Having spent most of my career playing around with the written word, it recently struck me that it could do me a bit of good to fall back in love with the printed one.

That’s what I originally set out to study as a fledgling designer before writing copy and occasionally coming up with a nice creative concept took over as my main thing. Back in the days when the Mac wiped out a whole set of skills virtually overnight.

Marching orders for the soldiers of lead?

One day at college we went home with cow-gum gooey fingers (and brains), only to return the next to a small, white plastic box with a postcard-sized screen that read, writ large in Apple’s precocious new font, Chicago (remember that?): “Hey, dickhead. Everything you just spent the last year learning. Forget it.”

Or so it seemed.

In fact, when designing and setting type leapt from the layout pad and workshop to the screen, a whole system of processes, both manual and cerebral, were unceremoniously jettisoned. Along with the Grant enlargers, Letraset catalogues, tracing paper, cow gum, putty rubbers and all that sticky paste-up paraphernalia.

This analogue to digital transition was taken up with great gusto by typographers, designers and artworkers. And why the Helvetica not? You could now do things in an hour that would have previously have taken days. The capabilities were mind-blowing. Type could be resized on screen. Colours changed. Leading and kerning precisely nudged and shuffled before your very eyes. Yes, that sounds lame today, but back then it was no less than actual real magic. The possibilities seemed endless. And so it was that the old ways of printing were consigned to a wire trash can in the corner of a computer screen.

A new army rises

But, like all the best persecuted practises, the art of letterpress didn’t die, it went underground to be kept alive in backstreet workshops, cellars and anonymous industrial units around the globe. Dedicated groups of people gathered the presses, typefaces, inks, quoins, chases and all the other ephemera required to create a letterpress print and saved them from the scrapheap. They’ve been tracked down, collected, refurbed and restored so that today, they’re still hard at work in studios producing everything from oh-so classy wedding invites to thousand-dollar fine art prints.

Places like Hotbed Press, sunny Salford’s centre of printmaking excellence where letterpress is taught and practised alongside other cool stuff like screenprinting and lithography and etching.

I’ve just closed the cover on the Complete Letterpress Printer course at this printmaking facility. I joined partly to scratch a persistent creative itch and also to reconnect with the things that drew me to graphic design and typography way back when.

The tactility of type. The texture of a fine paper. The concentration and spatial awareness, not to mention puzzle solving and maths skills, required to set type that looks the way you want. The repetitive rhythm of a 100-year old press set in motion. And the near-meditative state that can be achieved by a combination of all these, plus an atmosphere thick with the heady aroma of white spirit and printing ink.

All objectives achieved.

The allure of letterpress printing won’t diminish and I’ll be rolling up my sleeves and inking up my rollers again soon. But in the meantime, here a few examples of work I produced there to peruse.

Not quite hot off the presses, but hopefully still exuding a nice bit of warmth.

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Forget the indecisiveness, one thing we all agree on is that this tribute to Euro-tunage both current and classic will divide any office, agency or studio. Who will leave and who will remain? Press play to find out…

Grab the Spotify playlist link here

‘Thank EU for the Music’ playlist in its entirety:

Austria
Falco – Amadeus
Belgium
Plastic Bertrand – Ca Plane Pour Moi
Bulgaria
Irfan – Hagia Sophia
Croatia
Daniel Popović – Džuli
Cyprus
Anna Vissi – Eleni
Czech Republic
Helena Vondráčková – Sladké mámení
Denmark
Whigfield – Saturday Night
Estonia
Arvo Pärt – Speigel im speigel
Finland
Eppu Normaali – Vuonna ‘85
France
Air – Sexy Boy
Germany
Can – I’m so Green
Greece
Aphrodite’s Child – Four Horseman of the apocalypse
Hungary
Omega – Gyöngyhajú Lány
Ireland
Thin Lizzy – Whiskey in the Jar
Italy
Virtualmismo – Mismoplastico (Virtual Mix)
Latvia
Brainstorm – Maybe
Lithuania
Alina Orlova – Spindulėlis
Luxembourg
Abstract Rapture – Democadencia
Malta
Ira Losco – Walk on Water
Netherlands
Tiesto – BOOM
Poland
Tabu – Jak dobrze Cię widzieć
Portugal
Humanos – Muda De Vida
Romania
Taraf de Haïdouks – Dumbala Dumba
Slovakia
Horkýže Slíže – Mám v P… na lehátku
Slovenia
Atomik Harmonik – Turbo Polka
Spain
Paco de Lucia – Entre dos Aguas
Sweden
Abba – Thank you for the Music

