Up the junction (box) #2

After my initial post on this most bodacious genre of street art I'd like to post some of the photos you've been sending me. This is turning into the best game of i-SPY ever!

Harry Harrington Harris (left), who supports Leeds Utd. for his sins, got in touch: ''Here's one for you, John - Elland Road in Leeds where it all started. Here's a link to the artist, Burley Banksy.'' Thanks, Harry. Yep, Leeds is where I first became aware of the phenomenon.

Adam in Manchester: ''Two junction boxes in Chorlton, one in Sale with a cat (tying in nicely with August's PC theme) and a junction box in Brussels.'' Thanks, Adam.

Tim asks: ''Does a substation count? (Asking for a friend 😉) - Gdansk, Covent Garden, Berlin and finally a lovely piece outside the Vat & Fiddle in Nottingham. I had heard Leeds is renowned for these. Think the same artist does a lot of them. There is a strange structure in Stevenson Square Manchester that’s constantly updated but I can’t confirm whether there is any junction box involvement. Love it when mundane things, hoardings round derelict buildings etc. are covered with art.''

Tim goes on: ''A brace from my street art pics. Hiding in plain sight in Sheffield - Now Then. And Tower Hamlets. I'm now on the look out for new ones!'' It wasn't until I put your Sheffield pic side by side with the one I took, Tim, earlier in the year (above) I realised that if I'd just stood a tad to the right the Now Then on the junction box would have lined up with the Now Then on the wall!

Pete Zab also spotted the one in Nottingham: ''Not sure if it's still there, John.'' Judging by Tim's pic I'd say it was, Pete. 

And finally, Ernie's been to Athens mixing business with pleasure. And, fair play to him, he's found that the Greeks also like to tart up their boxes. ''That's yer lot'' said Ernie, ''It's 37 degrees, I'm going for a lie down.'' You do right, Ernie. Thank you.

And so it's my assumption that these painted junction boxes are everywhere; many, as my good friend Tim alludes to, are hidden in plain sight. If you do happen to see any on yer travels please do send them to me. What's the betting we can't get a third instalment out of this...

Up the junction (box)

I first started noticing them in Leeds a few weeks ago. Then last week I saw a handful in Belfast and Dublin. But so far in Nottingham I've only spotted the one. Maybe you've seen some on your manor? If so, then please get in touch. I don't think it's got the makings of a Photo Challenge. At least not yet...

Leeds - June 2026.

Belfast - June 2026

Dublin - July 2026

Nottingham - July 2026

Give us three rings

By the mid-90s the UK was fast running out of phone numbers. The telephone exchanges couldn't cope. Something had to be done. So one day a telecom boffin in a white coat with a load of pens sticking out of his top pocket said ''Stick a '1' after the zero and you'll be sorted.'' So that's what they did -  Norwich went from 0603 to 01603, Northampton 0604 to 01604 etc. But that wasn't the end of it. Oh no. On PhONEday - yes the UK had its very own switchover date (16 April 1995 - I'm surprised Oasis never wrote a song about it) - not only did everyone 'stick a 1 in front' but five cities were assigned totally new codes altogether. And I should know, I was living in one of 'em: Nottingham had to bin off its erstwhile 0602 and learn a whole new way of going on. We became 0115 and we had to stick a 9 in front of the old number; there never were such times.

Someone else who joined us in these phone shenanigans was Leeds. They became 0113 (from their trusty 0532) and they had to stick a '2' in front of their old number.  Looking at some of the painted junction boxes in Leeds last week I wouldn't be surprised if there are people still in therapy over this.

...

They also served...

Sheffield: 0114 (0742)

Leicester: 0116 (0533)

Bristol: 0117 (0272)

Leeds 5

Following our inaugural Bloggers Convention in Edinburgh way back in 2022, we've now had further hugely successful meet-ups in York ('23), Newcastle ('24) & Bristol ('25). And in June BlogCon26 will be pitching its caravan in Leeds! From an exotic shortlist of potential destinations that included both Amsterdam and Dublin, our democratic voting right was exercised and, long story short, we've turned our back on the EU (not for the first time; 52/48 anyone?) and gone for 'one of our own'. No matter. A grand time will be had by all, I'm sure. And anyway, after a couple of drinks it won't really matter if you're in Dam Square or Millennium Square. (That's what I'll keep telling myself, when I'm nursing my warm pint of Tetleys.) More updates to follow, I'm sure.

Don't Let the Sunlight Fool Ya

It was so good to be back in Leeds on Saturday with James, I can't begin to tell you. We were there to see the mighty Slackers at the Brudenell Social Club. I remember taking a teenage James to see them many moons ago when he was still living at home. Though I've seen them countless times, that visit to The Rig in Nottingham was the Number One Son's only live encounter with them. Nearly 20 years later and the band are still as razor sharp as ever; nobody does New York ska/bluebeat/reggae/dub/soul quite like this Manhattan sextet. Fact.

...

The Slackers - Don't Let the Sunlight Fool Ya (2022)

Boffins

Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs - often referred to as 'the boffins from Saint Etienne' - have, in their time, curated and presided over some of the finest conceptual compilation albums you're ever likely to come across; drawing heavily on material from the very foothills of the 1970s is their stock in trade, and none the worse for that.

