The village of Talke is in Staffordshire, England, four miles north-west of Newcastle-under-Lyme. There once was a fruit and veg. shop and Post Office called ‘Vince’s.’ This store or typically northerners 1970s con-vience shop was in Unity Way, Talke. Which was, and still is in a rather shabby council estate built in the 1970’s. Full of unemployed young men abusing and selling drugs, over-weight single mothers on state benefits and the location of Vince’s rather disgusting cockroach-rat-infested shop full of out-of-date shite food that the locals snapped up at Vince’s super-lowest-low-prices!‘Get-it-while-u-can!’ he would shout out around the streets of Talke from his jam packed shitty little van full of crap food and stuffed full of other bollox you didn’t really want! But, he some how managed get you buy it off him! The Cunt! Vince’s other favourite saying and key to his business success of his shop and life-long motto of his v. v. surprising and rather amazingly long existence as a very dodgy food retailer and a credit to his rather unusual business acumen was:
“Where There’s Mold? There’s GOLD!”
It was open during the 1980’s and early 1990’s. After which it closed. Thank F.! Probably after a Health & Safety law violation and inevitable inspection by a local government Environmental Health Officer. Who most probably, and almost certainly, condemned the place and had Vince’s fruit & veg. shop shut down with immediate effect! And then had Vince banged up for 50 years for breaking every F.in’ Consumer Health act and local and national government’s directives and laws on food hygiene and consumer protection since the F.in’ early 1820’s!Vince’s old shop is now ‘Manhattan Pizza.’ A rather horrible, Pakistani fast-food outlet selling over priced 32″ inch Pizzas, horrible greasy, v. soggy, & v. thin French fries and disgusting Donner Kebabs to all the TV coach potatoes in the local area and in the vicinity of Unity Way council estate.Donner Kebabs consist of one small pita bread stuffed full with the most fowl mix of dog-food like Donner ‘meat’ (If u can call that shite meat!) cabbage, so called ‘mixed salads’ and other bollox.
All christened with the most fowl super red-hot chilli sauce. That only absolute idiots or, pissed out of their minds nut-bags would dare ever attempt to put in their mouths. Or, even contemplate eating. As it burns the F. out of your throat and sets fire to your belly, as well as the horrid greasy Donner meat food poisoning you are most certainly gonna experience soon after the consumption of a Donner Kebab dirt-box on a post-piss-up-take-away-filthy-feed. As it is left spit roasting for days. Vertically. Like some deranged elephant’s foot or lower leg. Going round and around for days. Continue reading “Talken News”
Bill Cawley: “Peter Kay is not far out when portrays the strange acts at the Phoenix. I recall vividly the Pakistani stand up comedian who told racist jokes against himself, the asthmatic country and western act from Cleverley who stopped for breath half way through his act.” I’ll be with you in a moment “, or the overloud ear-ringing rock bands. Sometimes there were special events like a boxing tournament at the Suburban where one competitor eschewing the basic defensive stance advanced with arms flaying like a windmill to be quickly demolished by punishing jabs that opened his nose up in a crimson torrent. For the turns themselves there was recognition that there efforts were taken with proper regard. As local act Gerry Stephens writing of the time reportedSaturday was the highlight of the week and people would make an effort to look their best. The Committee officers ran them with a grip of iron and membership were as tightly controlled as any freemasons. Instant silence followed the command ” Give order please” and quiet was demanded- and got- when Bingo started. Bingo was a ritual with its language and actions especially when certain numbers were called out ” Ted’s den- Number Ten, Two fat ladies 88, Leg’s eleven” followed by wolf whistles and the clinking of glasses as pens were banging against them. Sometimes a frustrated gamester would call out to the elderly lady caller ” Shake them up, Elsie” if his numbers were not coming up.Then there were the turns.“You’d arrive outside the Club, grab your gear, and go in. The room would be completely empty. Then people start coming in; the room is packed, and it’s your job to entertain them for the night. You’ve only got your guitar, your voice and your patter, to get them going, gets them laughing.It was quite a thing to be an artist in the 70s, there was a lot of respect shown; the audience wasn’t allowed to come in or go out during a bracket”.But the knell- as it was for the working class- was already tolling for the clubs.”
Bill Cawley: “I was born in Stoke in 1955 and lived and worked in the City. I was a City Councillor from 82-7 and a County Councillor from 97-05. I’m a member of the Green party My heroes are Thomas Paine, HL Mencken, Tom Joad and Ernest Everard..,”