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As a confirmed ex-smoker, I can vouch for the many benefits of giving up the oily rags and stubbing out tobacco for good. More money, better health, extra time to do good stuff and less time standing in the pouring rain outside office blocks are just a few.

I used to be a serious smoker. One of those people whose pockets were permanently crammed with Rizlas and loose filters, purloined Clipper lighters and strands of tobacco, leaving a wake of stale fag smoke behind me wherever I mooched.

Nearly four years ago I quit smoking, hopefully for good. The main motivation to do this thing I’d been thinking of for years, but never quite got round to doing, was the amazing support I received from the fab Prue Yeoman.

The Queen of the quit

She’s good. Very good. In fact, thanks to her in-depth knowledge and comprehensive understanding of the psychology of addiction, she helped make the process less painful, massively controllable and a whole lot more rewarding than I ever thought possible.

So, when Prue decided to take her smoking cessation support to the next level and offer it as a service, I saw my chance to repay her with something from my own skill set; a spot of branding advice and marketing support. Starting with designing the logo for her new venture Happy Quitter UK:

A simple, bold logo that gets the message across immediately. Part of a bright colourway and personality that reinforces positivity, I’m sure you’ll agree.

I also took to the hills to add to HQ’s Facebook video gallery featuring ex-smokers sharing their personal views on quitting. If I sound a little out of breath, its because I had just climbed Kinder Scout in 3-ft high snow. But boy, would I have been gasping more if I was still a smoker:

Giving up doesn’t have to be a drag

Still very much in its infancy, the idea seems to be taking on a momentum of its own. Prue and the Happy Quitter UK crew have been busy staging pop-up events at offices and workplaces, offering support to local quitters and generally spreading the good word in Manchester and beyond about why staying a smoker is a little bit daft, really.

I’m helping out with branding, marketing support and cups of tea.

You could help out by taking a few seconds to follow Happy Quitter UK on Facebook or Twitter and see where this smoke-free journey takes us.

Watch this space for updates.

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Energy Advice Service logo for Manchester Citizens Advice Bureau, designed by Antony Alton 2013.

Smart Energy GB logo, stolen by Gaz and Leccy at some point during their ongoing crime-wave.

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Random, funny, inspirational, clever and hugely effective, they’re a must for anyone doing anything creative. Whether you’re crafting ad copy, trying to crack that pitch brief, composing music, painting, writing poetry or anything that requires creative thinking (let’s face it, that’s virtually everything we do), they can help.

Follow me on Twitter for a daily morning does of creative randomisation at 8.30am sharp or thereabouts. Later at weekends, naturally.

Here are the rules:

Oblique Strategies rules

The cards and the ideas are all copyright Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt.

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On 22 May 2017, a lone suicide bomber detonated a homemade bomb outside the Manchester Arena after an Ariana Grande concert.  250 people were injured.

22 were killed.

These 22 images were taken by Hungarian photographer Miki Csepely Knorr (friend and honorary Mancunian) in the days immediately following the most deadly attack in the UK since the 2005 London bombings. They record the aftermath days when locals stood together and struggled to come to terms with events that had shaken their city. See all 22 images at Noortherncomfort.com. Images by Miki Csepely Knorr, words by Antony Alton.

Manchester Town Hall, Albert Square: The bee has been the symbol of Manchester since it was granted city status in 1842. Representing the ‘worker bees’ of this industrial powerhouse of the Victorian age, it can be seen all around the city on civic buildings, pint glasses, floor tiles.

