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Sign For His Overtime

Sign For His Overtime a poem by JB Barrington

Sign For His Overtime
a poem by JB Barrington

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Can You Spare 20p For A Cup Of Tea

Can you spare 20p for a cup of tea?
your change wont change what they think of me
can you tear that nescient poster down
that assumes I beg for rocks and brown
before you blame the fruit on the ground
take a look at the tree we fell from

the poor didn’t create inequality
and the poor didn’t create my poverty
you could easily be sat here like me
So can you spare 20p for a cup of tea?

Can You Spare 20p image

© JB Barrington 2015

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Poetry is it? Ah’ll give ye poetry

Some nice words about my show ‘Woodchip Anaglypta & Nicotined Artex Ceiling’ at Salford Arts Theatre, Saturday 28th Feb 2015.

From Catalunya To Chorlton

This blog started out as a guide to Barcelona and I used to really enjoy doing it. I’ve been living in Manchester for over a year and in truth it’s taken me that length of time to start considering the city as my “home”

My last entry was about a day out at FC United and the reaction it got kind of made me want to start scribbling again. It’s fair to say there are thousands of things I miss about Barcelona but I can’t help but feel that Manchester offers a relatively soft landing from Catalunya. On face of it that may appear an odd statement but the people here are fantastic, some of the pubs are among the best in the country and the town is teeming with culture an’ that.

Getting myself back on my feet, establishing some genuine friendships has me in a position where I am…

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Let No Hands Choke


Let no hands choke
the voice in your throat
when you’ve chance to rearrange
Make yourself use
your right to choose
to do nothing puts paid to a chance of any change
There’s power in your ink
on the cross in the box
for a different stance
and a different view
But by the people
and for the people
can’t work without me
and can’t work without you
The Chartists fought
for fairer suffrage
through the peoples charter reforms
Suffragettes didn’t suffer
for you to shrug your shoulders
whilst your apathy stretches and yawns
Let no hands choke
the voice in your throat
when you’ve chance to rearrange
Make yourself use
your right to choose
to do nothing puts paid to a chance of any change


© JB Barrington 2015

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The Promise Of A Bowl Of Dripping

Stay at home and sit by the phone
while hope is slowly slipping
You wait in line for a waste of time
and the promise of a bowl of dripping
You can’t contact them they contact you
cos the phone has never known no credit
Ride that bike to wherever they like
with the wraith of Norman Tebbit
You can’t see far can’t see no future
for a trapped and hapless generation
You can only plan to stay a poor man
within a cancerous exploitation
They get more you get more insecure
the claws of debt is the beck of their call
But skin and bones and stones of the Davids
can defy and make Goliaths fall
Stay at home and sit by the phone
while hope is slowly slipping
You wait in line for a waste of time
and the promise of a bowl of dripping

© JB Barrington 2014

Zero Hour

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Gone With The Ships

Gone With The Ships (a poem for Shelagh Delaney)
Raised letters on slugs of metal
all moulded in reverse
Punched through an ink soaked ribbon
for ten days worth of words
The smell of the grease paint the roar of the crowd
through Irish ancestral eyes
Then sealed in scenes on celluloid
under a smoke filled Salford sky
When a working class weren’t represented
where another class graced the stage
The ‘anyone for tennis’ considered a menace
The young girl at eighteen years of age
The cover of class and of race and of gender
compelled to record and reflect what was real
You showed them a world they chose to ignore
spurred by those that were just too genteel
I’m oh so glad and I’m oh so grateful
for all them words you wrote
Putting northerners on the map you never once doffed a cap
and you spoke just like us ordinary folk
No narrative drool from a public school
with the stiffest of upper lips
That’d never stepped foot out of London
and never seen a pan o’ chips
You perfectly scripted the impaired and afflicted
and those that never chose to have holes in their socks
A voice for the poor that is sadly no more
gone with the ships that sailed on the docks
Shelagh Day Salford Arts
Written and performed by JB Barrington at Salford Arts Theatre on Tuesday 25th November as part of the Shelagh Delaney Day.
© JB Barrington 2014
© Words Escape me 2014
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Strange-Days in Strange-Ways (Kickstarter Fund)


How would you like your name on the credits or even a background part in a new Manchester/Salford film starring Shaun Ryder, Bez, Clint Boon, John Cooper Clarke, Tom Hingley, Dave Spikey, Rick Witter, John Robb, Terry Christian, Neil Bell (Dead Mans Shoes) Mike Garry plus many many more……

We have all been slogging our guts out to get this film made and have been overwhelmed by the support of all the famous faces that appear in the film. The film as it stands at the moment is brilliant! It’s gritty, very Northern, and absolutely hilarious and we can’t wait to share it with the world. We’ve been working on this film now for two years whilst juggling our various different day jobs. We’re just a bunch of working class lads with a great project on our hands and are so excited to share it with everyone we just need that financial support for the final push to the finishing line. 80% of the film is complete and has been funded out of our own pockets but it’s now reached that critical stage where we’re on the cusp of finishing it but can’t afford the time and equipment to get it done as the project has finally rinsed us dry. All the final scenes have been written and locations sought out, everyones cast and ready to go, we just need money to take the time to complete it with the right equipment to make the film look how it deserves to look. There’s the post production side of things, promo and organising the premiere (which by the way will be the event of the year in Manchester…one hot ticket!). So come on, be a part of something cool, be an outcast, be a Rum Bastard and help us out 🙂 Here’s a link to our Facebook page:

You can also find us on twitter too – @LowGeese

Risks and challenges

There are no risks in the completion of this film. It’s all written & produced to suit our means, a super doable number if you like. There’s no speed boat chases, no talking dinosaurs and the only ‘explosion’ in the film is a kettle blowing a fuse and that was accidental! This is punk rock with a very Mancunian can do attitude and we’re more than ready to give this fantastic project it’s final push. The only challenges we face are financial…it’s as simple as that. So please join us and help us finish this film.

More info on the kickstarter fund via this link



Strangways poster lower

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*WARNING* This interview contains strong language. If you are easily offended – this BLOG POST is not for you.


Strangeways Poster V5

With a long list of big names on board, ready to spill the beans of their encounters with one of the most notorious bands of their time. Forgottenbee talks with film producers “Low Flying Geese” about their story so far in the making of their film. Good news too… You can be involved…

So with no further ado… Never Mind the Bo**ocks. This is “James Coburn and the Rum Bastards”…


Check the trailer here:

FB   1/ I have to say, the concept of this film is brilliant, and you’ve done incredibly well to get some big names involved.. How did you ‘sell’ the story to them to get them to participate?

Most of the faces in the film were into punk or have been associated with the punk scene. In one way or another, most of them are also from Manchester too so I think the idea…

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The Boy Wonder

You were style and you were beautiful
You were smart and you were cool
You were the soundtrack to my adolescence
You were my favourite subject at school
You were the way I thought
You were all I bought
You were pinned up above my bed
You were the way I walked
You were the way I talked
You were every book I ever read
You were all that goes
You were all my clothes
You were all that did concern
You were the way I stood
You were all that was good
You were all the things I’d learn
You were all my seven seas
You were the long hot summer breeze
You were a setting son shining in a burning sky
You were the crash of all my thunder
You were my boy wonder
You were the giver of the bitterest pill
when you said goodbye
You were everything and all
You were in front of that white bog wall
You were suited up with a white shirt and black tie
You were the smoothest lookin’ fella
You were John William Weller
And for a time that seemed eternal so was I

© JB Barrington 2014


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