever; you know the coo.www.paulcree.co.ukHave a banging weekendKeep it Larger than lifePeas and tatersPaul  This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Welcome to Lager Time, legions of lager-lites, grab your tins, your bottles and your pints. .So onto this week's episode; where I've written a little thing based on a quote from Book 2 of Marcus Aurelius' Meditations  - it's called On Moaning, Self-Loathing and Pointing the Finger. Hope you enjoyIn the meantime, if you'd like to support my work the best thing you can probably do is introduce it to someone who you think might like it. Alternatively you can make a donation on KO-FI, or BUY-MY-BOOK – The Suburban – there's only a few copies left of this, or the book of plays I co-wrote – Hip Hop Theatre Anthology or just stream my music or watch the videos or whatever; you know the coo.That's it for the update, hope you enjoy the piece.Have a banging weekend.Peas and tatersPaulBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcreeTHE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogy This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Meditations Book 1 – On the Sport of Football SupportGreetings, bonjour, what's happening?Welcome to Lager Time, this here, the first episode of 2024.I hope your festive period shenanigans were all good? Lager consumed and laughs had.Today's main course, Marcus Aurelius and his tasty little book of mediations. I tried to explain what I'm doing with this in the previous episode before Christmas. So I looked at a particular quote from Book 1 for this, went away and wrote a thing entitled On The Sport of Football Support. Now, upon listening back I released there was an error in it. The infamous play-off riot against Birmingham was in 2002, how could I forget it?!I hope you enjoy this episode and the following ones; I'm enjoying writing them.Keep it Larger than life in 2024.Peas and tatersPaulCene Magazine interviewBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcreeIf you're able to, these are some ways you can support my workBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcreeTHE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogySTREAM TOAST IN THE MACHINE EPhttps://paulcree.hearnow.com/toast-in-the-machine This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

 ON READING BOOKSAn introduction to the next season on Lager timeGreetings, bonjour, what's happening.Lager Lites of Lager Land Unite.The day I'm writing this is December 12th, 2023. It's raining outside and there's a load of soggy cardboard waiting to be recycled; sounds a little bit like the current Man United squad. I'm pretty sure in the run-up too, and the then run-down of Christmas, this collapsed-cardboard exhibition sitting by my bins, is only going to increase; unless the bin-truck livens-up and relieves me of said cardboard before the January transfer window. Such trivialities pre-occupy my mind on a regular basis, nagging away, nagging away, but why? More on my attempts to wrestle with that in a bit…So I've been pretty busy these last few weeks since I put the final episode out of Young Unprofessional. The drama and music project I co-run throughout the year, with Dream Arts, in London, is this Thursday doing our now annual end-of year Christmas sharing at Marylebone Theatre, where we show the first part of the next piece we're developing; which is the third show now; so there's been lots going on with that project.I did a really fun gig at the Alley Pally a few weeks back (second time I've been performed there this year.) with two beatboxers: ABH and Native the Creative, who I know from Beatbox Aacadmey. It was in support of the final show on The Streets' latest tour. We were only based in the food court there, but it was pretty rammed-out, and we were told at one point, we had more people watching us than the official support act on the main stage. I was on rap duties, and a smattering of percussion, while the other two handled the beats. Had a banging time, mate.Aside from that, and a few other workshops, I've been in my little home studio getting my nut-down studying, in preparation for (hopefully) starting to take on some voice-over work. It's been something I've been looking to do for the last couple of years and I've been slowly improving my recording-set up and learning a lot more about that side of things. It's an investment, but I need something else to bring the reddies in, beyond what I've been doing, sometimes I still don't know how I've managed to keep it all going this long. Doing Lager Time has been really helpful in that voice learning process, as I get to try things out hereMeditations on MeditaionsSomething else I've been doing throughout this year is collecting quotes from the various books I've been reading. Which leads me nicely onto the next little season (if you like) of Lager Time, which will be me writing little response pieces, to various quotes from Marcus Aurelius' Meditations; you can consider this an introduction of sorts.I've been reading books, regularly since my late teens, mainly non-fiction but not always. I didn't used to enjoy reading, I didn't have the patience for it (and sometimes still don't) and perhaps saw it as an overstretched tentacle, emanating from my school into my bedroom, prodding me to read some dry book, for which I was supposed to write some muggy essay about, and probably never did; then felt ashamed about not doing it; so swerved books. Maybe.What I have always had, though, is a ferocious curiosity about all sorts of things. Fused with a frustration and often anger, that there's all sorts of things that I don't understand, it drove me to read books; but on my own terms.Something my dad pointed out to me when I was about 14 (and averse to reading books) – was that I was consuming as much information as I could: on Millwall, football in general and then later, music. Be it teletext, magazines and newspapers, radio, TV shows, asking people questions all the time, etc. All of which, in a sense is reading.  When I did eventually get going with reading books; I thought this is alright, mate, in fact, I loved it (but it's been a fractious relationship, I can tell you that)Over the years, I've built up a reading habit that's almost become a ritual for me and I get anxious if I miss it. Sometimes I look forward to travelling on trains, buses, aeroplanes, just because it's a good chance to read, and I find that something in the motion of travelling helps me get into it.  As mentioned, I do have a fractious relationship with reading, though, as I'm often in a state of what I can only describe as ‘fizziness,' which makes reading challenging. It's probably not that noticeable, unless you're sat next to me and my leg is constantly shaking, or I'm beatboxing or tapping-out beats, but mentally, it's like there's a skip-load of that popping-candy in my head, packed full of e-numbers, popping-off all over the gaff. It makes concentrating very difficult at times, and I'm very easily distracted, by pretty-much anything, like the bin-trucks coming; which is probably why I didn't get on with school. Sometimes, I might be calm and fairly focused but then I get excited by something I'm reading, which then sets everything off in my nut, like 3am in a 90's nightclub; when a DJ pulls a banger out.In case you're wondering, I did earlier this year, after a very long process, get a diagnosis of ADHD, at 39 years old. Now I know these days, every prick has got some diagnosis or other, and I'm sceptical about exactly what ADHD is, and what seems like a whole industry around it, for something that's very vague and hard to define; but it did make me examine my own behaviours. Incidentally, one of the other books I read this year, which was really helpful in all that, which I've taken loads of quotes from, is Gabor Matte's The Myth of Normal. Maybe I'll get into all that caper another time….Reading books can sometimes take a long-time, especially if it's a subject matter that requires a lot of thought. I get pissed-off when writers are overly verbose or use Latin and French phrases or figures of speech. My instantaneous reaction is straight to anger; cussing-out the writers for showing-off, or that they've deliberately written it in a way to makes it difficult for pricks like me, struggling with it. Or I just use a dictionary or Google or whatever, to look-up the meanings of the bits I don't understand, then forget what I read about ten minutes later; which leads me nicely to the next bit on this little journey.At some point last year, I realised that so much of what I was reading, just wasn't going in, or it was, but only temporarily. I felt like I was missing out on wisdom or something. I started taking photos and keeping a file of bits that I liked, and I did that for a while until I got obsessed with it and realised, I wasn't making use of any of those quotes, I was just wasting memory on my phone. So I started underlining stuff as I was going along, and then quickly got obsessed with doing that and began underlining almost everything, to the point where the On Liberty book I was reading, earlier this year, is just covered in biro, now rendering some of the pages unreadable.So the next step, was to systemically go through and start typing up these quotes, and keeping a file for each book, which I eventually divided into chapters with reference numbers, filling-up pages in a Word doc just covered in quotes.Typing up the quotes is a long process, and sometimes I get disheartened, wondering why on earth I'm doing this, but it does help me process the information and the rhythmic act of typing, can sometimes help to counter-act the fizziness with something a bit more calm and stable; like swapping the Red Bull and Haribo in your lunch-box, for an Evian and an apple. Not always though….Currently, I've got three different books that I've ploughed through and collected quotes from and I'm going to start with Meditations; which is full of goodness, kinda wished I'd known about it when I was younger. I can't even remember now, how is it I got into reading about Stoicism and Marcus Aurelius', probably just another rabbit-hole I found myself down in a state of fizziness but realised there's good some pretty good stuff in it all.My plan at the moment, is to write one piece for each of the 12 books that make up Mediations, there's a lot of quotes to choose from. I've written one so far, but I'd like to build up a few pieces before I start putting them out on here. No idea what I'll do after that, maybe tackle On Liberty, which I've been thinking about. You can expect to hear from me probably in the new year, but who knows, maybe sooner, depends If I can get this vocal booth up that I'm meant to be building, with my less than basic building skills.Thanks for sticking with it this year, and supporting what I do, even if you subscribed just because you know me, or some algorithm suggested it and you've no idea what the faaack this is; I don't really know either; but I apricate the time it takes to listen or read.Whatever it is you're doing, I hope you're safe in the world and moving forwards.Have a banging Christmas and New YearKeep it larger than lifePeas and tatersPaulIf you're able to, these are ways you can support my workTHE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogySTREAM TOAST IN THE MACHINE EPhttps://paulcree.hearnow.com/toast-in-the-machineBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcree This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Easy! If you enjoy this and would like to support my work, you can subscribe to this and or make a dontion on Ki Fi - BUY-ME-A-LAGER https://ko-fi.com/paulcree Greetings, bonjour, what's happening Welcome to Lager Time, fellow patrons of the Lager Nation, as we unwind, we let the lager flow and free our collective minds, or some such bollox.Yes indeed. Apologies for the short absence, these last few weeks I didn't quite anticipate it being this long but here we are, such is life. I am at times, a little disorganised but I've also been pretty busy. There's been a lot of back and forth to London, days at a time, meaning I'm away for my little home studio, there's been a couple of funerals, two weeks in a row, which have both been on Friday's, which is normally my day for putting the podcast out; so I'm sure you'll understand,So what have I been doing? Couple of weeks back, I had the pleasure of working at the Battersea Arts Centre, a place which I've done lots of stuff over the last 14 years, mate. It was the place I first got involved in theatre, had my first professional performing jobs, as well my first jobs, my first assistant roles doing workshop, met Conrad Murray etc etc.So I was back working with the almighty Beatbox Academy (who I've worked with, on and off, for many years.) It was the opening week for their latest show, Pied Piper, which is a re-telling of the classic-story, as hip hop musical, sounds it's all beats, bars, and a lot of singing and some pretty sublime harmonies and melodies. All the sounds are made on stage, by the cast and it's pretty damn good.Conrad Murray, who is the creator of the show and co-director with Ria Parry. Con is a good pal of mine, we set up Beats & Elements together (ten years ago now) – and I know all the cast too, some of which are good friends of mine. Yes I'm biased, but the show is a banger, mate! Fun for all the family.The whole run sold-out and it's had some really good reviews so far, and it now goes on tour, next stop Canterbury if you're down there. So there's a part of the show, which involves some of the younger members of the academy, which I was co-leading on. It was fun, got to go on stage twice a day, to packed out audiences who were having a great time. It was a fun week.I also stepped-up and performed at the Anti-Slam, which is a tongue-in-cheek, satirical take on a poetry slam. It was at the very cool Pleasence Theatre in London. The night itself was really fun, my bit could've gone better to be honest. I really enjoyed writing it, learning it, but I don't think it landed that well on the night. Oh well, sometimes you try these things. I think also, some of the other acts were simply very good. Large up Kareem Parkins Brown who won on the night, and was very entertaining.I also this week passed my driving test, so well done me. First time and all that. 40 years old, mate. Think I got a bit lucky. Means I've got get a little motor now, and generally become a bit more useful to my wife and my family. Which is good, I hopeAlright, so, onto this week's little Young Unprofessional piece. It's the final piece in this first little foray into doing this stuff. Just Another Day(Te) – little wordplay there. I managed to sneakily record it on Tuesday but my little doggies were making a lot of noise which you may hear on the recording. I've enjoyed doing this, I don't know if anyone else has, but you know, I'm only dong this because I like doing it. I want to take a bit of time and go back through them, look at the form of it, so what I can do more of etc etc.  I've got a few older pieces in the Reece character which I might record and put out, for posterity purposes. But well see, mate. As ever, everything on here is a work-in-progress, like my Anti-Slam gig, some things work, some don't, that's the game mate.In the meantime, I've been slowly adding old poems and lyrics, complete with video or audio, onto my website if you fancy taking a look - https://paulcree.co.uk/lyricsandpoemsSome more links below to support my work (or in the podcast description)That's it for nowI'll be back with something, probably in a couple of weeks timeKeep it Larger than lifePeas and tatersPaulIf you're able to, these are ways you can support my workTHE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogySTREAM TOAST IN THE MACHINE EPhttps://paulcree.hearnow.com/toast-in-the-machineBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcreeSHOW LINKSPiped Piper @ The Gulbenjier, Canterbury Dec 6th 10thhttps://thegulbenkian.co.uk/events/pied-piper/Kareem Parkins Brown – Poethttps://www.instagram.com/parkinsbrown/Conrad Murrayhttps://www.conradmurray.org/Just Another Day(te)So we'd agreed Thursday for the date with Alice. Date. Can't believe I'm saying that, what happened to just, having a drink? Going a drink? Anyway, it was a Thursday. ‘ave that Stuart, a Thursday, priorities, mate! Be At One cocktail bar in Holborn. Despite vowing to not tell anyone, I told pretty much everyone; which totals about seven people. Such as to say, whilst I was making my way there, I received three text messages all wishing me good luck. Even Diane from work sent me one?! Diane… was she hinting at… na.Do people do that before someone goes on a date, though? Surely for some cosmopolitan young twenty something Londoner, especially a geezer, who probably does this type of thing all time all the time, they don't get those sorts of messages, do they? It was hard not to read too much into those texts. It felt as if they're were saying ‘Reece, we don't know how this has happened, or how desperate this person is, but you're going on a date, good luck, son, you'll need it'-  but it did make me realise I probably shouldn't have told anyone, probably. I was a bit embarrassed, I don't like drawing attention to myself like that, it's to exposing.  Even Gary sent me a good luck message, of sorts. It said ‘Do the business, mate, you can't be a nonce your whole life.' He meant well.I went straight from work. Got changed in the carzi. Took off my work shirt, and changed into a long-sleeved blue one that I'd bought in Topman. Kept, my work trousers and shoes on. I guess I looked kind of smart? It was about as smart as I'd get. Ideally, I'd least have the Air Max on, and maybe a Lacoste polo, letting her know I've got the street-geezer edge, little bit hip hop little bit football casual, but I was worried this bar would have a dress-code. Fucking dress codes. I didn't want to be late, so I got there early, like really early, and walked over to the bar. I don't normally go in cocktail bars, only really when I'm on dates, or birthday parties. I don't really go on dates, and don't have that many mates, so I don't really go in cocktail bars; unless it's some work doo. Basically, I don't go in cocktail bars. I looked inside and it was packed full of young 20's and 30's types. Some in couples, some in groups, some looking like the post-work crowd; still boozing. I figured it was too early to go in, especially on my ones, so I bopped round to The Crown, safer-ground, where I'd met that prick Stuart Simmons a few weeks before; he who put me onto this Gumtree online dating caper. It'd come full circle.