English Weather, from 2017, is no exception: when all things psychedelic gradually gave way to the prog movement at the arse end of the 60s a new sound was evoked, creating a rich seam that Stanley and Wiggs have mined for much of this collection. Stretched over four sides of vinyl it's very Autumnal, and, yes, very English. And I particularly like the accompanying artwork. Go on, treat yourself. 

Alan Parker & Alan Hawkshaw - Evening Shade (1971)

News of the World

I can't imagine T B Hudson sold too many more copies of the News of the World after this photograph was taken. In fact, he probably shut the door for the last time later that day - if indeed there was still a door to shut. We have Peter Mitchell to thank for this gem from 1974. Mitchell was a truck driver from Leeds in the seventies and, on his rounds, would grab his camera at every opportunity and record the ever changing city in which he lived. That's what I call proper social history.

Meanwhile, the Methodist Church next door, you'll be pleased to know, is now an arts venue,  home to Chapel FM as well as still being a place of worship. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.

Another early bath*

The blues are still blue

Two iconic photographs appeared on my Twitter feed today. The first is a timely reminder that we're only a couple of weeks away from the World Cup kicking off in the former USSR. England, as per usual, haven't got the slightest chance of getting anywhere near the finals; unlike in 1970 when Alf Ramsey took his squad to Mexico as defending champions - 1966 and all that. And though we came close, we weren't close enough. But I just love this photo - everything, the sky, the lads' tracksuits, even the curtains on the coach, is a shimmering blue. With the exception of Alan Ball's red shirt; there's always one.

The green green grass

Exhibit B is that rare thing - a bunch of thugs looking almost wistful. Leeds Utd were, for much of the seventies, known as Dirty Leeds. They would knock seven bells out any opposition they played on a Saturday afternoon. Bar none. Yet, for five minutes on the training ground they quite literally stood like statues long enough for a team photo like no other. And, just for that literal snapshot in time, they looked like butter wouldn't melt. Who needs Photoshop?

Miles Davis - Blue in Green

* In case you're wondering, here's the original early bath

James Medd rounds up 2015 (1)

After a couple of beers and a superb fish curry in Leeds with The Number One Son last night, it was time to hit the road. But not before he foisted his Best of 2015 CD upon me (an annual Medd tradition - he'll be getting mine next week) and said 'listen to this on the way home.'

Thirteen tracks and fifty minutes later, the last song was fading out just as I pulled on to the drive and killed the engine. It's all about the timing(s).

A full track listing, c/w links, and review will be posted here before Crimbo. But in the meantime, this was the third or fourth tune in. A modern classic, I'm sure you'll agree.

Father John Misty: The Night Josh Tilllman Visited our Apartment

Sing when you're winning

Football chants: they're a bit like radio jingles. Throwaway yet informative, simple yet to the point. And funny; aimed at players, mostly, but often directed at the fans sitting in the opposite end to you. A prime example of the former: remember when Peter Crouch (6'-7") played for Liverpool? He's big, he's red, his feet stick out the bed, it's Peter crouch, Peter Crouch. And the latter: when the away fans inform the home fans that they don't think much of their ground and sung to the tune of When the Saints - My garden shed is bigger than this, my garden shed is bigger than this.

And like any catchy song that eventually becomes an earworm, it's the alchemy combining a turn of phrase and a memorable tune. In fact, and I'm probably going out on a limb here, but you'll probably find that 90% of all the best chants rely on just a handful of tunes. Think of a chant you heard last Saturday afternoon and I'll lay money on it being hung around one of these songs:

Knees Up Mother Brown

Sloop John B

Winter Wonderland

Guantanamera*

The Hokey Cokey

Son Of My Father (God Bless Giorgio Moroder)

This Old Man

Amore

She'll Be Coming Round The Mountain

Glory Glory
Go West
Kiss Him Goodbye

There are, obviously, notable exceptions. When Rio Ferdinand famously failed a drugs test, Fulham fans came up with His name is Rio and he's watching from the stand to *that* tune by Duran Duran.

But my personal favourite has got to be one from the seventies (of course) and was a rather succinct tribute laid at the door of Billy Bremner (587 appearances/ 91 goals for Leeds Utd 1960-1976).

Na na na na, na na na, na na na na na BILLY! BREMNER! to the opening bars of this:

* When Rangers keeper Andy Goram was diagnosed with mild schizophrenia, the chant Two Andy Gorams, there's only two Andy Gorams could often be heard at grounds north of the border.

Chelsea Bridge

We stopped in a lovely little hotel on Sunday night in Leeds called The New Ellington. Tucked away in the legal quarter of the city and only a five minute walk from the station, it ticked all the boxes and much of the ground floor bar and dining area was adorned with classic black and white photographs of jazz greats. No prizes for guessing whose image took pride of place weighing in at, as it did, six feet square. Edward Kennedy 'Duke' Ellington is probably one of only a handful of musicians who, in the twentieth century, continually evolved, never stood still, and took their art form in ever far reaching new directions.

But even geniuses need sidemen. And Ellington had the very best; Ellington, it's probably fair to say, owed much of his early success to composer, arranger, lyricist and pianist Billy Strayhorn. He wrote Take The A Train and Lush Life and many other classics. He also penned Chelsea Bridge - around the time saxophone colossus (and one of my favourite players) Ben Webster was in Ellington's band. When Webster went solo he still dropped it in his set. Interestingly Strayhorn wrote the tune after seeing a Turner painting of Battersea bridge and misnamed it. Maybe if he'd known the mnemonic for remembering the order in which London bridges cross the Thames, he'd have nailed it.