gobstoppers.tv
Julien Crispin Street Poet, Faith Walker, Poet to the stars, the trees etc
Welcome on board
Hi I have a training agency now. Not the same old same old, that would be boring. I've taken all I know from the writing, the performance stuff, and my work with very complex people and it's all working out well. to find out morepress the button
my collection of poetry was published on 8 August 04 and launched at the Edinburgh Fringe. This can now be purchased on this site
Norman Stone, director of the acclaimed film Man Dancing writes:
“Julien Crispin is a new word-shepherd. A modern 'street poet' who loves to look inside as well as out. He gathers his words from 'the everyday', harvesting them from billboards and bus queues, pavements and pop tunes, reflections and relationships. He is a poet with ideas as well as opinions, with acute observations and a quirky sense of humour... and, oh yes, he likes to provoke.”
Peter Howson, along with fellow artists Ally Thompson and Frank McFadden, have contributed to the illustration of the book.
I am informed that I am the only Julien Crispin ( note the spelling) in the UK Maybe in the world, if you know different let me know ?.
my blog
hi i'm
really pleased you have come
to visit the site. this bit will grow over the next weeks and month's,
i'm a bit hit and miss with capitalisation and the like so please
overlook such Indiscretions.
there should be new stuff somewhere on the site on a regular basis. please feel free to get in touch with ideas and comments, be gentle with the constructive ones.
as i have time i will do a bit of bio, where i've been what i've done etc.
i suppose i can begin with: i was born in southport in 1964 on 30th march. (to find out more take thesouthport tour it might prove facinating)
more to come in the next weeks, how i ended up in central america, south america, the caribbean, an international love affair ....
there should be new stuff somewhere on the site on a regular basis. please feel free to get in touch with ideas and comments, be gentle with the constructive ones.
as i have time i will do a bit of bio, where i've been what i've done etc.
i suppose i can begin with: i was born in southport in 1964 on 30th march. (to find out more take thesouthport tour it might prove facinating)
more to come in the next weeks, how i ended up in central america, south america, the caribbean, an international love affair ....
born in southport
I was born in Lancashire, and then Maggie Thatcher moved it. In
Southport Infirmary. Southport, as I have often remarked “nice place to
visit”, seems to be a nice place to retire to, as it was often referred
to as the retirement centre of the North ( of England that is). In my
teens I grew to love winter, simply because there were no tourists and
the granny contingent was at manageable levels. Not that i have
anything against them, but trying to get along the main st (Lord St)
and coming up against waves of octigenarian bus tours, is to say the
least an impediment to forward motion.
Though born there my early childhood memories are of a small town called Formby, on the outskirts of Southport on route to Liverpool, but still in Lancashire, for the time being. We had moved there when I was about 2. I suspect it was a ploy by my dad, to put some space between him and his beloved mother-in-law.
Formby was a small community and I admit my memories are very fragmented, floating around like suspended animated slides. The memories have lost some of their chronology but when held close retain a tangible and vivid reality that still surprises me at times. I am hoping, as I begin to commit these memory clips to words, that the connective tissues begin to materialise and reform that dispersed chronology.
So here I admit that this account is not for you, though you are welcome to come along with me, this is a journey back, to where I opted out of the world and floated off on my cloud. The journey back has taken me to Central and South America, the Caribbean through love, redemption, failure and loss to the beginning of truth and real contentment. I intend to be honest with myself, so I suppose that means with you to.
Though born there my early childhood memories are of a small town called Formby, on the outskirts of Southport on route to Liverpool, but still in Lancashire, for the time being. We had moved there when I was about 2. I suspect it was a ploy by my dad, to put some space between him and his beloved mother-in-law.
Formby was a small community and I admit my memories are very fragmented, floating around like suspended animated slides. The memories have lost some of their chronology but when held close retain a tangible and vivid reality that still surprises me at times. I am hoping, as I begin to commit these memory clips to words, that the connective tissues begin to materialise and reform that dispersed chronology.
So here I admit that this account is not for you, though you are welcome to come along with me, this is a journey back, to where I opted out of the world and floated off on my cloud. The journey back has taken me to Central and South America, the Caribbean through love, redemption, failure and loss to the beginning of truth and real contentment. I intend to be honest with myself, so I suppose that means with you to.
formby
Formby
My earliest memories of Formby are of the Cul De Sac we lived in, ChapelHouse Walk, it was a nice little 3 bedroom semi detached house that sat centre right of a classic trumpet shaped cul de sac. We had a modest garden, in the front we had a small squarish lawn and a few roses round. The short front drive, up to the garage, was slabbed, by my Dad. He seemed to enjoy slabbing things, but his real claim to fame was crazy paving.
For those who are unfamiliar with this ancient art, it is a where broken pieces of concrete slab are arranged in loosely interlaced though random designs to create, or at least get close to, a flat surface.
This slabbing became a feature in the rear garden as well. I cannot be clear how big our garden was in the back, at the time it seemed quite adequate for purpose, but a lot has shrunk over the years and I have not been back to re evaluate the garden in recent years. Much of my time in the garden was spent digging holes where my Dad had not yet managed to slab.