St Ann’s Square: In the shadow of the historic church, people gather to reflect, talk and share. Response Pastors – trained volunteers who offer support and compassion to all in the event of a crisis or emergency – are on hand to offer emotional assistance.

St Ann’s Square: A sea of flowers and messages appears in St Ann’s Square overnight, turning it into an unofficial and spontaneous temporary memorial. It is reluctantly cleared by the council a 2 weeks later when it almost blocks the busy thoroughfare.

Market St: Days after May 22, Members of Islam Against Extremism directly address a city still reeling from the shockwaves. They offer an anti-terror message from the religion that many hold responsible for Salman Abedi’s actions.

Mancunians stand together.

Bees buzz into Stephenson Square as resident graffiti artists respond to the defiant mood of the city. 

Thousands of bee tattoos are inked all over the North West to raise money for the victims. Ariana Grande is one of the proud recipients and becomes a Mancunian in spirit.

See all 22 images at Noortherncomfort.com. Images by Miki Csepely Knorr, words by Antony Alton.

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The Bikeology exhibition, lovingly curated by Hungarian doyens of design Kultúrgorilla, wonderfully demonstrates that there are plenty of miles left when it comes to pushing the push bike even further.

The esoteric collection, a temporary addition to the museum’s permanent mix of Hungarian design and style examplars, gathers classic and contemporary of cycle design excellence. Not just to get cyclists’ gimme gimme glands engorged, but also to pose a few big questions about sustainability, the sometimes difficult relationships between cycling and cities and how cultures interact with the bike around the world.

And most excellent the objects are too, taking in everything from vintage vavavoom to groundbreaking designs that use new materials (and indeed, reuse old ones) to ensure the design cycle evolves at the same cadence it revolves.

Here’s a short tour of the exhibits that cranked my pedals, in no particular order…

Two legs bad, two wheels good:

The Sandwichbike. Inspired by the concept of flat pack furniture and home assembly, this fully sustainable wooden-framed wonder is the work of Holland’s Bleijh design studios. It’s available in four regular flavours and like all good sandwiches, there’s an option to order one customised to your spec. Now to find my nearest branch of Bikea…

Sandwich (or Szendvics to use the vernacular) Bike…make mine to go

The drop-dead gorgeous Van Hulsteijn VH1 is the result of designer Herman van Hulsteijn’s desire to create a ‘fast yet spectacular bike to roam the city’. Its beautiful curved frame is handmade in Arnhem, Holland where the custom-made design icons are also hand built. Starting at €2800, this Dutch Master could be a bike too far for most of us.

Herman van Hulsteijn VH1…drool

Assembled in Vienna, Austria in conjunction with bamboo frame makers Boogali in Kampala, Uganda, the Bambooride provides an environmentally sustainable, Fair Trade alternative to standard bikes. According to the manufacturers, it’s as strong and durable as a regular frame, and provides unexpected benefits as it also acts as a natural shock absorber to make the ride more comfortable. Each frame is a one-off to make each bamboo bike unique.

Bamboo bike. Just the thing for the concrete jungle?

Made in the 1970s by Hungarian bike manufacturer Csepel, this space saving ‘Camper’ model has a distinct cold war air to it. As well as an indispensable essential on those wholesome family holidays in the foothills of the Carpathians, the foldable little fella looks like it would be equally at home in the rear of a Tupolev destined for a midnight parachute deep behind enemy lines. Love the pasted on assembly instructions in the canister lid and the compacted beauty of the stowed beast.

You keep folding and folding…

Who’s in here? It’s a little bike.

The classic PUCH model nicely demonstrates how the basic design of the push bike has remained unchanged. The Austrian manufacturer made 1000s of these in the years between the wars, with handy features like the integral pump and repair kit for on-the-move maintenance and front and rear splash guards to keep your Oxford bags and brogues pristine.