‘Look at me now Stuart, I've made it, I'm on a date, you can't laugh at me now… and I've still got your Spiderman Game on the PS1! I'm gonna make love to this girl with that on in the background, on pause, just looping around. And what, bruv?!'He's a prick, but I guess he had done something good here. Alice seems really nice, from the computer anyway. And she's a teacher, with like, a proper job, a career. I'm probably out of depth here. There was a lot at stake. I was excited, and nervous, and anxious; I'd been thinking about it all day, all week. I pretty much did nothing back at work, which is only slightly less than what I normally do.I got a pint of that Alpine lager in, told myself I had time to kill, so sip it slow. Yea. Something else must've kicked in and overrode that internal command, because I did it in about four gulps; without even noticing. It's like I couldn't help myself, like my right hand was a magnet to the glass and my elbow was automated to go up and down and I didn't know where the off-button was. It just goes down to easy. I was trying to read a copy of the Metro on the table, but no words were going into my brain. Just staring a picture of Frank Lampard celebrating a goal for Chelsea. I wonder what Frank Lampard would be doing in my position.All I could think about were various scenarios of me impressing Alice, with my suave free-spirit-creative-vibes, but with the coating of a geezer who's got a bit about him. Not some posh kid who writes poetry on a tree-protest. Obviously. She needed to know that I was good guy, but I weren't no melt, like Stuart Simmons, or any of his London mates.Three pints later and I had half-an hour before we were due to meet. I was gassed-up and already fizzing with that lager buzz, feeling good but also like I shouldn't have drunk all that booze, a few burps slipping-out, worried that I might've already crossed that threshold, when talk just goes into turbo breeze and I'm just spouting hot air, like a malfunctioning kettle close to boiling point or more like implosion.I slipped in to the carzy for a Pat Cash and a sneaky spray of a Hugo Boss miniature, that I'd bought off Kemal from work, he had a load of them so I bought a set; some mate of his that worked in Duty Free or something; was getting job-lots of them. Whilst I was washing my hands, I noticed the jonny machine. Up until that point, the thought of banging, sleeping together, hadn't even occurred to me. I'd been pretty much entirely focused on hoping she was cool, whilst not making a complete dickhead out of myself, which I was at permanent risk of doing. It'd been a good while since I'd even got close to a chick like that, for even a kiss, let alone anything else. What was I meant to do here? I certainly wasn't planning on bangs, I felt lucky enough to even have a toenail in the door with a chick, a girl, a female, a lady, a women, with a job, and a career, and opinions, and a sense of humour, who seemed really nice, and funny, this was far from a sealed deal. Yet, what am I meant to do here? There's clearly some sort of rules to this caper; rules which have passed me by. If it went well, and things heated up a bit, she might think I was naïve if I didn't have them? Or reckless? But then, if I did, she might think I'm too presumptuous? Arrogant even? Disrespectful? I didn't want to be any of those things. This debacle was stressing me out. I stood there by the sink and wondered if many a geezer had been in this predicament, like Frank Lampard, where, whatever you did, you were probably gonna get it wrong. I thought about texting Gary, but then I knew what he would likely say. I had no idea what Frank Lampard would say, probably some football platitude about the lads putting in a good shift. So I rung Stuart, he laughed and told me to buy them, just to be on the safe side, figuratively and literally. Good advice, I thought and despite being a melt, he seemed to have done alright with the ladies of late. It's like he came into his own at uni or something. Lord knows how, he played Warhammer when we were kids, not even I had the temerity to do that (though I can't lie, I was tempted.)So I bought a pack of jonnies. The process of popping a couple of nuggets in the machine and the packet coming out, made me feel good, like a man, or something, sort of. I actually had a reason to be buying jonnies, for once. I was hoping another geezer would come in the carzy, like Frank Lampard, and see me buying the jonnies, like it's nothing, and give me that nod of respect. Not like back when we were teens when we'd would take turns to buy them in the shopping centre toilets, fill them up with water and throw them off the top floor.I stuck the rubbers in my pocket, which left a bit of a bulge but I had nowhere else to put them.  Bowled out that carzy, three pints in, a bit lagered-up, jonnies in my pocket, wearing that alpha-male swag like I'd just bought it from a fancy dress shop; felt good though, even if I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. Being half-cut at least made me forget, how woefully unprepared I was, for any of this.Alice sent me a text saying she was running ten minutes late. I could deal with that, I thought, and my fears were numbed enough from those pre-pints to step into the cocktail place on my Jack Jones. She messaged me, which to me was a good-sign, she hadn't ghosted me yet, like that time in year nine when Natalie Longden agreed to go to the cinema with me, but never turned up and I stood outside the ABC for two hours.It looked like a few of the post-work boozers had cleared out as a couple of tables had come free. Stepped up to the bar, picked up a menu and looked at it for all of about ten seconds; there were multiple cocktails on there, none of which I knew what they were, and I didn't have the patience to read the ingredients; so I got another pint in; they had kronenburg on tap; which considering I was three pints in, on an empty stomach, weren't the best idea. Kroenburg was in the naughty club; up there with Stella; personal favourite of mine, but I knew to tread carefully. I had a penchant for the naughty lagers but had gotton myself in trouble on those, many, many times before. But there were other forces at work here, familiarity won out, revealing I know nothing about cocktails, or much else for that matter.I sat, or perched, like a budgie, on this awkwardly high stool by the awkwardly high, tiny round table. Who actually wants to sit at these? They're so uncomfortable. I took regular small sips of the pint, and kept the phone in my hand, routinely reading the messages she'd sent me, nodding my head along to the generic house music, which was just about at background level, that no one else was listening too. I'd gone from feeling alright to shaking, and I couldn't stop tapping my foot, to the point where I wobbled the table and spilt a bit of the pint, which went on my hand and on my shirt. I managed to get some napkin form the bar, to wipe off the booze, some of which had also gone on my phone, when Alice rung me. Shit. I sort of panicked and said ‘hello' – voice going up an octave, and could about make out a female voice with a slight northern accent, saying‘I'm here, where are you?'I look up, and no more than ten metres away is this small, petit girl with dark blonde hair, with glasses, shoulder length, wearing a cream jacket, with a big clutch bag on her shoulder, blue jeans, flat converse trainers, standing there on her phone, looking around. She looked alright, bit small, but shit, alright, mate. And she's wearing trainers. Should've worn mine!‘I think I can see you ‘I said, napkin stuck to my arm, which I'd just realised. She turns round and sort of clocks me and walks forward. I unstuck the tissue, awkwardly climbed off my perch to greet her.  She looked kind of tentative walking towards me. Fair enough, I'm a stranger, you don't know me etc. I might be a nonce or something, which I'm not, obviously, or wait maybe it's not that obvious? Shit, I hope not. But she don't know that I'm not a nonce, so she was tentative, nervous. Like me.  Maybe she's  a nonce?As she's walking towards me, I'm thinking; what do I here? Is this a handshake thing, a hug thing, a kiss on the cheek thing? A two kiss on the cheek thing? What would Frank Lampard do? But before I knew it, I'd gone for some clumsy hybrid of a handshake and a hug and almost like fell into her. I got close enough to know her head came pretty much just by my chest, and that she smelled nice, even if she did have to lean back to avoid me crashing into her..‘Sorry' I said, I weren't quite sure what to do there.'She laughed though, and said ‘hello, I'm Alice.' It was a nervous laugh, but you know, understandable. ‘It's alright', she said, ‘we can hug.' And we hugged, and she still smelt nice.As first impressions go, I don't think I was doing that well. She had to climb a bit to get on the stool, and laughed while doing it. Do I laugh here? Is that appropriate? That would draw attention to her petiteness and I don't think I'd earned that right yet. But we get into the small talk anyway, how's your journey and your day so far and all that caper. I can do that bit, but I could already hear the wind-chimes indicating that I could unleash a whirlwind of turbo breeze at any minute, and talk a load of complete bollox, scaring her away. Had a cursory glance at my pint and I was already two thirds down. Do you want a drink, I said? She said ,yes please, and asked me to choose her a cocktail, that's a good sign right, bit flirty, but shit, she's gonna realise I know nothing about cocktails. I came back with a Long Island ice tea because that's the only one I'd heard of. She looked surprise and went, ‘ok, that's a strong one'. Not sure what that meant, though, but I don't think it was good.At the bar I spied they had bottles of Peroni so I downgraded myself to that, I had to keep the storm at bay, otherwise all hell would break loose, and I was already close. I was at the four-pint threshold with no food and a big potato sack of nerves, raging through me. This was a terrible combination; this was going to take all my mental powers to hold it together.She seemed a bit reserved, and was looking around a bit, whilst we were talking, this wasn't a good sign. I was trying to compensate for this with more chat, which was increasingly looking like bollox. However, I'd noticed she had a slight northern accent and asked her where she was from. She seemed receptive to this question and told me she was from some town in Lancashire, which she said was a bit of a dump but didn't mind it, as it was where she grew up, I respected that. Came to London for uni and stayed ever since. I then got her talking about her job, and what she liked about it, which was good because it meant I wasn't talking, and I knew a little bit about teaching. She genuinely seemed to love her job, some little primary school in Notting Hill and the more she talked, the more cool she seemed. She had a lovely smile. Slight gap between the teeth but it was cute. Not the best looking chick ever, but you know, she was alright. She then asked me the same question. I guess that's what this game is, when you're both a bit nervous, and trying to be polite, you ask each other questions and while they're talking you try to think of something witty to say whilst also trying to not be a dickhead; which for me, was proving very, very difficult. I told her about New Town, and growing up there and never really doing much.‘So you just came to London then? No uni?'Pretty much I said, expecting to think I was some kind of looser. From the sounds of it, where she's from, geezers like me don't leave. Which was a bit like New Town. I guess I am a bit different in that respect. Good for you she said, Uni was the only way I was ever gonna get out.We get on to the next drink, I'm just about holding back the drunkenness, I think she could tell, shouldn't have been late then, Alice?! She has a Martini this time and buys some crisps, which was a touch, as I think I needed some kind of sandbag in my liver to absorb some of the booze.  I could see she was relaxing a little bit more. I noticed her at the bar, texting, who though? She came back with a smile, of sorts, and some crisps. So where's your favourite place to go on holiday then?Bollox, I could lie here but fuck it.I haven't been on holiday in years, I said. We used to go to Camber Sands when I was a kid, had a couple of lads holidays which to be honest were a bit shit, just got sunburn and spent loads of money. She laughd at that. I've never been there but I'd like to see the middle east, maybe, like all of it. Iraq, Irsael, Iran, Syria I dunno. Never been to any of them.Interesting, how come? She said.I dunno, something about the region interesrts me.Like what? She said, really looking at me. I couldn't hold her stare for long, I looked at the beermatI dunno. Three of the worlds major religions are from there, in that one little spot on the map, so much of we know. The old spice roads and the ancient civilisations and all that. I dunno, maths and science, and discoveries and, like other stuff. Just find it interesting, it's like the middle of the world or something.Not quite the answer I'd expected but fair enough. You ask me a question? Go on.Shit, she was taking control, and I had no idea what to asj.‘Erm do you like music?'She laughed, that's a rubbish question, you've already asked me this question in one of your messages.Oh yea.She laughed again, ‘also, who doesn't like music?'I dunno, there's bound to be some perverts out there who don'tShe laughed again. ‘Perverts?'Shit, I'm not even trying to make her laugh here, but she's laughing. Is she laughing at me though?.My dad doesn't really like music, you calling him a pervert?What?! Na, na, er not at all.It's alright, I'm just teasing ya… he is a pervertReally?.... Oh right…Course he's not, I'm just teasing you again.Oh, ok.Jesus, she was playing me!Ok, next question then?Erm who's your favourite celebrity?Another corker of a question.SorryStop saying sorry. I'll answer it though. Gloria Estefan. Me and mum love her, sometimes we stand in the kitchen and sing Rhythm Is Gonna Get You, mainly when dad is out, as he hates it. So what about you then?I hate these questions, had no idea what to say.Err Frank Lampard.The footballer?YeaWhy?He's err a role model, kinda there when I need him, sort of.I've no idea what that meant, why did I say that?She laughed again, looked at me for a few seconds then checked the time on her phone, looking a bit mor anxious. We chatted a bit more, I talked this time about my family, Tanya who's a cousin, my job. She seemed more and more occupied, though, and checked her phone again.Do you want another drink? I saidNo you're alright, I've gotta head off. It's almost ten and I'm up up early, so if you don't mind I'm gonna say goodbuy.Shit. Suddenly her demeanour had changed a bit, I think she'd seen through me.Ah no worries, I should probably get off myself off as well, I've enjoyed it though.Yea she said, unconvincingly, whilst climbing down off her chair and opening her handbag.I got up myself, to sort of see her off, with no idea what to do, so I tried to play it cool and look like this was all fine, you know business as usual but suddenly feeling awkward and before I knew that automated arm was doing its own thing again, and had reached into my pocket for my oyster card, and without thinking pulled out my wallet, and the pack of jonnies, and plonked them on the table; before I could even register what I was doing.She looked at them, then at me, with a sort of bemused look. I didn't know what to say.Oh shit sorryShe looked at me, what are you sorry about? I didn't mean to get those out. I weren't suggesting anything, I forgot they were in there. Do you want me to walk with you to the tube station?She ignored the question. Do you always get those out on first dates?No… I didn't know what to do, my mate advised me to get them just in case..Just in case what?! She seemed pissed-off, now. And who is this, mate? Frank Lampard?!Was she brining Frank into this before, he didn't do anything. I didn't saying anything, and then in some sort of desperation repeatedDo you me to walk you to the station?No I'm fine, thankyou. It was nice meeting you.No kiss, no hug, no handshake, she just turned and walked off, didn't even look back. I slumped back down, elbow on the tables, head in hands. I blame Stuart. Dickhead.I was blasting out Broken Wings again on the train home. Did the routine,  Got off, kebab, smashed that, sauce in my chin, back to the flat, straight to bed. I wasn't going too as I knew it was a lost cause but decided to send her a text message and apologised for my clumsiness. Explained that I didn't really know what the correct thing to do was, so I was just being precautious. She didn't reply.Next day at work, Dianne weren't in and I was low down enough on most peoples priority list, to not give a shit about the fact that I'd gone on a date, so no one asked me, which was a good thing. I'd come to the conclusion that the whole date was a little like a Division Two side getting a plum cup-match against a Premier League outfit. Of course, I was the underdog going into it, no one expecting me to actually doing anything, just hoping for some of that cup magic. Held my own for a bit, showed a few glimpses of something and then eventually collapsed, standard I suppose.Got to about 5pm, whilst pretending to look at this customer, my phone vibrates and it's Alice. She said sorry she'd not replied and don't worry about the whole thing. She had some bad family news whilst we were there and said she'd overreacted a bit, was a bit upset and maybe in a few weeks, did I want to go out again?Shit. Sick! I didn't know what to do here? I mean obviously my answer was yes, but like when do I respond?? Leave it a couple of days? What would Frank Lamp… oh fuck that. No worries, I said, and yes I'd like that. Speak to you soon, Reece. