Entertainment For Lively Minds
A Haywards Heathen writes...
I enjoyed Andrew Harrisons' piece about Suede in the latest issue but I had to chuckle at his description of the town I live in as 'a stultifying suburb of London'.
Stultifying it certainly is. Brett Anderson once said that when they were kids he and his friends would sit on Haywards Heath station and gaze longingly up the tracks towards the West End. That is genuinely what passes for entertainment around here, but they wouldn't have seen much, as Piccadilly Circus is 45 miles away. A 40 minute drive beyond the M25, Haywards Heath is as much a suburb of London as, say, Reading or Northampton. Unlike Balham or Brixton, it's 15 minutes from the beach.
It's often said the Southerners think the world ends at Watford, but there's a corollary to that; Northerners get as far as The Embankment, stare out across The Thames and think they're looking at France.
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According to Peter Hook
in last month's issue, Coronation Street started in 1959.
The Word lives in a parallel world.
Bonjour!
I smiled when I read that too.
Redhill is certainly not a London Suburb and it's a good 20 miles north of Haywards Heath.
Reminds me of going to see Crawley play Accrington Stanley once; the away fans were singing "We hate Cockneys" which raised a smile.
L'Isle De Wight
I was on the train down to Portsmouth a couple of months ago, and two schoolgirls were sitting opposite me with their father. They had clearly finished a term at a boarding school, and were going to Portsmouth to take the ferry home to the Isle of Wight.
One of them told their father that whenever they told the other girls at school that they were going back to the Isle of Wight, they were asked if everyone there spoke French.
You're from Haywards Heath??
I'm from Burgess Hill. You were the big city when I was growing up. I went to Brett Anderson's Sixth-Form college - yes, I know, what a claim to fame...
Hello You Two!
I grew up in Henfield. I think in fourteen years I went to London twice.
What a small world
And I'm from Steyning, end of the northern line.
You Cockneys
Always nitpicking.
A long time ago
when I moved from Newcastle down to Liverpool, I was considered to be moving 'down south'. Technically correct, I suppose.
I used to like pointing out to Scousers that if you divided England across into equal thirds they were in the midlands.
Newcastle-to-Liverpool
I went the other way. Locals often call me a southener, but it doesn't bother me. Liverpool doesn't seem Northern, Southern or Midland-ern. It's a city apart.
and it can stay that way
(cheeky scouse smiley)
I was always perplexed by that too
Sat on my podgy arse in the North East hearing the BBC refer to Manchester and Liverpool as the North - a good hundred miles south of me.
It doesn't matter a jot in the scheme of things of course. If you were to go to the trouble of drawing a line on a map of England across the middle they'd be in the northern half.
Just very near the middle.
Northern
The prize for most outrageous claim of Northernliness goes to Kasabian, who once claimed they were 'a Northern band' whilst being from Leicester.
Haywards Heath - The 'Doughnut'
Last century, when we were house hunting in the Sussexes, we found a nice property in Haywards Heath. But what we couldn't find was the centre of the town - the heart, if you will. So we christened it the Doughnut and moved west a few miles to Horsham, where we remain.
As a Scot, this is the furthest south I have ever lived. For a while, I thought France was just the other side of the Downs. Then I realised it was Brighton!
Best thing about HH
is the spoof website This is Haywards Heath. http://thisishaywardsheath.com/home.htm
'The town has ample parking, just a short drive from the shops'
Ah! A jaundice sufferer
His description of the Broadway rings very true. For me, the best thing about HH is Borde Hill Gardens and Jeremy's Restaurant. At least, I don't have to go into HH to get there!
Mastersound?
I think I remember a shop in Broadway called Mastersound - sold records, CDs and hi-fi. Perfect way to spend a lunch hour.
I once got dumped by a girl in Haywards Heath
Came quite of the blue, it did. I was staying in her holiday cottage at the time. Wouldn't have minded, but I'd only known her two weeks. And I was a Londoner - so bit of a hike back to the City with nothing to show for it.
All the same, after her little speech, I STILL insisted on going to nearby Poohsticks Bridge and playing Poohsticks. And, as she leant against a tree, scowling slightly and checking her watch, I floated stick after stick down that lovely bubbling, ochre stream.
That's probably why she dumped you.
You were both twenty-one; you were supposed to be into glowsticks not Poohsticks.
Did you get a shag, though?
I did, at least, yes
I sang "The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers" all the way through.
Bouncy-bouncy-bouncy-bouncy, fun-fun-fun-fun-fun.
Respect, cap doffed, etc..