Vintage 1930s PUCH model. Worth it just for the chainset.

Accessories to murder (for)

Enough of the bikes. What about the accessories? From a fine array of add-ons, gadgets and gizmos (don’t cyclists just love to accessorise, darling?), two in particular stopped me in my tracks a) because they are dead clever and b) because I really wish I’d thought of them.

First up, the cardboard shopping pannier designed by Christian Steiner and Beatrice Stude. Created from a flat piece of cardboard and just the thing to carry your groceries from the local shop. Be a nice way for retailers to do something nice for their cycling customers, too. Maybe not one for rainier climes, but what a fantastic idea.

Genius #1: Box Clever (Christian Steiner & Beatrice Stude: BikePack bike carrier)

Secondly, the hunting trophy bike hanger made from the recycled carcass of an old racer. Lots of people claiming responsibility for this little gem online but I’d love to know who’s actually created this idea to personally congratulate them. I’d be tempted to tape those bars up to avoid frame scratches when hanging and removing your pride and joy (particularly if you own something like the Van Hulsteijn VH1), but why let practicality get in the way of a beautiful design?

Genius #2: The Goat Hanger.

Bikeology at The Budapest Museum of the Applied Arts is open until November 27 2016.

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As I have temporarily relocated to Budapest for the month of September (as you do), I thought it would be nice to look a little further than the famous city centre tourist traps, enticing though they are. I’m lucky enough to have a few weeks to discover the delights of this wonderful city at a more relaxed pace. So no whistle stop tours required…or that’s what I thought.

Up there, just outside the city centre in the cool and opulent uplands, there’s a railway with a rather unusual recruitment policy called Gyermekvasút. It employs children in virtually every job. That’s kids selling tickets, operating signals and checking for fare dodgers on board and yes, blowing the whistles to get the trains moving.

No mean feat when you find out that this railway isn’t a novelty line taking families round the local park or a steam line restored by enthusiasts on wet Bank Holiday weekends. It’s a fully functional 11.2km route, with daily services carrying thousands of passengers to the eight stations on a line connecting Széchényi-hegy and Hűvösvölgy up in the lovely Buda hills.

With a lot of help from Wikipedia, I have deduced that the former name of the line was Úttörővasút(Pioneer Railway, in reference to the communist scouts), and now the official designation is MÁV Zrt. Széchenyi-hegyi Gyermekvasút.

Except the train driver, all of the posts are operated by children aged 10–14 under adult supervision.

The first section, from Széchenyi-hegy to Előre station (now Virágvölgy) was inaugurated on July 31, 1948. The second section, to Ságváriliget (now Szépjuhászné), was completed one year later, and the last section, to Hűvösvölgy, was opened on 20 August 1950.

The children take their jobs very seriously – it’s a railway, after all – and are efficient, helpful and diligent. The young lad who helped us with some directions could also speak perfect English. The trains run bang on time, too. Maybe if we put the control of some the UK’s struggling services in the hands of 14-year olds things would improve. On second thoughts, maybe not. Gyermekvasút, we salute you!

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I posted this a few years ago, but as it’s the centenary of the Battle of the Somme, I thought it could be the right time to give it another airing.

I never knew my grandfather. He died a fair few years before I was born, and when I was growing up it was a rare occasion when he was mentioned in conversation by my father. Most of the tales were as dark and murky as the post-WW2 Manchester in which they were set.

There was only one picture of him in our family’s possession; a small, grainy black and white shot of a serious man with an uncanny resemblance to Peter Cushing. The only link to a man who, in my mind at least, hadn’t really been the ideal bloke and who I was a little pleased never to have met.

Then my dad rediscovered another memento his dad, carefully stored in the bottom of some box or other safely stowed in a forgotten corner of the attic.

Dear Letty…

It was a postcard from one of the forgotten fronts of WW1, sent by the young William Alton to his sister back at the then family home in Moss Side, Manchester.

Not knowing anything about the reason he was there, or about the man who bequeathed me a middle name,  I decided to do a bit of research.