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningThis week's Young Unprofessional will be the penultimate one for a bit, so I can sit down, have a look back through it and see where I want to go next with it. There's some more older stuff which I've found in the last week, which I'd like to put on here at somepoint. Anyway, this week Reece gets sent on a Time Management course at work, and is then inspired to document his working-day.EnjoyDon't forget to subscribe and all that, and if you think a mate might like it, let ‘em know. Check the links at the bottom for other ways to support my workHave a banging weekendPeas and tatersPaulLINKSAnti-Slam @ Pleasence, Islington 31.10.23 Thttps://www.pleasance.co.uk/event/anti-slamPaula Varjack – Writer and performance artisthttp://www.paulavarjack.com/Dan Simpson – poet and writerhttps://www.dansimpsonpoet.co.uk/Nial O'Sullivan – Rusty NiallGary W Hartley aka Gary From Leeds (await the second coming)https://medium.com/insectsandthatIf you're able to, these are ways you can support my workTHE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogySTREAM TOAST IN THE MACHINE EPhttps://paulcree.hearnow.com/toast-in-the-machineBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcree This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningWelcome to Lager Time, my name is Paul Cree, this is my lager verse, where I share bits of writing, music and the occasional on thoughts on things. Young Unprofessional story, episode 4. Reece has taken the advice off his mate, Stuart and istrying his luck meeting some females on mid-2000's all-in-one sight Gumtree. I've called it Melt-TreeEnjoyDon't forget, if you, subscribe and if you want to support the work, there's a link for my Kofi, where you can make a donation, if you so wishPaulIf you're able to, these are some ways you can support my workTHE SUBURBAN BOOKMy 1st book collection of stories and poemswww.paulcree.co.uk/shopBeats & Elements: A Hip Hop Theatre Trilogy2 plays I co-wrote plus Denmarked by Conrad Murrayhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shop/beats-and-elements-a-hip-hop-theatre-trilogySTREAM TOAST IN THE MACHINE EPhttps://paulcree.hearnow.com/toast-in-the-machineBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcree This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Welcome to Lager Time, the Lager March continues, indeed.So this week is episode three of Young Unprofessional, where Reece goes for a few beers with his old schoolmate, Stuart SimmonsEnjoyLINKSDavid and Lizzie Turnerhttps://www.youdontknow.uk/THE SUBURBAN BOOKwww.paulcree.co.uk/shopSTREAM TOAST IN THE MACHINE EPhttps://paulcree.hearnow.com/toast-in-the-machineBUY-ME-A-LAGERhttps://ko-fi.com/paulcree This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Welcome to Lager Time.LagerLites of lagerland, lift your lagers in the sky, and rejoice, it's lager timeThis is a Lager Time first this week , as I'm debuting a story called Spin, written by my good friend and sometime collaborator, Christana Lei. SPINWritten by Christana LeiVoiced by Paul CreeIntro by Christana LeiThis story is a chapter that never made it into a novel I'm working on.Inspired by my love for the young people I was lucky enough to spend serious time with, when working in a PRU back in 2010. Inspired too by the lyrics of a song called Sad But True by the legendary Metallica (1991), whose lyrics are used throughout. When I write, I tend to imagine my writing like a film playing out in front of me, and if I had the production budget, Metallica would be the soundtrack to this one. Maybe you'll hear themes in the story but that's not intentional: It was just an exercise in witnessing and acknowledging the violence that happens with no rhyme or reason, no matter how much we want to find reasons for it, in an attempt to impose order on chaos. It seems that the attempts to do this by those of us who are on the edges but not in the violence; an attempt we make to preserve our own sanity and faith in human nature, more often than not just leads to victim-blaming.I hope Spin pays homage to some of the experiences some of us (hopefully) survive in this messy, sometimes brutal business of being human. And that now Paul has performed it, I can forget about it completely, because it is out of my system. (Which means Paul is now kind of an Exorcist). Enjoy.Christana Lei This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningI've got a few live-gogs coming up this week, so in order to help me prepare, I ran through, and recorded a set of poems, stories and a few *attempts* at tracks on the loop-station.As ever with this episodes, it's rough and ready but I that's the point, helps me get match fit!Remember, you catch me this Friday at Poetry & Poppadums, Karmel, Wood Green, London. FULL SET LIST1 - Trap It2- Times of Respect3- Whoever Said It Was Easy4- Fair & Square5- Chair Wars6- Not quite A Cheetah7- Premium Speed Ghost Train8- Slow and Steady9 - No Milk For The Foxes10 - Now, What Do You Want To Say?11 - Watts & Pommerlers This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Lager Legions it's lager season…. Well, it's always Lager season over here in Lager HQ. I don't actually drink that much these days but it's a frame of mind more than anything, letting your hair down, getting things off your chest, that's what I'm talking about!And speaking of seasons, it's all got a bit autumnal out there; I'm enjoying it! Been mainly at home this week, it's been great, my wife is away for work, I miss her, but it's just me and the doggies. Done a fair bit of looking out the window, this week watching the rain drops and listening to the magic; one of my favourite things to do. Large up James Harris, who writes Stiff Upper Quip on Substack, he wrote this nice little piece this week about enjoying the rainLarge up those of you that caught the first episode of Young Unprofessional last week. Despite the character being old, this series is all quite new at the moment, and I'm slowly finding my feet with it. These are all draft pieces, I'm writing it as I go along. I'm just playing the with character, and the form and seeing it where it goes. Much like I did with the Satellite Stories. If I can get to six, I'll see where I'm at with it all. There's a few stories  that I wrote a few years back, from when Reece was in New Town. I'll probably put a few of those up at some point, lots of them include many of the characters in mentioned in these London pieces.So this time next week, I'll be getting ready for my gig at Poetry & Poppadums up in Wood Green, London. I'm on the bill with comedy and poetry heavyweight Simon Munnery, Carine Harb and all hosted and curated by the legend that is Paul Lyalls. It's always a fun gig. Good food, booze, tunes and well run.Also on the Thursday before that, I'm also at the launch event for the inaugural Maidstone Literature festival, at the museum there. Maidstone is where I live these days, and I rarely to get to do anything in the town related to what I do so I'm very excited at the prospect of walking to the gig, from my house. I don't know what the crack with tickets is, there's gonna be council people,the mayor but they have a website and are on Instagram so have a bucthers. They got loads of events happening around the town.In light of upcoming gigs, I'm gonna do a Not Quite Live episode, where I basically just press record and run through a set of poems and sometimes music, then upload them, it'll probably be just poems; I need to get a bit more practise in for the music before I start doing that again, it's been a while.Being that I've been at home a bit more, I've spruced up my website a bit; have a butchers at www.paulcree.co.uk and I've try to organise the Substack a bit as well, so you can see all the Satellite Stories in one place, for instance.You can find my music on Spotify, Apple, Bandcamp and all of them; few videos on You Tube too.If you like what I'm doing, hit subscribe on whatever platform you're following on, it all helps, but I guess you already know that, you must hear it from people like me, all the timeLarge up for listening, thoughKeep it lager than lifeEnjoy the story, it's called The Urban Explorer But In Sick trainersPeas and tatersPaulLINKSJames Harris (Stiff Upper Quip – Notes On Pluviophilia)Poetry & Poppadums @ Karamel, Wood Green https://www.musicglue.com/karamel/events/2023-09-29-poetry-and-poppadums-with-simon-munnery-karamelMaidstone Literature Festivalhttps://www.maidstonelitfest.org/Not Quite Live Editionhttps://cree.substack.com/p/not-quite-live-edition-2#detailsMy Websitewww.paulcree.co.ukBuy my books: The Suburban and The Hip Hop Theatre Anthologyhttps://paulcree.co.uk/shopStream my EP: Toast in the Machinehttps://paulcree.hearnow.com/ This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Welcome to Lager Time; So this week, I'm dropping in the first in a new series of stories, called Young Unprofessional. It's about a character called Reece, who's moved to London in the mid 2000's, he's in his mid 20's and he hails from a fictional satellite town, called New Town. A little reminder you can come and see me live at Poetry & Poppadum's at Karamel in Wood Green, Friday 29th September. Simon Munnery is headlining, he's a bit of a legend in the comedy and poetry worlds. Last time I did this gig it was packed out. Come on down, they serve banging Indian food and Paul Lyall's is a great host.If you like what I'm doing, do me a favour and hit subscribe on whatever platform you're listening to this on, or even better, subscribe on Substack and you'll get all the extra bits I'm gonna be sticking up on there.I also jazzed up website this week, if you care to have a look? You'll links to lots of my past projects as well as a shop where you can purchase books, music etcwww.paulcree.co.ukHave a banging weekendKeep it lagerPeas and tatersPaul This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

 Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Yes indeed, it's Lager Time! At last! Lager-Lites of Lager Land unite!We are back in the game, mate! This week it's the last in the series of the Satellite Stories and it's called McGeezer thr Machinet Poetry & Poppadums, @karamel in Wood Green.n. The Suburban a my most recent music project is called Toast In The Machine; a small 5 track EP which you can stream here. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening!So, it's been a few months since I've posted anything on here, this is just a little update to let you know that I'm still alive, and that I'll be back up online sticking things out, Lager style, pretty soon. Probably from September onwards, possibly earlier; I've got a few ideas for some things I'd like to do, including something non-fictiony, type stuff.  A few attempts at essays and the like.You might be wondering what the faaaack has been going on??? Where you been, Paul??? It's really nothing that exciting, or alarming, possibly disappointing, definitely dull. A few months back I just decided to cut back on my creative endeavours, so I could concentrate on getting this flipping qualification finished that I've been doing (and longing-it-out longer than a disembowelled man's intestines laid-out in a school-hall) – as well as keeping up with my regular work commitments, which have been quite a lot this year. It's possibly the most mature decision I've ever made (even though I'm way past the deadline to hand in all my work!)In all my years of writing, in whatever capacity, I don't think there has ever been a time where I've not been working on something, so this is the first time I've ever put it all on hold, so I could; dare I say it, prioritise.It's not exactly been plain-sailing, I've still struggled to get the damn thing finished and the various workshop programs I work on (which is how I earn my living) have kept me double-busy. As well as running round London, I've been out and about to Cambridge, Bedford, York and Canterbury running sessions. Workwise, it's been pretty nuts.I've also had a few things happen personally, which has made me reassess a lot of what I'm doing and how I'm living, for the better, I'd say. I recently turned 40, and whist things are far from perfect, it's probably the happiest I've ever been. I'm learning to be a bit kinder to myself and it's a lot harder than it sounds. Anyone vaguely familiar with my work, will perhaps have noticed how self-deprecating so much of it is. That's never been by design, it's more of a reflection of the noxious arse-wind my head is often filled with. And whilst I'm certainly not about to ride the slippery-slide down some melty, disingenuous, self-love rabbit hole, into some narcist-convention of online influences, talking about their mental-health struggles, with everyone pretending to listen to each other; I am trying to do things a little differently.So there you have it, for now, like Arnie, I'll soon be back (but not like that) – In the meantime, one of the projects I work on in London, called Friends From Afar, with Dream Arts – are performing their latest show – The Big House – on the 10th August at Somerset House. The group is largely made up of unaccompanied asylum-seekers, some of which we've worked with over a few years now and are a wonderful bunch of young people I've written the script and made the music, and it's co-directed it with Catharine Palmer. It's set 100 years in the future, in a dystopian prison-like compound, in which everyone lives, but no one is allowed to leave, until it all starts falling apart… the show is nuts. If you're interested, its strictly a guest-list affair but tap me up and I'll link you all inFor those of you subscribed on Substack, I'll probably ping out a few more little updates with a few bits and pieces that I've been doing, the rest of you, subscribe, lively!That'll do for nowPeas and taters, Paul This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningWelcome to Lager Time, LagerLitles of LagerLand unite.It's been two weeks since I uploaded the second part of the Stand In Blend Out story; hope you enjoyed it. I'm trying this, two podcasts a month thing, it feels a bit weird, like somethings missing but I think it's worth sticking with for now, as it got quite inconsistent towards the end of last year. I would like to be more consistent with it, going forward. So one story podcast and one miscellaneous show, per month; how about that, LagerLites?What it has, in a way made me do, is work to develop a more regular writing practise for the poems and the like. It's early days, so we'll see, but I still enjoy writing random poems, about this and that. In the past, I've tended to write them in bursts, or on the odd occasion when I feel like it; as opposed to doing it regularly.So how it works, is just me, keeping a file of anything I find interesting, from the one regular writing practise I do keep, which is these messy mind-dumps, which I do almost daily, (which some call free-writing) then extracting out things from there. I've been doing this on a regular basis for years, now; so potentially, like shale gas or something, there's an abundance of untapped inspiration (that could well blow up in my face)On the subject of the freewriting thing that I do, one reason I enjoy doing it, is that it reminds me of the sheer amount of utter bollox that makes up my thinking, at any one time. There are some twats out there, that do this writing caper, that probably think of themselves as some kind of superior intellect, who should be paid handsomely for every breath they bless us with. The idea with the freewriting thing, is that you write down all the thoughts that come into your head, with the aim of clearing a path for more considered thinking; hence the ‘dumping' in mind-dump. I think a lot, so there's a lot of crap in there; so there's a lot of dumping; too much junk-food maybe? When I do it on a Word document, it just ends up being a messy block of black writing, with untold redlines underneath, which in all honesty, is about 95% inane crap; like not even remotely interesting; mostly shite about noises outside on the street, or that ginger cat that keeps mugging off my dogs, or things that have pissed me off. Just every now and again, I'll hit on something, that is interesting, which occasionally goes on to become something else. But when I look at the rest, and see all the shite, it's humbling, mate. I'm just so humble, as the hypothetical, aforementioned twat, probably thinks.However, I've been the doing the freewriting thing for years but and have got into a habit with the way I was doing it; which I don't think was serving any great purpose (and sometimes would make me even more pissed off.) So recently, I made a bit of a change. Since the start of the year, instead of frantically trying to capture all the crazed thoughts that float around my head; instead, I've been focusing on trying to type without looking at the keyboard. It's been a bit of a game changer, mate. If you follow my work, or have ever had communications with me over text or email, you'll know I have a lot of difficulty with spelling, often missing out entire words from sentences. Doing this no-look typing thing, I have to type slower, much slower and hold the thoughts in my head a bit longer. The result of this being, my spelling has improved, as has my clarity, I'd say. However, I have to sit still a lot longer, something else I also have difficulty with; it's hard mate; but I guess the point of this; is that it's small improvements.And speaking of small improvements, I've made these wooden frames for my office come studio; and stuffed them with acoustic panels and covered them in black cloth; which now sit to the left and right of me and above my head, on the ceiling. It's taken me months to do this; and it's all a bit of a botched job, but I finally did it; and my wife can see with her own eyes, something that I said I wanted to do 18 months ago, is now in existence. I've had to buy equipment, cut, drill, staple and hang. Previously, I wouldn't have even attempted to do this; as organising everything would have seemed to big a task and probably used the excuse of