Inside the house things where pretty standard excepting for the large patio doors out to the garden, a common feature in houses now but not to common then. The front room was typically 60’s in décor rectangular in shape with a shallow bay window, that famously my younger brother was dropped into the rose bed from, by my quite wonderful, though not child friendly, auntie Maureen.
My Auntie Maureen, was a number of years older than my Dad and had, so I’m told, made his early years difficult. She had probably felt he cramped her style and he just learned that women are unfair creatures. She was an enigmatic figure to me through those years. She was always well turned out and worked on the big liners, so was rarely seen. She would occasionally appear bearing gifts, but I can’t say I ever really new who she was. In later years, when I struggled to find things that would compete with the impressively normal lives of my schoolmates, tales of an Auntie who worked on the QE2 and brought back rings would shore up the walls of my self belief.
The upstairs laid out from the top of the stairs thus. 0n the left a small toilet then the bathroom, next the double room where my brothers slept, then next my Mum and Dads room and then my little box bedroom. It was big enough for a single bed and a chest of drawers and a little playing space. The corner of the room behind the door was the cut back slightly due to the shape of the stairwell. On the shelf there, there was sat an old black police telephone.
My room, was a great place to be
My earliest memories of Formby are of the Cul De Sac we lived in, ChapelHouse Walk, it was a nice little 3 bedroom semi detached house that sat centre right of a classic trumpet shaped cul de sac. We had a modest garden, in the front we had a small squarish lawn and a few roses round. The short front drive, up to the garage, was slabbed, by my Dad. He seemed to enjoy slabbing things, but his real claim to fame was crazy paving.
For those who are unfamiliar with this ancient art, it is a where broken pieces of concrete slab are arranged in loosely interlaced though random designs to create, or at least get close to, a flat surface.
This slabbing became a feature in the rear garden as well. I cannot be clear how big our garden was in the back, at the time it seemed quite adequate for purpose, but a lot has shrunk over the years and I have not been back to re evaluate the garden in recent years. Much of my time in the garden was spent digging holes where my Dad had not yet managed to slab.
Inside the house things where pretty standard excepting for the large patio doors out to the garden, a common feature in houses now but not to common then. The front room was typically 60’s in décor rectangular in shape with a shallow bay window, that famously my younger brother was dropped into the rose bed from, by my quite wonderful, though not child friendly, auntie Maureen.
My Auntie Maureen, was a number of years older than my Dad and had, so I’m told, made his early years difficult. She had probably felt he cramped her style and he just learned that women are unfair creatures. She was an enigmatic figure to me through those years. She was always well turned out and worked on the big liners, so was rarely seen. She would occasionally appear bearing gifts, but I can’t say I ever really new who she was. In later years, when I struggled to find things that would compete with the impressively normal lives of my schoolmates, tales of an Auntie who worked on the QE2 and brought back rings would shore up the walls of my self belief.
The upstairs laid out from the top of the stairs thus. 0n the left a small toilet then the bathroom, next the double room where my brothers slept, then next my Mum and Dads room and then my little box bedroom. It was big enough for a single bed and a chest of drawers and a little playing space. The corner of the room behind the door was the cut back slightly due to the shape of the stairwell. On the shelf there, there was sat an old black police telephone.
My room, was a great place to be
southport tour
for more info on southport go to
http://www.visitsouthport.com/
this is where i went to sothport college of art, before they amalgamated it into the tech college, some good stories to be told there
http://www.southport-college.ac.uk/
the flower show, many memories of bunkin in, couldn't afford t get in you see.
http://www.southportflowershow.co.uk
for a map of southport
http://www.sefton.gov.uk/pdf/Layout%201_Cycling.pdf
my high school, it was a comprehensive at first, but they upgraded it aparently. some inspired student, years before i began there, had spray painted "colditz" on the front wall. nobody seemed to mind, it had obviously taken on that invisible quality that is afforded the often seen. a week or so prior to the rebranding of the school, from birkdale scondary to birkdale high, the statement of defiance was removed. it however remained indelable for all those who had ever seen it. Then they phased out the girls. I would probably done a whole lot better in school had they not waited, so much time wasted in the pursuit of the unfairer sex.
http://www.birkdalehigh-edu.co.uk
http://www.visitsouthport.com/
this is where i went to sothport college of art, before they amalgamated it into the tech college, some good stories to be told there
http://www.southport-college.ac.uk/
the flower show, many memories of bunkin in, couldn't afford t get in you see.
http://www.southportflowershow.co.uk
for a map of southport
http://www.sefton.gov.uk/pdf/Layout%201_Cycling.pdf
my high school, it was a comprehensive at first, but they upgraded it aparently. some inspired student, years before i began there, had spray painted "colditz" on the front wall. nobody seemed to mind, it had obviously taken on that invisible quality that is afforded the often seen. a week or so prior to the rebranding of the school, from birkdale scondary to birkdale high, the statement of defiance was removed. it however remained indelable for all those who had ever seen it. Then they phased out the girls. I would probably done a whole lot better in school had they not waited, so much time wasted in the pursuit of the unfairer sex.
http://www.birkdalehigh-edu.co.uk