Not many people (war historians excepted) are even aware that the British sent soldiers to Salonika in Greece. But that’s what they did, setting up the Macedonian front to help Serbia against a combined attack by Germany, Austria-Hungary and Bulgaria. Initially derided as “the Gardeners of Salonika” due to the cushy and stable nature of their posting in comparison to the boys in the trenches of Belgium and France. This force was soon bloodied by a relentless pattern of attack followed by counter-attack in vain attempts to break the stalemate – and the equally lethal offensive waged  by the legions of mosquitoes that made life a misery and rendered more men incapable of fighting than the enemy managed to.

At some point, William, who had signed up at the age of 16 like many young men at the time who were eager for a bit of adventure and the chance to have a bash at ‘Johnny Hun’, ended up right in the thick of it.

This description of one particular forgotten engagement on the dusty, sun-baked hillsides says it all. It’s an excerpt from a piece written by ‘An Unprofessional Soldier’ on the Staff of 28th Division. He entitled his paper: “I saw the Futile Massacre at Doiran”:

Our attack on ‘ Pip Ridge’ was led by 12th Cheshires. The battle opened with a crash of machine-gun fire, and a cloud of dusty smoke began to blur the outline of the hills, Almost immediately the advancing battalion was overwhelmed in a deadly steam of bullets which came whipping and whistling down the open slopes. Those who survived were followed by a battalion of Lancashire men, and a remnant of this undaunted infantry fought its way over the first and second lines of trenches – if indeed the term ” line ” can be applied to a highly complicated and irregular system of defence, taking full advantage of every fold or contortion of the ground. In its turn, a Shropshire battalion ascended the fatal ridge. By this time the battle of the ” Pips” was a mere confusion of massacre, noise and futile bravery. Nearly all the men of the first two battalions were lying dead or wounded on the hillside. Colonel Clegg and Colonel Bishop were killed; the few surviving troops were toiling and fighting in what appeared to be inevitable and immediate death. The attack was ending in a bloody disaster. No orders could reach the isolated cluster of men who were still trying to advance on the ridge. Contact aeroplanes came roaring down through the yellow haze of dust and smoke, hardly able to see what was going on, and even flying below the levels of the Ridge and Grand Couronne. There was only one possible ending to the assault. Our troops in the military phrase of their commander, “fell back to their original positions” Of this falling back I will say nothing. There are times when even desperate heroism has to acknowledge defeat.

You can read the full article here if interested: http://www.1914-1918.net/salonika.htm

William appears to have dodged the bullets, bayonets and shrapnel but not been so lucky with the aforementioned mozzies, being laid low by malaria along with many of his comrades. It was this that took him away from the action and to hospital in Salonika, from where he sent this beautifully penned postcard to his sister back home as he was recovering. Maybe his mind still needed a little more recuperation as I can’t understand why his sister would have sent registered letters to Salonika in 1910, but the message is touching and the handwriting absolutely stunning. If he was from a more contemporary Moss Side he’d most definitely be king of the taggers.

When his health was judged good enough for him to be returned to active duty, he was then sent to Constantinople (not Istanbul) and then on to Dublin where the British Army decided to keep the fighting going even thought the Great War was now over.

He managed to avoid a visit from Michael Collins and the boys, then returned to Britain; along with a whole army of other young men, a shadow of his former self whose life would be forever overshadowed by events that had happened during WW1.

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Apparently, the fine art of morris dancing is not being taken up by the young folks. So as the older morrismen hang up their staves and bells and retire, there’s a distinct lack of young blood moving up the ranks to replace them.

I’m puzzled to understand why; hanging round with 8 mates who wear identical clothes, listening to repetitive music, then jumping round hitting each other with sticks outside a pub seems to be tailor-made for teenagers.

So come on youth, step forward and take up the morris mantle. Find your local crew and wave your hankies in the air like you just don’t care here

Antony Alton – Manchester Freelance Copywriter

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