being shit at DIY. What I've realised in doing this, is that whilst I am shit at DIY, I had no confidence to even attempt such a thing. My ability to catastrophise; is for the most part, really unhelpful at best; at one point I thought that If I drilled this one hole I convinced myself I was going to collapse the wall into next door; but I preserved and they're now up. I'm just so resilient, as the aforementioned, hypothetical, humble, resilient twat, probably thinks. I've learned a thing or do in this process and the sound in the room I record in, is vastly improved. Like this podcast, it's far from perfect but something is better than nothing.So being this is the miscellaneous part of the month, I thought I'd share a recording of the recent gig I did at Poetry and Poppadum's. The audio isn't the best, I've tried to clean it up a bit. I bought a small audio recorder with me, and left on my chair on the audience when I got to perform, so they're a few voices around me that you'll hear, a bit louder than they should be. I'll include the set-list below and in the podcast description. The intro is form Paul Lyalls; it was a great night.Couple of little large ups; all the troops from the Spoken Word course I've been running with City Academy, over in Farringdon; it's a great group of guys; in case you're interested in getting involved there's hopefully some more courses coming up later this year, have a butchers at the City Academy website. Large up poet Tyrone Lewis, who I've bumped into a couple of time on my way up there; I know Tyrone from way back in my Roundhouse days.And finally, large up Cree Paul, who sent me a random message via my website, merely because we have the same names but the other way around; really made me smile.So that's it for now, enjoy the set; I've just finished the draft of the next story, which should be up in two weeks.Peas and tatersPaulPurchase my first book, The Suburban at www.paulcree.co.uk/shopGo stream my latest EP Toast In The MachinePoetry and Poppadums setlist1: Fingers on the Buzzer2: Born Slippery3: Sleep Locked4: Paper Trail5: Broad Brush Stokes6: Jazz Lock: Day 187, Guilty Conscience7: What Happened to Drum and Bass?8: Independence Day9: Life Affirming Moments Part 110: Times of Respect This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening, welcome to Lager TimeThis week it's the second part of the Satelittle Story - Stand Out Blend In Part 2Here's a few linksLager Time Not Quite Live Editon #2 - My Book - The SuburbanUnexpected Twist PlayKiki - Future Dead ChickMy EP - Toast in the Machine This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?I've got an actual gig coming up this Friday, at Poetry and Poppadums, at Karmel, North London. So in preperation for that, I slung a little show togethor whist I attempt to get match-fit again, it's been a whileJust listned back and realised I tut a lot in this, apololgies. Something for me to work on..Check out Gary W Hartley aka Gary From Leeds - go check his writings on insects - Insects and That - https://gwhartley.medium.com/If you want a copy of my book, The Suburban, head to www.paulcree.co.uk/shopCheck out poet Niall O'Sullivan's work at s This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningWelcome to Lager Time. My legions of LagerLites stand tall.So I Didn't get round to putting this out on Friday as hoped. We had visitors in the gaff, what with Christmas and all that. Frozen streets, frozen pipes (yep we had those) a world cup final and a four-and a-half-hour journey across Kent in the train strike, just to get to London, meant it didn't happen. However, here it is, here I am. More about the story in a mo though.So I had a little bit of good news this week. I finally have a gig to announce. Pretty chuffed with this one. Friday 27th January, I'll be doing a spoken word set at one of the best nights in London, Poetry and Poppadums, supporting Michael Rosen, who if you don't know, is a bit of a legend in the UK Literature world. Alongside that will be Celia Bax, me and the host himself, Paul Lyalls; who runs the gig. Paul's a great guy, and a good poet who knows how to put on a decent event. He's supported me a lot over the years so I'm rally grateful to get on his stage again.It's a gig I've done a few times and it's one that I feel I can actually invite my mates and family too, confident they'll enjoy it. Paul knows what he's doing, it's a cabaret style set-up, decent bar and food and most of the people are just there to enjoy themselves and hear something a bit different. I'll put the ticket links in here and in the podcast description for the non-Sub stackers. Gives me another good reason to do a Not-Quite-Edition of Lager Time, to get match-fit, maybe even that live-stream I was going on about a while back. Should be a good one though, hope to see you there This might be the last Lager Time of the year, I hope not, but fear not if it is, I'll most certainly be back in January, might be to give these satellite Stories a break for a bit though, getting the urge to write some poems again. So this story is the first part of a story about going to an Under 18's event. Not gonna lie, I've struggled with this one a bit, hasn't been as fluid as some of the others, either way hope you enjoy it.      As ever, if you fancy giving us a subscribe on Substack, or on Apple or Spotify, or where ever it is you listen, I'd be very grateful. And if you've got any mates that might like it, let them know. And if you feeling really generous, in these hard-up times, you can give us a little donation on the old Ko-Fi that;s it for the begging. H Wait, and yea, and stream my EP, TOAST IN THE MACHINEOne last thing before I duck-out, I thought as it's my Christmas, I'd read my and only Christmas poem, which I forget to plug every year, as a little Brucie Bonus. It's in my first collection, The Suburban, which of course you can purchase from my website  just something that happened a few years back in Crawley.So that's it, if you don't hear from me, I hope yous all have a banging festive period, full of food, family, friends, banter, boardgames, boredom, TV re-runs and loads of tea and lager. I can't wait.Peas and taters, quite LiterallyHappy ChristmasPaulOne MoreRound one, we arrive. Get a pint. Foster's, cooking lager.‘I wanna keep it light. Had a rough night last night, can't stay out too long.'‘What's wrong with you?' my mate says in jest, with an undertone that suggests, You've changed. You left, I stayed. I'm hard, you're soft.‘So be it,' I say. We plot down, while he gets the round in. Back home, Christmas Eve. Me, my mate and my brother, sat round a beer-stained table, windows sprayed snow-white in the corners. Old cockneys and Irish crowd the bar like punters at a car auction; the taller patrons brush their heads against the tacky paper chain decorations; it's warm. Don't recognise many faces, but the place hasn't changed.Small talk begins, niceties are exchanged, ‘Good to see you back here' and ‘It's nice to be back,' I say, they say, and we skip through, mortgages, kids, marriages, cars and careers, ‘What you doing now, how's London?' Property prices, transport and crime appear in the conversation like constituents waiting at an MP's surgery, London provides the key and opinions rush the landlord.Round two. ‘Fosters is crap, innit?' I say, admitting my mistake. They laugh and I make that tactical upgrade to Kronenbourg, one that I've regretted in the past. Lug fast and it burns but it feels good.Booze in the system, the Christmas season has seen me drinking like four nights in a row, hop-scotching from work dos and that, all shop talk, awkward exchanges and then to this, back home Christmas Eve, old mates, familiar place.Smiles crack and we all begin to loosen. T's and th's start falling off, the first c-word gets dropped, as accents start slipping into them fitted cockney derivatives, treading paths parents and grandparents made to this place from London and beyond. ‘Faack off' and ‘Shaat up, mate,' we say, all spayed with affection.Round three. I see an old mate who I stand up to talk to. Five minutes into the chat and I get a tap on the arm, turn round and it's my brother and my mate and they're like, ‘It's your round, son,' eyebrows up and down. I'm up to the bar and back again quick smart, a beer triangle in my hand, one I'm well practised in carrying. We sit down, we hear a bang and a few raised voices, door flies open and, on the pavement outside, we see two guys in each other's faces. We look out the window, pints in hand like we're sat in the grandstand at the races. Old Bill appear, they disappear, carted off in a meat wagon to the cages; a cheer goes up, it unites the pub and we laugh because nothing changes.Round four and the talk is football and old computer games that we played, Streets of Rage and Street Fighter II, old holidays with mates and ‘We should do this again,' we all say. But one by one we look at the time at ever-increasing intervals, something we never would've done. Until my mate finally breaks and says, ‘I should probably go,' and I say, ‘Yeah, I need to get back,' and my brother's like, ‘Yeah, I gotta be up early,' and suddenly everything's changed.It goes a bit quiet, as the last dregs get drunk and there's that slight pause before the exit. We're all thinking it. The Pogues come on the jukebox. At the bar I watch the landlord pour another pint and I turn round to the other two, shrug my shoulders, cheeky look on my face, and say, ‘One more?'Sattellite Stories EP 8: Stand In Blend OutHome time at school was always a joyous occasion. I bowled out on this day with a rare mix of what I think were positive emotions, mixed in with a few typical teenage concerns. There was this small crew of slick-looking wideboys and wide girls, early twenties types, protype Big Brother contestants; standing outside the school gates, in shiny puffa-jackets, by a parked-up Audi, in club branded t-shirts dishing out flyers, for an Under 18's event, at Crawley's premier-late-night-go-to, Ikon-Diva. It was a ruthless PR operation. Target audience marked and in sight. And it worked. Because I saw that flyer and couldn't believe my eyes, it was happening. At last.I'd heard the myths about these under 18 events, in places that were near-by but not-near enough, like Croydon and East Grinstead, where they ran these alleged events that were ram-packed with chicks, that apparently would get off with anyone, and they played banging Drum and Bass and Garage. Someone's cousins mate or whatever had been to one on Hastings Pier, which had MC Dett and Kenny Ken. They were just names I knew from the Tapepacks, I didn't even know what they looked like, let alone had the chance to hear them play. Who's was gonna play at Ikon Diva?! They might get Shy FX?! Or Nicky Blackmarket?! Or Skibbadee?! And now, it was happening, in Crawley, almost home turf. A nightclub, with loud banging music. I loved loud banging music but only got to play it on my tinny headphones or shitty Argos hifi (with inbuilt graphic equaliser); which often didn't work, so it wasn't really loud, or banging. And of course. Girls. There'd be girls. Loads of them. Bare girls. Not bare, but bare, as in loads. Probably. Maybe. And Music, hopefully not shit music, chart music, but Jungle, Garage and more Drum N Bass, and Hip Hop. Geezers, my mates and girls. And probably dickheads, which put the brakes on my thinking a bit, might get started- on, was fairly probable, who would back it? Would I know enough people? I knew people but was I safe with them? Like safe, enough. Safe enough to say ‘Safe Kass' and Kass to ‘safe' back. Maybe, maybe not.There were good reasons why Ikon Diva had been featured, a few times, on Crime In The South East. Fly-on-the-wall camera crew follows coppers, as they nick larey lads, and often females, kicking off at kicking-out time. There was always the bit, where three or four copers struggle to pin-down and cuff some geezer in a ripped Ralph shirt, wriggling about like a trapped wasp.‘we need you to calm down sir '‘I'm fucking calm, I'm fucking calm'Often, that was someone's older brother, or mate, or occasionally dad.All the non-conforming-alternative-types: the skaters, the metalers, the indie kids, the stoners, of which I was a conflicted, inconsistent member of, would consistently slag the place off, and its regulars, with anecdotes that were probably justified, but with tones and remarks that all-to-often veered into that merkey grey-area of outright class-bashing. I always felt I was somewhere inbetween those two world-views. I wanted to stand out, because there was more to life than Crawley town centre and chart music, but I also wanted to blend in, I didn't want my arse kicked and I liked (but could never afford) Air Max and of course, Jungle, Drum and Bass' even though it had been relegated in the coolness stakes, due to UK Garage being the go-to sound, banged out of any souped up-moter doing doughnuts outside Halfords.So I'm at Horley station doing my very best to blend in. Pinstripes, jeans, Ben Sherman and jacket, standard night-out-geezer-in-training look.  I looked the part but lacked the pack, like a lone deer with low self-esteem, stood a few yards from a gigantic herd of does and horn-heads, all smoking Sovereign cigarettes, spitting on the floor and wearing better brands of clothes. Horley, being that smaller town-with-one-massive-secondary-school, meant that everyone knew each other who went to Oakwood school; which was all of them, with the exception of the few kids like me, who went to faith schools and the other odd few posh kids and scholarship kids who went to Reigate Grammer.There must've been about thirty of them, all along platform two, in small groups, but all still communicating with each other, they knew each other, I didn't really know anyone.  All it took was for one mouthy prick to look in my direction and the game would be up before it had even started. There were a few faces in amongst them that I recognised from my days playing football, for Horley Town under 9's and 2nd Horley Cub scouts. Few wideboys I'd seen getting larey in the town centre. Some of the girls were fit, tiny, tight dresses, big earrings and loads of makeup and none of them had jackets on; it was cold. I wish I knew them. The 52 train rolled in and I sat as far away from them as possible.We pile off the train at Crawley, me deliberately taking my time, with the aim of making as little noise as possible, I'd got good at that. I arranged to meet a few of the boys at the station. All the Horley lot pile off, I see them up ahead, along with loads of other kids, good mix of girls and boys. This massive crew that gets off at the opposite end as I'm walking towards the exit, they're in a head on collision course with me, as we roll up the platform towards the exit. They're done up to the nines in Moshino and Iceberg, and they look bigger and older, and ruder, all walking with a bop only reserved for the rudest of rudeboys round here. I'm guessing they're from Croydon, they got that street air that just about gets filtered out down here, even in a satellite town full of attitude, like Crawley; if you bowled like these boys, you were either a pretender or you really were about it. There weren't many that could pull it off.  They're talking loud, making random noises, shouting and laughing and one of them is MCing; there's no girls, just guys. They got an energy about them, which is unpredictable, but like, draws you in, like you wanted to be in their company.I slow my step enough, so that I wind up filling in behind them as they go into the station, bowling right passed the infamous Indian Robo Cop, who today must've stood down with the shake downs. I doubt any of these kids, Horley, Redhill or Croydon, had tickets, but even the infamous Indian Robocop was powerless to stop them in the sheer numbers they were streaming through; either that or he'd passed out under a cloud of Lynx and ImpulseI stood on the steps of the station, watching them all make their way to Ikon, which was conveniently stationed, next to the station. All in big groups. As I'd come over the footbridge, I was pretty sure I heard the likes of Ronnie Wader and Shane O Connel, and I'm pretty sure Brendon was with them, sometimes he got invited to roll with those boys, same with Gareth. They were dickheads but I was jealous. Whatever it was, they sounded rowdy, like they were doing shots or something, bottles were clanging and doing football chants.I stood on the steps, watching the masses make their ways in, in varying states. I saw a few faces like Yusef, Ryan White and Big Kass, which was never a good sign that those three were together; felt like everyone was mobbing up and coming out in force. They could very easily have stopped and come up the steps and performed the Crawley shake-down routine; I certainly had a few pound coins on my person; maybe they could teach this local custom to them Croydon boys in a cultural exchange, in return for some updated London slang; we always got it eventually; Thatcher's trickle-down for satellite town rude boys.I was a bit gutted that Brendon and Gareth were with Shane and that, I was on my own and lacking weight but trying to look like I did'nt lack wight but I was on my own and I did lack wieght. There was always a loose cannon like Kells about, but you know he'd just turn up anyway, though we never invited him for anything. Mo was coming, everyone liked Mo, and Rich was coming too, he could swing if he needed to, but right now, I was on my own; until Vee-jay trotted up. He'd walked from Broadfield, which was a good half hour. He was a good kid Veejay, but like me he lacked he didn't scan well in the hardness polls, but he was trustworthy. Two wonna be's are better than one wonna be but the two combined still don't make the weight of a regular geez with a bit about him. We were still exposedEventually Mo showed up, he'd lived near by but had to come over the bridge and had bumped in to Ronnie Wader and those boys, and saw  Brendon and Gareth.  I could smell the booze on his breath; they were all safe with Mo. Luckily for me he didn't stray. He was loyal like that; he could've mugged me and Vee-jay off for them. Rich then arrived, his mum dropping him off in the carpark, giving her a bit of grief as he got out the car.