It's a suburb of Brighton not London,
isn't it?
sorry which Northerners
are you referring to ?
Would go on longer but need to polish my clogs before walking the whippet, then got to get the coal out of the bath!
Get the coal out of the bath?
Whatever for? It's not as if you'd use it for anything else.
[insert not-so-much-a-smiley-more-a-cheeky-grin-ey] From the Watford-born-and-raised son of a Manchester-raised North Derbyshire chap and a Dublin girl.
Escalation
Ah, now, we really have to stop doing this.
What you've done, Barge, is take a fragment of a sentence that you don't like, added a whole bunch of prejudices that only an idiot or a deliberate troublemaker could say were implicit in the original balanced statement, and used them to present your own agenda, which I suggest is Hey look Everyone! The Captain's being Northist!
When I saw this late last night I almost posted a reply saying READ THE WHOLE SENTENCE YOU MORON with maybe a helpful link to a definition of 'corollary'. But what good would that do? You'd come back with some justification for your post, probably citing my 'obvious' contempt for flat caps, black pudding, Arthur Wainwright and the comedy stylings of Mike Harding, then the usual wingmen would pile in and before we knew it we'd have a twaddlewave of sanctimonious point scoring like the Charlie Gilmour thread.
Let's try to respond to what's written, not what we wanted to see. Please?
the response
was totally appropriate to what was written in your post . why even bring the north into the debate at all, the comment was totally irrelevant to the original point you were attempting to make.
use of terms such as idiot, deliberate troublemaker and moron should not be acceptable to anyone on this site simply because an interpretation you do not like is put forward.
(and actually it was really meant as a light hearted humourous remark, a fact which was obviously noted by the subsequent poster.)
Christ.
Frankly, the level of sanctimony and whingeing on this site is reaching critical mass. I think we could all do with cheering the hell up and chilling the hell out.
No wonder so many great posters are hardly seen here of late. It's getting fucking *miserable*. Makes me want to take a leaf out of their books, make like a tree and do one. It really does.
I like Haywards Heath
There's a great residential recording studio there.
It's a big old house with fabulous grounds.
Just the place to go to when you need to hide away and get a load of work done.
Haywards heathen?
Erm, I thought this was about pickled onions and so i`m disapointed. To whom do I complain?
I love pickled onions, me.
Barry Norman
Barry Norman's Pickled Onions are a thing of greatness.
Although, what that has got to do with Haywards Heath is anyones guess
Are they? Crunchy? Strong?
I like Garners. Lovely. Just strong enough. My brother in law brought me an industrial sized jar of onions from somewhere in Wrexham. Just one was enough. Took the roof of yer mouth off.
I love pickled onions, me.
Yes
Crunchy - Strong - Lasting Flavour - - Hint of Chilli - Great with a good mature cheddar (preferably Vintage Reserve)
And Why Not?
Sounds good!
I`d break out the cheese now if i hadn`t stuffed myself with a curry.
I still love pickled onions, me.
Wimped out tonight...
...on the onions. Pecorino and fresh figs - less bite, more flavour!
(I do like a pickled onion though)
Piccalilli
I have a jar of Haywards Piccalilli in front (slightly to the right) of me as I type. It (and some slices of pickled jalapeno) livened up a rather dull ham, cheese & tomato quiche just now.
Richie Hayward was a very fine drummer indeed and is sadly missed. I would imagine That is finally That for Little Feat.
Charles Hayward is another fine drummer (Quiet Sun, Gong, This Heat etc.). I saw him play at The Borderline a few years ago with Daevid Allen and the late (also sadly missed) bass maestro Hugh Hopper in a one-off project called Brainville. It was a night of "Obscure" music, almost certainly not for "Mainstreamers", but I enjoyed it. A good cheap and interesting night out.
Many Londoners indeed think that the Known World ends at Watford
Many Northerners, when Watford is mentioned immediately say "Ah, Watford Gap!". This is infuriating to Watfordians, who have so little going for them anyway in a town whose heart and soul was removed by planning vandals with hardly a whimper of protest in the '60s and '70s.
A Public Service Announcement:
The town of Watford and the Watford Gap services are not in the same place. There's about 70 miles of boring motorway driving still to be done after you've passed Watford Gap Services (before you pass Northampton, which is in The Midlands) on the M1 heading south.
As you were, folks. Nothing further to see here.
Me! Me!
I knew that!
Always knew you were a man of great erudition.
Your old mum -wasn't- a piano playing superstar of the '60s, you say?
("Let's All Sing Like The Birdies Sing" - Mrs Mills)