‘shutup man, don't  drop me off here next time'So now there was four of us, that was something. We marched on over to the que, which snaked all the way round the side and back out into the station car park. It was a lot of people, and lot of bouncers, big mean looking bastard.  We were bopping towards the back of the que, but all subetley looing  to see who we knew, let all these pretty chicks and wideboys know that we were faces. Mo got a few nods but the rest of us got nothing; until.‘Oi Rich, Rich, Paul, Paul yea boys, over here, yea, yea.'Someone said my name. They said Rich's first, but still, they said my name. I tried to look like it was nothing, like this kinda thing happens all the time. I slowly turned round, only to see Pidge, in the que, on his own. Pidge. I was a little bit disappointed but it meant we could sneak into the que and just hope no one called us out. Pidge had on a Tommy Hilfiger shirt that was way too big for him, to be fair though; he weren't the only one in ill-fitting clothes.Every wide boy in a 20 mile radius was in the line to get in, all the different parts of Crawley there, Pound Hill and Northgate to Broadfield and Bewbush. All the Horley boys, Horsham, Redhill, East Grinstead and those big crews from Croydon, all in the mix, all out for something. The energy of it all reminded me of watching one of those crusty science videos in school, where they would put a Bunsen burner under a substance and through the microscope, you could see all the particles getting lively; it was buzzing.There'd already been a couple of casualties and we hadn't even got in yet. One kid hauled out by security, who could barley even stand, spaghetti all down his shirt, two other lads had a punch up in the que, it was only just gone 7pm.  There was gonna be a few pissed off parents later, and probably a few parents who didn't give a shit what their kids were up to; some mess in front of us was clearly sweating and gurning his face off. We were Tony Blairs children; he'd be proud.As we slowly moved towards the door, I could start to hear those muffled base sounds of pumping music inside. Butterflies fluttered in my belly. But wait, what if it was so banging my ears couldn't take it? I'd never been to a club before. I'd heard older people say dance music could brainwash ravers, but then my older siblings all listen to it and they're alright? In-fact my brother said the sound system was shit?! Clubs were way better in Brighton and London. Which was odd, because out here, it sounded pumping, every time that door opened we got a blast, getting louder the closer we got to the door.‘oi, that sounds sick boys'‘Na it's shit. Clubs are way better in Brighton and London'From the time I'd got to the platform at Horley station, to getting in this que, I'd fallen in love about 400 times and my head had already concocted a whole series of fantasies, involving each one of these girls being my girlfriend, every time my eyes locked on one, it was hard to know where to look! It was also, in a way, a bit intimidating, some of these girls weren't wearing much but were fully confident with it, strutting about, like they knew what they were doing, like they had all this power and were in full control; any young geezer looking to step, needed some serious minerals to match it. Couple of these chicks looked like they swing it out too, one girl with curly hair and fists covered in sovereigns had threatened to knock out some guy for pushing in; she meant it and he knew, we all did; he backed down fast.When we finally got to the door, it was only then I appreciated the sheer size of these bouncers, with their black suits on with white shirts and shoulders like American football pads. Butterflies in my belly panicking to get out, fizzing like that ADHD inducing popping candy in my mouth and I'm pretty sure I had to lean forward at one point, to attempt to contain it.‘You alright mate?‘yea, yea, yea sweet, boys'We'd all  gone quiet, I cleared my throat as we got to the doors, into the clock room area, where those big main doors were and every time they opened; I was blasted with pumping beats, mashed with the sounds of energetic young voices, like twisted bits of jewellery all forming this messy audio ball of madness which I couldn't quite contextualise but my Lord, was it exciting, and scary.‘alright'My voice sudenly went up an octave and simultaneously my arms sprung out from my pockets into a straight position, like a spring-loaded bottle opener, without the bouncer even saying a word, just a split second of eye contact. How did he do that?! It was like magic!? And why did my voice go up like that?He didn't respond to my attempt at casual geezer niceties and when he was done, slightly shoved me in the back towards the area where the entrance was. I slightly tripped and my heart suddenly went up about a 100 BPMs thinking I was gonna stack it in front of all these kids in the que. Fortunately I managed to stye it out and smiled awkwardly, as I joined the boys at the till, paid my £4 cover fee, opened those almighty, towering double doors and just like that, we were in the club. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening, welcome to Lager TimeLagerlites of Lagerland uniteThis week's episode is a stry about a first kiss, on a boat. It's called HMS GeezerThis story was featured in my 2016 solo show, The C/D Borderline, whihc you can watch HEREIt was also featured in my book of poems and stories, The Suburban, whihc you can purchase HEREStream MY NEW EP, Toast in the Machine, HERE This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningI don't have this week to write up the intor, freestyles it a bit but have a listen and you'll hear all!The Toast in the Machine is EP is finally out!Here's some links to it -This is the second 64 bar verse and beat I put togethor, as a bit of promo, for the Toast In The Machine, which is out NOW https://paulcree.hearnow.com/ If you fancy giving me a little tip, for the price of a pint, would be much appriciated https://ko-fi.com/paulcree Follow me on any of these platforms SPOTIFY FOLLOW - . APPLE FOLLOW - https://music.apple.com/us/artist/pau... AMAZON MUSIC - https://www.amazon.co.uk/music/player... BANDCAMP - https://paulcree.bandcamp.com/ read all about the EP here https://paulcree.co.uk/blogAnd here's a Promo 64 bar verse called Gobshite 64 below - Thank as ever for supporting, listening, readingHave a banging weekend! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningWelcome to Lager Time. This week it's the second part of the Date With Mates Story, enjoy.You can stream / download my new EP Toast In The Machine on BANDCAMP HEREIt all be up on all other streaming platforms shortleyStay tunes to @paulcree and www.paulcree.co.uk for more detailsLarge up This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?This week it's Satelitte Strory rpisode 5, a A Date With matesHave a listen to the prmo freestyle I did called Toy Cars 64 Have a lsiten to a sample for The Toast In The Machine EP Buy my book, The Suburban HERE This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

EasyHappy Sunday. No normal Lager Time at the minute, should be back next week, I've got a story that I'm currently writing. Life's been a bit mad of late; lots of work, home stuff, health etc, getting the time to do it has been difficult, and there's things I need to get finished, like this here music project, Toast in the Machine. Enjoy the sampler and if you can, give us a follow on one of the links below, so you'll know when the full EP comes outSPOTIFY FOLLOW - https://open.spotify.com/artist/77Io4kiSZs1Zhs4UFDmnCrAPPLE FOLLOW - https://music.apple.com/us/artist/paul-cree/410019369AMAZON MUSIC - https://www.amazon.co.uk/music/player/artists/B008XF7EPS/paul-creeBANDCAMP -   https://paulcree.bandcamp.com/ I've now got to figure out how to make some of those little promo videos, all part of the fun I guess, though I'm yet to see the fun part in it.Anyway, Lager Time should be back with another Satellite Story next week hopefully, got a few more in the bag, don't know what I'm going to do after that but I'm sure I'll figure it out.Paul This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Welcome to Lager Time.This week, it's another instalment of Satelltie Stories; a cautionary tale about fairness, or lack of. Enjoy. Do you me a lemon and sunscribe! ThanksCheck my book out at www.paulcre.co.uk/shopwww.paulcree.bandcamp.com for music@paulcree for all elsePeas and taters This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningWelcome to Lager Time. For the second week running, I'm putting this out on a Saturday, which is today, for me. There was some real Lager Time last night, been a while. Enjoyed seeing the boys. Been a busy week this week, been all over London doing workshops, not had a great deal of time to put this together. Can't complain though, it's been good, mate. I've been trying to write this second part to the 405 story, in between jobs and on trains. So it's probably a bit scrappy, but a lot of the stuff I'm putting up on here, are in differing states of development. That's the idea I guess. It's odd though, I suddenly feel a bit of an obligation to put it up. Though I think that's merely down to my own idiosyncrasies, wanting to keep this up, than any particular demand, because as far as I know, it doesn't exist.I'm enjoying doing these stories though and I think I'm going to run with them for a bit. I've got a list of ideas, I want to write about, I'm also enjoying introducing little bits of sound design. I mean, it entails me going on to Freedsound and downloading bots and bobs, nothing out of this world but it's a direction I've wanted to go down for some time.Large up everyone who read, listened, and downloaded the first part of the 405 story last week. I was listening back, and realised the bit where I stopped the story, was where the Mo character encounters some casual racism form the driver; which unfortunately, was not that uncommon back them. Only reason that I stopped it there, is because that's where I stopped writing it, as that's where I ran out of time. That was it. Listening back, it reminded me a bit of those American Sitcoms that I used to like watching as a kid, like the Fresh Prince, where every now and again they, do a serious episode, rolling the credits at the end with no music; really driving home the poignant on-the-nose moment and the moral message. That's the last thing I'd ever intend to do with any of this stuff. That kind of moralising is not my cup of tea, at all, and if I'm being an honest, it puts me off from going to a lot of spoken word events. Back when I was more active, there was loads of it. However, the thing with the driver, did happen, and happened all too often. Along with the likes of me, who sat there silent and did nothing, though I did once almost get my head kicked in, in London bridge MacDonalds, tying to stuck up for someone, for similar reasons but that's for another time. I think that says enough. Roll credits, no music. Boom.It's coming up to almost a year, since I started Lager Time. I think I'm only just starting to find my feet with it. I must say, I do enjoy it and I enjoy the freedom of it. There seems to be a small number of you who are engaging with it, and its slowly growing, so thankyou. It means a lot. Either this week, or next, I'm going to do another Not Quite Live edition again, I enjoyed that one last time, even if no one else did. Not quite sure where this is all going, had a thought at some point in the future, I could put on a night, I dunno. I'm a performer, I like performing but at the moment, there aint a lot of that and I'm enjoying doing my own thing, so the Lager march continues.Enjoy part 2 of the story, hopefully I'll have something new for next week. Blimey, pressures on.Having a banging rest of the weekendPaulThanks for reading Lager Time (audio)! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.The 405 part 2BOSH. After the long, arduous and perilous journey across the Towns and villages of Surrey, we finally arrived into Kingston, and just like that we all became energised again and the al the banter and bravado we left Crawley with was back. BOOM.It's like we were re-connected, spirally realigned to our purpose again (even though I doubt any of us quite knew what that was.) New life was breathed into the firm, like those occasions when I bothered to reconnect the long-since-fallen, algae-ridden filter system in the fish tank, at home. Everything was fresh and gold like my fish. We were in a whole new town, with new opportunities but more importantly, about to enter the utopian-dystopian world of Lazer Quest.Of course this meant we had to be on our guard a bit. Instinctively, shoulders arched back and as we bowled though the bus station into the town-centre, I made sure I dropped a couple of swear words, extra loud, like WANKER, letting the locals know,  we had a bit about us.Kingston was an upgrade on Crawley and definitely Horley. It was similar but everything just seemed, a lot more, like, nicer. The neat paving bricks in the pedestrianised high-street, the river, the olde-worlde buildings, even the windows looked cleaner, the girls prettier, the geezers somehow more flash, suddenly I felt like we were tatty in comparison.Despite the Royal status, there was only one jewel in Kingston's crown. Croydon had the Water Palace, Guildford had the Ice rink and Kingston the Lazer Quest; despite all the flashness of some of the locals, Crawley was not yet swinging in the big boys league, with these lot; though there were rumours at the time, that a Virgin Megastore was opening in the Country Mall.We never arranged to meet the splinter-group, we just assumed they'd be at the Lazer quest when we got there and vice versa. We had a to ask a couple of people to find it. This was a moment when larey pricks like Granger actually came of use, he didn't care who he talked too. Everything was amusing to him.We'd all seen that episode of Byker Grove, where they went to ‘Quasar Laser' and it looked sick! All dark with neon lights, metal grids, bunkers, netting and dry-ice; I hadn't been this excited since Steet Fighter The Movie..We finally reached our destination, this sort of non-descript sixties grey building, with a corrugated roof, looking like a glorified second hand tyre shop. But the all important Lazer Quest sign, on the outside of the building, was using a sick, lightning-like font, in electric-red and I was reassured about techno-futuristic-utopia-dystopia I was about to enter.The splinter group were sat in reception, all stood up, except for Veejay who was sat down looking miserable. They stunk of fags. Smoking?! Rich explained they'd had to jump a wall at Kingston station to avoid the ticket office and Veejay had done something to his ankle in the process. I knew Veejay should've been with us. A mid forties women with curly, dyed red hair and glasses, wearing a black polo top showing some faded tattoos on her arm, was behind the counter with a monitor above her head, showing some scores, in mad futuristic writing, like the bowling alley, but, like, way sicker. Some cheesy Euro trance was playing in the background, it wasn't Speed Garage but this place was already pissing on the AMF.‘Where the fuck have you boys been, we've been here proper time'‘Bus was fucking long'‘fuckng hell man'‘mind your language boys, not in ere thankyou'The red head had spoken, with authority. She looked like she'd beaten up a few men in her time. Kells, with his back to her, and facing us, protested in a way that only he could‘shutup you fucking bitch'‘What did you just say?'Kells was grinning at us and then immediately turned his face to a scowl, tuted and turned round‘what, I didn't say nothing, chill out innit'He turned back to us and grinned again. Kells was a liability but I was kind of glad he was here. We were far away from home, so it was good to have someone in our ranks who went afraid to mix it, even if it meant him doing stupid shit like thatRedhead took the L.‘I don't want any lip from any of your boys when you go in there, if you mess about, you're out, understand?'A few ‘yea, yea, yeas' emerged, half-heartedly from the group.‘We need to get you signed up and then have your safety briefing, you're in the next game, they'll be some others in there with you'A safety briefing?! This was just getting better and better. I thought for a sec about some of those mugs from my class, like Chris and Ramo, probably at the ABC cinema, back in Crawley. Pussies. They weren't man enough for this shit.We all bowled up to the counter, paid up and registered. Whilst I was in the que, I looked up at the screen and noticed some new names had appeared with a score of 0. These must've been the other players. There were names like ‘Dark Lord'  ‘Excalibur' and ‘Colbolt 3000' these names were sick.  I then saw ‘Tony's Mum and Fish Fingers ‘ had appeared on the  screen, and clocked Granger and Kells were at the front adding their esteemed alias's to the cannon. Red-head didn't looked impressed but I guess she had to let these through on a technicality, I heard Kell's arguing with her that ‘Mum' was his surname.We stood outside these black-double-doors, which had more of the sick, electric red font on them. I could hear cheesy Euro-Trance pumping through and the sounds of people running around. I was nervous but I could barley contain my excitement. We got kitted out in these mad-looking Ghostbuster type, packs that slotted over our heads, with a holster for this massive lazer-gun thing. Red head came over to administer her best war address.‘If you get shot, your pack will freeze and you'll have to wait till it unfreezes. Aim of the game to get as many hits as you can. Three hits and you're eout the game. The other team you'll be facing, are already in there and if you mess about boys, you're out, understand, I'm not taking any crap today?!'The moment we'd all been waiting for. Redhead opened the door. No dry-ice seeped through? Where's the dry-ice? The cheesy Euro-trance was superloud and we entered into this sort of small-ish-dark-ish room with these wooden walkways, with some neon-graffiti on them which sort-of-looked cool.We entered in and immediately ran off, Kells turning round to shoot as many of us as he could. We were meant to be on the same team! The wooden walk-ways were really noisy, it was putting me off. It also weren't that dark so we could see everything. Where were the futuristic metal-grids with the futuristic dry-ice?! This just wasn't very cool.My pack suddenly vibrated and flashed red. I tuned round to see this podgy mid-thirties-looking guy, with long greasy hair guy and hiking boots, with a pack on, I assumed he worked there.‘I've been shot, mate, what do I do?'He shouted ‘Alpha-two-one, repeat alpha two-one, let's go'He then turned around and rolled off into a corner, and I heard him tramping up one of the walk-ways. The fat prick had shot me. As he tuned, I saw ‘Dark Lord' written on the back his t-shirt. That was the Dark Lord?! He looked like he worked in the Games Workshop.‘What are you doing you dickhead, you're just standing there.'Mo grabbed me and suddenly we were under one of the wooden walkways. I noticed on the floor an empty Ribena carton, a few empty crisp packets and a discarded copy of The Daily Express. I could hear Kells and Granger laughing somewhere in the room, but in truth it was hard to hear anything, as the Cheesy Euro Trance was blasting so loud and the with the stomping on the wood, I could barley hear myself think.Fuck this, I thought. I stepped into the void, looking for that fat nerd, looking for revenge. BANG. I'm vibrating again and I tuned round to see another one of these socially awkward-looking-podgy-older guys. Must've been Cobalt 3000. I hadn't even got my gun out he holster yet and I'd been shot twice. Two more if I included the bus journey.Me and Mo ran up onto another platform where we bumped into Doyle.‘These peedos keep shooting everyone, I'm almost dead. Veejay got taken out within five minutes.'‘Where is he now?'‘He's over there.'I looked over in the direction Doyle was pointing and saw Veejay sat on an Orange plastic-chair, like we have in school, reading a copy of Shoot Magazine. What?! Surely they wouldn't have crap orange plastic chairs, in the sick dystopian-utopia-future?! The drapes were rapidly coming down on my lifelong dream, well, my dream, from as far back as the morning; when I actually thought a bit about what we were doing. This place was shit.‘oi, how many lives you got left'I tuned round to see Kells and Granger, grinning.‘One'‘BANG. Not any more'I vibrated. Game over. They ran off, I'd love to say into the smoky darkness but I could see clearly where they were going, and hear them too. This place was small and shit, reminding me of Horley. I headed over to where Vejay was. He was reading an article about Andy Cole's favourite type of pizza.Even with the Cheesy-Euro-Trance at full-blast, Red-head must've got on the PA system, booming over the music to tell us the game was finishing. I wanted to get out. Predictably, Andy Cole preferred a Margarita, I had to agree with him on that one but it was no substitute for the disappointment that I felt.We ‘de-briefed' back in the foyer, looked up on the screen to see that team ‘Alpha-Flight'  has whipped team Crawley Boys, something ridiculous. A few of team Alpha-Flight were de-briefing in what they called the ‘ante-chamber' with us and I overheard them referring to each other in their codenames. Really? Grow-up boys.We managed to find a McDonald's and at least enjoyed that. Spat some paper through the starws in the shopping centre. Took in the glorious sights of Kingston and trudged bakc to the 405, with a hobbling Veejay. He was never a bad boy. The others seemed to have enjoyed themselves, and lots of the chat on the bus back was about the fun they'd had. Mo's was reputation was still in-tact.Most of them had fallen asleep when the bus rolled into Horley and I got up to get off. It was dark by this point. Dark and dul,l with the few half working street lamps pitifully attempting to illuminate Horley's crap town centre. It was fitting. I looked at Mo.‘See you later, mate'‘Yea, see you later, mate.'I left the conversation, the bus and the town centre,  awkward as ever.Thanks for reading Lager Time (audio)! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Welcome to Lager Time, episode number 37, Todays offering, coincidentally, is another Satellite Story about going on a long bus journey, to the promised land of a Laser Quest in Kingston.Here's a link to the new video mentioned @muddyfeetpoetry video mentioned in the podcast Subsrive to the podcast on Apple, Spotify and Substack, support the work, it means a lotBuy my book - www.paulcree.co.uk/shopTwitter / Insttagram - @paulcreeFacebook @paulcreewrites This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?This week it's the second in the series of Satellite Stories, called Drunks and Bunkers. A little escape from my school daysNew song out now RISE (OUTSIDE) BY Beats & Elements - go streamwww.paulcree.co.uk/shop@paulcree Twitter / Instagram@paulcreewrites Facebook This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

This week is the first in a new series of short stories, based on time growing up in the Gatwick area.Don't forget to check out the 1st Not quite live Edition last Tuesday, it was of funLast few copies of my book, The Suburban and The 90 Sick EP are available at www.paulcree.co.uk/shop This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

First time doing this, it's a bit of an experiment!SetlistWhichever Way It's Blowing (Taken from Toast In The Machine EP)The focusRay Flector Sunglasses That Shield The SunNylon To ExperionHelp-SelfBorn SlipperyWeak Walking ShoesNot Quite A CheetahIndependenc DayPaper TrailJazz Lock: Day 187; Guilty ConscienceWhat Happened To Drum ‘n Bass?DepletedStress PieceLife Affirming Moments Vo1Never Enough (song)Smiths (taken from Make Your Own Bed and Hope for the Best show) This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happening?Welcome to Lager Time: stories, poems, beats, bars and a bit of banter.Some thoughts about rain with some rain themed poems, pus a cupe f extras from the archives. A little update on my forthcoming EP Toast In The Machine and some unlikley yet amusing news about the podcastwww.paulcee.co.uk@paulcree - Twitter / Instagram@paulcreewrites - You Tube / facebook This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

A little update and the final track form the 90 Sick EP.Buy / stram the EP HERE https://paulcree.bandcamp.com/album/the-90-sick-e-pCheck Elian Gray HERE https://eliangray.bandcamp.com/album/awkward-aweCheck my website HERE https://paulcree.co.uk/ This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

The third story from The 90 Sick EP and an amusing encounter at St Pancrus station This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningWelcome to Lager Time, stories, poems, beats, bars and banter.I'm still in flux, currently sat in Plumstead at my in-laws where I've mostly been for the last couple of weeks. Was back in Maidstone yesterday and  now, I'm back here again. Needs must, life and that. Off to a wedding this weekend in York. Never been there before, I've heard it's pretty; hopefully they've got a Wetherspoons.This week has been a little quieter, I've been feeling tired. Either it's the heat and the excesses of last week, or some kind of post COVID-Gastroenteritis effects but I'm wiped out. But, I'm ok, we're here, my wife's back, dogs are ok; we crack on mate.Last night I was back with the BAC Beatbox Academy, who've I worked with on and off for over ten years, now. I was helping some of the younger ones get ready for their curtain-raiser performance, for the Frankenstein: How To Make A Monster Show at the Regents Park Open Air Theatre, this Monday. If you're not aware of this show, it's a modern re-telling of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, all done through beatbox, rap, spoken word and movement. It's won multiple awards and toured all over the gaff and this may well be your last chance to see it. It's a banger.The success of that show has had an unprecedented effect on many people, myself included. Though I've been around the academy for years, I work closely with the director, Conrad Murray and I've known most of the cast for many years; I was not involved with the development of the show. Yet, prior to COVID, when it was winning every award going, people would come to me and congratulate me for it, it was a strange time. But I was delighted for my pal, all the cast and all the young guys from the academy (that I did work with) who got to go on stage and perform before the main show when it ran at BAC, in 2019That whole period of 2018-2020 when we were doing High Rise, Frankenstein and all sorts of other projects was nuts. So it's been nice that, in a way, it's come back around again. It's not the same of course but that's cool. I worked with a young person last week, in Manchester, who's part of the academy, who I've not seen since before COVID and it was great to see her so it feels like I'm reconnecting again. Which is goodI'm dropping the second track from The 90 Sick EP this week, called The Colour Orange. Which I suppose is a story about family and roots and class, all set around the time of Euro 96. While it may feel like I'm rehashing old bits at the minute, they'll be some fresher stuff coming. I'm starting to learn some of these newer poems with a view of putting a set together for this live-stream. I should set a date really, shouldn't I? Let's say September for now.Anyway, that'll doHave a banging weekendPaulThe Colour OrangeHe's on telly again. The man with the permanent suntan, funny accent, white teeth and shiny face. Often seen on TV bending spoons with his mind, like some sort of bastard child of Magneto and the Tubular Bells guy, dangerously mixed with that suspect cheery disposition that I only ever see in travelling Christian theatre companies, bouncing around my school stage, singing it in the valleys and shouting from the mountain tops.The spoon bender is now enticing me to touch a big orange spot on my screen. This strange man seems to be smeared all over television, like the Oxy 10 I apply badly to my face each morning before school, looking in the mirror too scared to pop spots and wondering who Adam is and why he's stuck an apple in my throat. Each time I swallow it looks like a satsuma's being slipped down the inside of a snake.The man with the permanent suntan, funny accent, white teeth and shiny face is making yet another TV appearance, on the special edition of the Baddiel and Skinner Fantasy Football show, which I'm watching, sat in the living room, on the well-worn settee, on my own.Apparently, if I touch this big orange spot, the man with the permanent suntan, funny accent, white teeth and shiny face will become like a SCART lead and channel all that positive energy from televisions around the nation towards the England football team. It's Euro 96; they're playing Scotland the very next day! My grandpa, from Dad's side, is from Scotland. My older brother supports Scotland, he doesn't support England, he supports the other team when England play, and that really gets on my nerves! There's a lot at stake for this game.I sink down onto the floral-patterned badly faded settee like a fence, watching the screen, picking splinters from my spleen. I roll my eyes up to the lopsided white wooden shelf on the back wall, on which sits a small collection of my thirteenth birthday cards, which have now managed to last for three days. They all seem to have the same picture, of a hand-drawn school locker with loads of sports equipment spilling out. Stood next to the cards in a permanent place is a small statue of the Virgin Mary from Lourdes. It contains some holy water and two decorative plates, which stand upright like shields and have pictures of both Glasgow and Belfast. Belfast is where my grandad comes from, on Mum's side. Underneath the lopsided white wooden shelf is the TV: a fourteen-inch black Philips box which doesn't have a remote, and sometimes the buttons get stuck and don't work.Like a top gun fighter pilot, target in sight, my eyes lock back on to the big orange spot on the screen. The man with the permanent suntan, funny accent, white teeth and shiny face is enticing me. Touch faith, that song says.I'm not sure what to believe, but I'm willing to give it a go. Mum and Dad probably won't like it, as I'm sure it goes against the teachings of the church, but so far God hasn't answered any of my prayers about girls and I've only just got a Sega Mega Drive; it's 1996! My best friend Rich has already got rid of his and now has a Sega Saturn. And, as for my teeth, I must be at the back of the longest queue in NHS history because I haven't seen an orthodontist yet, my teeth still look like Stonehenge and Richard calls me goofy. I slowly rise, walk towards the telly and stick my sweaty little palm on the static of the glass. Right on the orange spot. I'm doing it for England. I want England to win.It's the following day and I'm now at Richard's house. He's got a much bigger TV; it's massive. He also has Sky; the satellite dish is outside his bedroom on the wall and apparently, at nightime, for ten minutes, there's a secret channel where you get to see naked women! He also watches WWF. I have to make do with WCW on ITV. His parents actually like football and on Sunday they take him to games and watch him play, they don't go to church. He has barbecues in his garden, holidays to Florida and places in Spain where they have outdoor water parks that Richard reckons are way better than the Croydon Water Palace. My family sit round playing guitars and other weird instruments with strings and sing silly-sounding songs in Irish accents.I rode my brand-new bike which I got for my birthday up to Richard's. I say new; it's second-hand, but it's my first ever mountain bike. It's got Shimano gears and Rhino horns. Richard's got two mountain bikes; he keeps one spare.We're both lying on our bellies in his living room, eyes fixed on his massive TV, waiting for the two arch-enemies to commence battle. I'm nervous. I want England to win. I didn't want to watch the game at home, as I knew my older brother would be there, in his Celtic shirt and Scotland scarf, and my dad, who doesn't really like football but will still watch the big games without taking sides. When a player rolls around the floor pretending to be injured, he'll go ‘achhh' just like my grandpa does. I needed to be amongst my own, I want England to win.The first forty-five fly by with turbulence. At half time, it's nil-nil and it's tense. The commentator is telling us that Jamie Redknapp is coming on from the bench; his instructions are to keep hold of the ball in midfield so the full backs can get forward. Richard and I erupt when Gary Neville swings in a cross from the right flank which Alan Shearer heads into the net to put England one-nil up! Rolling round on the floor, Rich trying to put me in the headlock and punch me!Minutes later, out of nowhere, Scotland suddenly get a penalty! Gary McAllister steps up and places the ball on the spot, an expert executioner if ever there was one. I'm nervous. As he takes the few paces just before he strikes, something very strange happens: the ball moves ever so slightly, and when he connects, he hits it hard but Seaman saves and we erupt all over again! It's still one-nil and I'm trying to put Richard in the headlock now, rolling round on the carpet!Now, apparently, at this very moment, hovering above Wembley in a helicopter, holding one of Bobby Moore's England caps, is the man with the permanent suntan, funny accent, white teeth and shiny face! The one who told me to touch the orange spot! It must have been him that moved the ball! And when Jamie Redknapp plays a sweeping pass, flicked on by Darren Anderton into the path of an advancing Paul Gascoigne, who in two amazing moves deftly clips the ball over Colin Hendry's head and slams it into the back of the net, Richard and I explode and go running round his garden, shouting our heads off!The game's finished now, England won! I'm getting on my bike and all I can think about is claiming those rare bragging rights when I get home, as I know my brother was watching it. I start riding, cars in the street are beeping, I can hear people singing everywhere, that Baddiel and Skinner song, ‘Football's Coming Home'. Displayed all over the place is the white and red flag of St George, which until Euro 96 I'd not really seen before, but now it's on almost every house. It's a good day to be English.I ride my brand-new-second-hand bike back home. I can't wait to see my brother's face! I put my bike in the shed and come in through the back door into the kitchen. I can hear my dad on the phone, probably to Grandpa. I hear a few ‘achhh's, which more or less confirms my suspicions. Grandpa normally rings around this time on a Saturday, just before Mum and Dad go to church.My brother is sat in the living room, still wearing his Celtic shirt and Scotland scarf, sunk so low into the settee I can barely see his body. He's watching the news. Gazza's goal is doing a loop-the-loop. I pause by the door. He looks dejected and I suddenly feel like I've said something to upset someone, except I haven't said anything yet. I feel bad, so I decide not to gloat. I try to make light of it, by telling him how I touched the orange spot on the telly the night before and that man with the permanent suntan, funny accent, white teeth and shiny face was hovering in a helicopter above Wembley and must have made Gary McAllister miss his penalty. My brother doesn't look at me; he stays slumped on the settee, looking at the telly, and mumbles some words about the orange spot, something about church and Mum and Dad. He then says something I don't really understand but I know it's bad, about Belfast, Grandpa, Grandad, marches and some people called loyalists.I can hear my dad calling me from the hall to go and speak to Grandpa. I remind myself that my new bike has got Shimano gears and Rhino horns and that it was four miles to Richard's house, so that's eight miles in total that I rode today, and I tell myself that it's probably best that I don't mention the score. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, Bonjour, What's Happening?Welcome to Lager Time. What's been going on? It's been a mad week. Last night, we had the Out Here show at the Institute of Contemporary Arts. It's with a group of young people I co-lead with a director called Catherine Palmer, for an organisation called Dream Arts in London. We've been developing this show with this group over the last year.We've worked with over 50 young people within this project, most of which are coming from pretty-tough circumstances and had never done anything like this before.They thought we were nuts when we told them back last year we were doing a show.  It was mad ambitious. We got them acting, rapping, dancing and singing – and most of them, English is not their first language. But they smashed it, mate.The main room at the Institute of Contemporary Arts was packed and the audience loved it.  Of course, there was a few mistakes on stage here and there but they dealt with it and moved on. Just like professionals do.It was a great project for me to work on, I got to facilitate the sessions as well as write the script and produce the soundtrack – all done through a loop station, triggered live during the show by one of the young guys.Doing this type of work, it's almost impossible to avoid making cheesy sentimental statements about the whole thing but it can get really emotional. Some of the journeys these guys have been are genuinely incredible. We gave them all certificates at the end, on the stage, and at one point I was struggling to hold it together. Makes it all worthwhile.It's the first project I've done like this, since we came out the pandemic and it's wiped me out a bit but I'm glad of it. I'm off up to Manchester tonight, to work on a similar project at Contact Theatre then next week things slow down a bit, so I can focus on that livestream I keep going on about. Looking forward to having a kipIn 2015, I released an EP of stories called The 90 Sick EP. I worked with a great producer called Elian Gray, who scored the soundtrack to it. I was really proud of it. I never managed to sell to many CD's or get a great deal of streams but I was happy that it existed and could be accessed. Initially I regretted putting it out as an EP and thought I should've done it as a podcast but after 6 years, I'm glad it exists online and anyone can go and stream it anytime they want.I had an email off the CD distributor saying they wanted to get rid of my excess stock, so I got the last few CDs back off of them. You can purchase at paulcree.co.uk/shop or stream it on all the major platforms except Spotify, for some reason. Dickheads.I've attached the first track off the EP, called The Fun Fax Kid. I was really proud of this when I wrote it, I felt like these were the sort of stories I wanted to tell and the form felt good. It's loosely based on two true stories, so I hope you enjoy itHave a banging weekendPease and tatersPaul The Fun Fax Kid, by Paul Cree.It's a Wednesday afternoon, school's finished but I haven't. I'm sat on that infamous naughty desk underneath the stairs, writing lines about property-theft and deliberately disrupting class time.I should be at home watching Byker Grove! Instead, I'm staring at the carvings etched into the well knackered wood, crude claims about people's mum's, alongside a rollcall of scratched in names, older brothers and cousins of mates, who've not gone on to achieve much. I'm sat here because of Alan. Little shit that he is!It all started yesterday. Alan's bragging to Miss about how his cress plant's gonna' be the biggest in the class. All the class's cress plants are lined up on the window sill, next to the wooden desks with the hinged lids, where me and best friend Richard sit, right at the back at of the room. Alan sits a few rows in front, sucking up to Miss and flipping the bird everytime she turns to me and Rich. As Miss inspects the cress plants, she catches me and Rich talking.'Open up your desk lid' Miss says;As if she knew it was gonna' be in a state, and upon seeing how messy it is, texts-books, paper and felt tips missing the lids, looking like rubbish overflowing in a skip, she orders me, and Rich, who's desk is just as bad, to stay in at break and tidy them.'My desk is tidy miss.'Butting in, Alan's opened his desk lid, to reveal to Miss an annoyingly tidy pile of stacked books and paper, and that flippin' Fun Fax Alan always has with ‘im! Choc-o-bloc with geeky information, and stickers, so smug pricks like Alan can cover his textbooks with cheesy slogansand claim facts like it was ‘im that discovered it! When Miss walks away, Alan swings back round with a devious look on his face says;'Oi,I bet you too dick-‘eads have the worst cress-plants in the class. You two always come bottom in all the tests. You should be used to it, ‘cos you're both thick as shit!''Shut up Alan!' I replied'Yea, shut up Alan.' said Rich, backing me up.'YOU shut-up!' Alan comes back angry, as he'd just forgotten the insults that had pea-shooted from his lips.'No, YOU shut-up Alan, we said shut-up first.' I said.'WHAT'S ALL THIS NOISE ABOUT?!' Says miss, turning round from writingon the board and looking at us.'Miss, THOSE2 keep swearing at me.' says Alan!Thing is, though I don't often do well on the tests, I know I'm not thick, and as for Alan, who always seems to do well, I know he's not that smart, not as smart as he thinks he is! I've seen Alan cheat on tests by using his Fun Fax, hidden inside the lid of his desk, or the times-table on the back of his packed pencil case, and he always seems to get away with it! Little shit that he is!Miss turns back round to the board at the front of the class, Alan swings back round again;'You two nobs, are like those characters from that new cartoon Iseen on MTV called Beavis and Butthead, ‘cos you're both thick and need braces, that's your new names yea, Beavis and Butthead!'Alan follows this with a silly little giggle, which I'm assuming is taken from this mythical TV show which made everyone else in the class laugh! I feel the beginnings of a blizzard in my tummy, as if I was inside of a gently shaken snow glass, sat on a mantelpiece, which I immediately want to suppress. I can feel my face going red.'I've not heard of that cartoon ALAN! I don't know what you're talking about!' I said'That's because your mum and dad CAN'T afford Sky! You've never seen MTV!' Alan replies, as he turns back to his desk, doing that stupid laugh again.'My parents have got SKY. I've seen it' pipes up Richard! Out of nowhere!'And HE'S me more like Beavis and Butthead than me, HE'S the one with goofy teeth who needs braces!' Pointing at me!I pause look at Rich for a bemused sec;'what?' he says, ‘you do need braces.'Ignoring the fact that my best friend has just cussed me off, I then turn straight back to Alan, with his back to me, trying to think up the best cuss I can possibly cuss him back with…'Shut up Alan!'No reply. It just bounces off the back of Alans white shirt.During the break, detained, me and Rich are tidying our desks, stuffing our faces with too many Nerd sweets. Alan keeps on walking passed the window, calling us Beavis and Butthead, doing that stupid laugh, which is spreading like hair nits amongst the other kids, ‘cos they're all doing it. Clenching our fists, me and Rich pledge revenge and plot a roadmap to our very own Count of Monty Cristo.'I'd take him.' Rich says'Yea I reckon I'd take him as well' I said'Yea but I'd beat him‘im up harder, I've been doing press ups''Yea, but I'd put him in a headlock, you've seen me arm wrestle, I've got strength there''Yea but I'd elbow drop him.''Yea but I'd elbow drop him then put him in the super-sharp-shooter.''Yea but I'd elbow drop him, put him in the gorilla-press, throw him out the window from the first floor, then jump out myself and body splash him!'The emergency cobra meeting continues, as we empty our desks of all the unfinished school workand half eaten sandwiches. Just as I'm loading up my gob with another handful of Nerd sweets, I casually discard the empty box on the side behind me, and my gaze turns to the cress plants on the window sill. In particular, That Fun Fax sticker-clad plant pot, right in the middle, hogging all the sun light, and wonder how it is, that ALAN'S cress plant, actually looks like ‘im!.I stop chewing and just stare.I hock back! Sounding like a snorting pig at a trough, lean towards the window sill, then unleash a thick wod of rainbow coloured flem directly into the soil of that bellend Alan's plant pot! Rich laughs and then follows! Spitting right into the same spot! We go back forth in a flem-rally, covering Alan's cress plant in a monsoon pallet of food colouring, sugar and e numbers, making Alan's Cress Plant look like an abstract Van Gough! We watch the venom of our combined saliva slowly seep into the soil, we hi five and laugh, admiring our handiwork.The class come back in from break, Richard and I are schtum. The cress plants are lined upon the outside of my peripheral vision, like soldiers standing to attention, having just been witness to sabotage. Those annoying little giggles are playing out in stereo around the room, subtlety conducted by Alan at the front, sitting on his desk with his Fun Fax, blissfully unaware of what's just happened, and everytime Miss turned round to the board, Alan swings round to me and Rich and mouths 'Beavis and Butthead.' I just smile. The sun's out, it's all calm inside the snow glass.The next day I walk into class to be greeted by scene I didn't quite expect! Alan is standing next to the window sill! Alan is crying! Alan is being comforted by Miss I slowly shuffle over to my desk…Alan's cress plant is dead! No one else's Cress Plant has died! Just Alan's! It's as if we unintentionally hit the target at a carnival shooting gallery, and there's a now prize winning Goldfish swimming under the eyelids of me and Rich, who's just arrived and seen it too! But we're both a bit surprised; we didn't intend to kill Alan's cress plant. We didn't actually think about what would happen if we spat in it. We just thought it would be a laugh Cos Alan's always giving us shit!Alan 's touching the leaves tenderly with his hand. All the shoots are draped down the side of the pot, and are dry and yellow, looking like anorexic vines suffering from jaundice, and when Miss lifts the pant pot, there's a little multi coloured stain on the plate underneath! Looking like the liquid bit in the bottom of the bowl after eating a whole load of Neapolitan ice cream!Alan rubs his teary eyes and looksup, to see me, looking at him, his eyes immediately dart to the side, behind where my desk is. But then His face suddenly frowns?! I follow his sightline, and that's when I see the empty box of Nerd sweets sitting there casually on the side! He looks back towards me, he looks mean, he looks angry!'It was Beavis and But'ead.' he said all hysterical;'They did it Miss, they did it!!''Alan, stop being silly and sit back-down.' Said MissAlans states at me Rich, a hard stare that could strip pant off walls, and he remains quiet for the rest of the morning.At lunchtime Alan's no-where to be seen. But me and Richard are too busy feeling proud of our unintentional murderous achievements to be concerned about this. After lunch we came back into class for our Geography lesson Alan's already sat down at his desk. Miss says that were going to be studying capital cities Alan immediately shoots his hand up, as fast as the donkeys arse on that Bukerooo board game;'I know all the names Miss. They're in my Fun Fax.'Which he instinctively goes to grab, but it's not on his desk! Alan makes a real show of trying to find it, until Miss can't ignore it, As Alan gets more and more distressed and I don't think Miss wants anymore tears.'Ok class, everybody take a moment to look for Alan's Fun Fax.'10 minutes and No dice, the Fun Fax has disappeared! Lobbied furiously by Alan, Miss decides to inspect the desks. Lids fly open and she gradually approaches the back. She gets to me and Rich and suddenly I feel very scared. I open my messy lid…and THERE IT IS! Sat there, next to an empty box of Nerd sweets, in all its smugness is AlAN'S MUGGY FUN FAX!!‘It was Beavis and Butthead Miss! They took my Fun Fax!'I'm gobsmacked! When the bellowing begins, my snow glass turns to Ice and I freeze. Just nodding my head to everything Miss says, about how we deliberately concocted this plan to disrupt class time and distress Alan, who was already upset, even though we didn't do it!Miss doesn't know we killed his cress plant, but I wonder if she's giving us too much credit, planning all that?! We're not that smart! And we're sentenced to afterschool detentions, writing lines on the naughty desk about property theft, and deliberately disrupting class time.For the rest of the day me and Rich are sheepish. I can't help thinking how unfair life is, and every now again, as if just to remind us, Alan let's out that little giggle. Confirming the class's hierarchy and where we both sit, Little shit that he is!And as I sit here, and finish carving words to that effect into the naughty desk, underneath the stairs, annoyed as I am, I can't help thinking, when visualising those dry cress plant leaves, the rainbow stain on the plate, and the tears in Alan's spoilt eyes, it was all worth it. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningJust a quick little intro, not going to waffle like I normally do. I may or may not get to upload anything on Friday. I'm back and forth at the minute between Maidstone and London, with two very hot and bothered dogs; needs must. My wife's had to attend some important family business abroad, so daddy's in charge and he's gotta' sort out the out day care.All next week is the get-in for this Out Here show. It's a group called Friends from Afar, via a organisation called Dream Arts. They're made up of Londoners that I've been working with for the last year, developing it. I've written a script based on characters and scenes they devised and composed the music. Really excited for it but it's gonna be a nuts week.Thursday 28th July, 7pm, at the Institute of Contemporary Arts, London. Tickets are free if you wonna come along and support these guys.Below is the final part of the Edinburgh blog from 2016. I'll probably be back in a couple of weeks, hopefully with the first live-stream all good to go as well.Enjoy the sunPeas and tatersPaulCount Up To Edinburgh #9 Mission CompleteDuring the Edinburgh festival, if someone were to circulate a false rumour that so and so big-bollox TV executive / stage producer was holding open-auditions a mile out into the shark and sewage infested sea, beyond Leith docks; a hyper-enthusiastic undulating throng of: merry actors, comedians, poets, magicians, clowns, knife-throwers and jugglers would saunter en-masse (armed with flyers), down to the murky waters only to perish to certain death; disappearing in floating pools of blood and sludge and flyers with review quotes stapled to them. For years after, passers-by along Leith Port would hear distant murmurs of 'free comedy' and '4 star review' haunting the docks. Let's have it right, I'd probably be one of them mugs, though I'm sure I would have got half-way there, seen all the people heading in the same direction, cussed them off for being more organised than me and then abandoned all hope and sulked off to one of them late night takeaways that sell chips in curry-sauce. Either that or I'd turn up on the wrong day or something. In short. Edinburgh is like an extreme form of Monopoly, only difference is, it can seem, depending on what kind of day you've had, that everyone starts off with more dough and know-how than you. Mate. Edinburgh was nuts. I knew it would be nuts. Knowing it would be nuts didn't make it any less nuts, it was still nuts. But all in all, a good-nuts, like Terry Nutkins. Reast in Peace. It was really wild. To do it, and to want to do it, then want to go back and do it again, you do have to be at least slightly nuts. It just helps (a lot) if you've got the sort of dough behind you that would see you drinking in the sort of pubs that sell 10 different varieties of flavoured nuts (which come in jam jars) as a poncy alternative to crisps (which in itself is nuts, because crisps are banging, they're not nuts, but it is nuts, as all crisps, are banging, even Space Invaders.)I pretty much had 3 objectives going up there, well, 4 actually.1: To book, organise and get a show up there then put it on every day. (This stuff does not come easy to me)2: Get my face in front of some new people, outside of London and from hopefully as many different places as possible (though half of the people at the Fringe are probably from London)3: Get a couple of reviews.4: Have a laugh (though this one was more of a given)I'm happy to say that I achieved all of those objectives. The outcomes could have been better but also could have been a lot of worse. Could of improved in all of those above areas, particularly in my preparation; prior to this I'd never sent out a press release before let alone written one. Probably could have used my time up there more efficiently as well, flyering other events etc but all in all, I was pleased.The first week was very up and down and despite having a good audience for my first 2 shows it really dropped off and I was struggling a bit. Walking around the city, already sodden and cold, seeing all the massive hoardings and billboards advertising really banal-looking shows, most of which had some quirky face on, with some quirky show name, each one seemingly telling me, 'you can't afford this, go home, you small time mug.'Sounds a bit melodramatic but at times that's how I felt. Some of these people that take shows up there, must be able to write off £10K or some other ludicrous amount and it not be a problem for them. For many people though, it must break the bank. Everything up there costs and it's very difficult if you don't have a lot of money. High venue costs. High accommodation costs. Massive billboard posters. PR Companies. It's a lot. Thank God then for The Free Fringe and the ethos with which is stands for, which meant I didn't pay for hiring the venue I performed in, which is a massive cost. Simple really. We don't pay to hire the venue, audience don't pay to come in, venue takes the bar. It can work. The Pilgrim, where I was based, did really well, smashing all their targets.All in all I spent about £1500 squid, not even a fraction of what some of these shows must have cost. It also helped that all the other guys in my venue were really helpful and pitched in with flyering, and regular pick-me-up support etc. Made The Pilgrim a decent place to work at. Large up Soundman Davey Jones, Gecko (best flyer-er in the game mate!) Jake Wildhall, Joel Autterson and all the Boomerang Club crew, Harry Baker and Chris, Robert Garnham, Dave and Byron and of course all of the Pilgrim staff who were all really supportive.Second week picked up and I got a lot better at flyering and generally pulling people in etc. All the additional gigs helped too, Boomerang, Stand Up and Slam, Raise The Bar, Prepare To Fail. Felt like I got a into a good swing with it and the audiences were good too, generally really responsive. My mate Gary From Leeds said to me before we went up that things would start slow then pick up, and he was right. He was right about most things up there, though I did manage to persuade him that chips in curry sauce was better than chips in gravy, eventually he came round and he's Northern. Had a reviewer come in from Broadway Baby who gave me a decent 4 star 0eview which I was chuffed about. Have a butchers hereAlso somewhere in the second week I had a nice chat about it all with Paul McMenemy from Lunar Poetry. As always, I talked to much. I'd just done a show so my voice was a bit raspy. It was fun though. Have a listen HEREThe last week was wicked. Audiences were good and I felt like I knew what I was doing by this point. There was bit of a dip on one or two days but from what I'd heard this was felt throughout the festival. Couple of people said to me that in general numbers were down on previous years, something to do with The Olympics or Great British Bake Off or some other nonsense.I really enjoyed the chats I got to have most days, out and about on the streets, with other performers, punters etc. Big up Bob Walshy Walsh, who I had a good chinwag with most days about all things football and South London. When out flyering, it's a bit like a melty version of The Wire, on the street, all hand signals and that, communicating to the other flyerers, working out the punters movements and who's likely to want to take a flyer. It was thoughts like that which kept me amused on the slow days. But yea, in the end it all went well.The last show was by far the biggest and most generous audience I'd had and it was great to go out on a banger. Had another decent review from a young reviewer too by the name of Ben Huxley, have a butcher's here (though both Dominic Berry and I had a bit of giggle about the unlikely comparison.) Though I got to perform too lots of new and different people, I was chuffed that on most days there was someone I knew in the audience, a lot who took me by surprise. I had a lot of friends and family who came all the way up. Conrad, Fez and Junior came twice! Mum, Dad and Nat flew up just for the day. Met some really great people to, some who also came twice, like this really nice family from Cambridge, two of which were teachers. Had a lot of teachers. Big up Riko and family too. Thankyou, all of you, even the one or two rude ones who didn't pay any attention and were talking or playing on their phones throughout. Don't understand why you do that when you can just get up leave, it's Free Fringe innit, but still, you interest and annoy me in equal measure.Special mention must go to all the residents of Poetry House. My flatmates for the duration of the festival. Had a great time staying with these guys, all the nonsense chats in the kitchen and the many pick-me-ups along the way. Fay Roberts (got to do the best / worst / weirdest gig with Fay), Dominic Berry,(ahhhhhhhhhhh football-style audience support) Alexander Rhodes, Hannah Chutzpah all the various poets and mates of mates who came up and stayed, and of course my roomate, Gary From Leeds. Legend,mate. Helped me all the way back from last year, to get my arse up there and pull it off. In that tiny cabin room that stank of damp towels, we had a good laugh, through the good times and the bad. Highlight of the Fringe for me was when Gary rescued a component from my beard trimmer from off of the roof, using gaffer tape, a brolly, a broom and sheer MacGyver like skills.So yea, all in all, I had a wonderful time, high and lows, old friends, euphoria and sadness, new friends and a lot of laughs. Would I do it all again? Probably. Yes. Dunno...ask me in 6 months mate. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningWelcome to Lager Time. My almost weekly edition of poems, stories, thoughts and sometimes music. Bits and bobs I'm working on.This is the first time I've attempted some sort of opening tag-line. Just as I'm thinking of bringing in some changes to Lager Time. Typical me. I'm not exactly what that is as yet but I'm thinking I might need to split things up a bit; in terms of the poems, the thoughts, the music etc. And in these times of inflation, high-living costs, housing shortages, wars, potential wars, potential austerity; I'm sure this is the last thing we all need. Fear not my Lager-dons, it won't be happening any time soon, though. All in good time. Good time? What does that actually mean? What about is ‘good'? I mean, many things are good, if you think about it? I could say, ‘all in bad time' because arguably, it is but then again… anyway…One thing I am going to attempt, probably in the next couple of weeks; is a Lager Time live-stream, probably on You Tube. It's taken me ages to figure out how to do it (I'll go into more detail on this in a minute) but I've managed to get some half-decent sound, streaming into my phone, so I can be on-mic, perform a few poems, chatting a bit and do a few tracks on my loop-station; all with a bit of lighting to make it look alright. Pretty standard these days, but for me, working this out has been like a morose goldfish trying to unravel the human genome.Since school, my focus has always been like an erratic-goldfish, selecting penny sweets with his generous science funding. Even way before I was working in the arts, when I worked ordinary day-jobs and I was just doing music as a hobby; I always seemed to be attempting multiple projects, all at once, meaning most of them were never finished; some didn't even get off the ground. Some of them were decent ideas but half-arsed in delivery. Sometimes, I just didn't have the means, which was always frustrating as I had the ideas, which just turned bitter. Like making-music for instance. Hence I started rapping, as I only needed a pen and paper. All in all, in terms of ideas I come up with, I've probably got a follow-through completion rate of about 8% (which I don't actually think is that bad, as something is better than nothing)Whether I like it or not, my skills are limited. My ability to learn new skills are limited. Certain things just take me a long-time to grasp; it's why I mostly hated school, as I couldn't pick things up fast enough. We all have limitations of course. I get that. But what compounds all of this; as well as being erratic, I can also be a lazy-prick, often preferring the easy route. I excel at deluding myself that I'm doing what I'm meant to be doing; I know all the loop-holes, mate. I'm like a bored goldfish with a  spreadsheet and an open-return to the Caymen-Islands. Am I going to persevere with this scrip-writing thing I'm currently learning and playing with? Or am I going to write rap bars, to my favourite beats? A process I'm very familiar and comfortable with doing. But it's all ‘writing' though, isn't it Paul? Ticking the writing box. We all know the truth deep down, like a stoned goldfish, watching You Tube videos about chem-trails.Sometimes, though, somehow, by hook or by crook; I say I'm going to do something and I actually do it. I get there. Sort of. I may well take a long-arse route but I arrive, deshelled but glad I did it; just wishing I was more efficient. This blog, podcast and live-streaming, is part of this bigger idea I had. It's not quite how I envisioned it, it's a lot scrappier than I'd like, but here I am, doing something, which is better than nothing, most of the time.Despite the difficulties of the COVID lockdowns and what that meant for freelancers like me and how I earn my living; I saw it as opportunity to really become independent. I wanted to use the internet, to be able to produce and distribute my own my music; writing, books, promotional content, video and put on live-gigs, like a multi-tasking Goldfish, with a clipboard and a novelty-tie. I've done a little bit of all that now; it's no where near as good as I'd like it to be but this goldish likes cola-bottles, shrimps, surgery-laces, those banging Postman-Pat chews and bare other surgery-delights. I'm slowly learning how I can obtain those without crashing and burning, staring out of the window, cursing myself then placating myself with booze and caloric food, like a Goldfish that's… na, we''ll leave it there.I often think I'm a few steps away from achieving something really good and a few steps back the other way, from the being the piss-artist at the bar boring the younger lads about how I ‘could've been.' I know which one I prefer. All in good that time, mate. Whatever that means.So that's it for me and this rant. I was going to include the final part of that Edinburgh series from 2016 that I wrote but alas, you'll have to wait. I think in the run-up to it all, I did a seven blogs, documenting the process, which you can still read at www.paulcreewrites.blogspot.com – but you're getting the first and last. Large up any performers who are taking shows up there this yet, especially ones who are doing it with limited resources and off their own backs. And large up the punters willing to take a punt and watch a few of these shows, as opposed to watching one of the many bland, panel-show comedians, who you see on telly every week, doing their live-routines, like me writing rap-bars; take a risk!Have a banging weekendPeas and tatersPaul This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com

Greetings, bonjour, what's happeningWelcome to Lager Time and welcome anyone who is listening via Apple podcasts or Spotify for the first time. Last week I clicked a few buttons and then BOSH – just like that, the whole Lager Time back catalogue was dumped onto both platforms.It's a little bit daunting to be honest but if those emails Spotify send me every month, telling me who's streaming the one song I've got up there – are anything to go by, I've got little to worry about, mate. It does feel like it's slowly building though, not just the numbers but me figuring out what I'm doing with it, how I'm recording it; like life, it's a work-in-progress, mate.So this week has been a bit of a write-off. I've been struck down with gastroenteritis, which has been pretty grim. Perhaps the pain-gods thought I got-off light with the two bouts of COVID I had and have kicked my arse with this. I've had to cancel all my work this week, which has included a gig on Sunday which I was really looking forward too. And of course, I'm self-employed so I don't get paid. But I guess, the trade-off is that I get to go to TK Max during the week and take my time in a half-empty store.On the brighter side, I do feel a lot better than I did at the start of the week but I'm still pretty tired and my tummy is still very delicate. I've been eating dry toast and plain chicken and as someone who is married to a Goan; this is a cardinal sin. But needs must. Large up my upbringing, because when a geezer needs to go bland with his eating, I don't even think about it, mate, it's built in.As I hope you understand, I've done no creative stuff this week, so what I thought I'd share was something I've been meaning to do – which a post I wrote in 2016 in the run-up to taking a show to the Edinburgh Fringe called The C/D Borderline (Which you can on my You Tube channel) It's that time of year when everyone who is taking shows are busy getting them ready.I'm contemplating taking the Make Your Own Bed and Hope for the Best show up there, maybe next year but despite being very aware of the huge pitfalls, the Edinburgh Fringe has this strange draw for me (and probably many others) maybe it's a moff-to-a-light-thing. AlasNo music this week, so after the Edinburgh bit, that's your lot. As ever, hope yous all have great weekends.Pea and taters, PaulCount up to Edinburgh #1 Doing my own head in – originally published on paulcreewrites.blogspot.com 1st May, 2016Fuck sake. As much as I often talk about how much I enjoy the solitude of writing and all the other stuff that goes with it, in any given week (often daily in fact) there is without fail several moments where I want to rip off my own head and drop kick it over the garden fence and off into the distance, hoping that it lands in a Biffa Bin somewhere and some kind of salvage hunter finds it and turns it into something actually useful, like a car battery. So I'm going up to Edinburgh in August for the Fringe festival with this new show called The C/D Borderline. Let's have it right, I'm glad I'm going, I want to go and this time I'm doing it off my own back, partly to see if I can actually do it, as in get the thing up there and pull it off, what with all the stuff that's involved with putting on and promoting a show. It's a lot, it really is, especially for someone like me who really does lack those essential organisational, admin and marketing skills. I'm not worried about getting the punters in (well not at this stage), I have zero expectation on that front, I just want to go up there and put on a good show, with good material and if that's to a handful of people everyday I'm cool with that.The show itself draws on a lot of my experiences from school, how difficult I found it and how I've struggled as an adult more or less ever since. Those same traits that saw me bunking off, dicking about in class, struggling to understand what the fuck was going on when I actually was trying, mentally withdrawing from whole entire lessons, sitting down at home to do homework but just staring at it on the table to numb to even lift a pen, are all coming to the fore with a vengeance in the run up to this. It's like diamond hunters sifting through the mud, except they're not looking for them precious shiny things, instead it's something shit like, I dunno, used scratch cards or something. I'm probably juggling to many balls at once, as I have a few other projects on the go plus a regular job Mon-Fri. It's a bit nuts but it's always been like this with me and most people I know are in the same boat, a lot of these have children too and that's a whole another level so what am I getting so wound up about?!I can look at it and see how ridiculous it all is and often I can laugh about it, as you'll hopefully hear in the show, but it's just when I'm at home, on my todd, with a ton of things to do, I'm sat at my desk and suddenly I freeze. My normally hyper active mind just goes blank like someones pulled the ariel out of the telly and before I know it, I've loaded up yet another grime video or a Fire In The Booth freestyle that I've probably seen a hundred times, or I start working on something totally new which has nothing to do with what I'm supposed to be doing.Even when I am concentrating, I still seem to mess-up really important things. Twice in the last month I've had to reply to emails regarding the show, one of which if I hadn't there would be no show, so I spent ages on them; making sure there was no mistakes, re-read them a hundred times, sent them and then bosh!: Surprise-faackin'-surprise I've missed off a vital piece of information on both emails that almost messed up the whole operation! And I'm left, as ever, embarrassed, humiliated and really fipping' annoyed with myself. But what's worse, is that someone else at the other end is affected and could quite understandably now think I'm an idiot, well meaning, but an idiot none the less. This has happened before...No idea what the neighbours must think, what the with the random: FUCKKKK OFFFFFFFs most days as my computer freezes or my phone starts wigging out and I slam my fist down on the desk remembering that I've forgotten to do something, very important, again.The amount of times in the last month I've visualised myself going into Wolverine Berseker mode and smashing up everything around me, before ripping my clothes off and running into the woods to a live a feral life away from humanity, living off Squirrels and Parakeets (as long as I've got Mayonnaise, I'm fine.)Thankfully, I've not smashed anything up, it rarely gets to that stage but I've been close of late. In my school days I used to punch-up a lot of walls and I've put my fist through a few toilet doors (probably in the year 11 toilets in C block, few times I think, apologies) and I've probably damaged my right fist from doing that, which is very stupid considering I use that hand to write, type and grip microphones.Anyway, this started off as a few lines just to vent a bit, but then I got the idea to make this into an Edinburgh blog, documenting the journey and that, so every cloud has a silver lining I guess. Even if no one reads it it's been kinda fun doing it and certainly better than putting my fist through a door.I also wanted to write about the other side of things a bit. As in the writing / performing stuff. Most of my online activity is either promoting gigs or talking about gigs I've just done and how great they were. To be honest, as cheesy or insincere as it all may seem, that is genuinely how I feel after most gigs, I like doing it. It's been a few years now (my entire adult life actually, plus a bit more, I'm 32) and I still very much enjoy it. But with the smooth of course comes the ruff, and sometimes it's a sheet of discarded sandpaper on the toilet floor when you've just clocked that there's no bog roll and the post man is ringing your doorbell with a recorded delivery of that car battery you so desperately need to get your muggy show to Edinburgh...Peas and taters This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit cree.substack.com