yen_powell

I was on the clothes counter part of a Christmas day homeless charity thing about 10 years ago, Shelter or Crisis or similar. I was one of three, the other two were teenagers. You know in your head you think you are the same person you were in your teens, you really aren't, you do get a bit more sensible. They were nice lads, very keen, but also pretty hopeless. I'd seen them earlier filling a deep tray with water to take it to the tea urn, sloshing everywhere, whereas when it was my turn I just went and bought a large bottle of mineral water then refilled that from the tap after the first empty. Clothes on the counter we were now on were there to hand out all right, but still in black bags, exactly as donated, no one had had the time to sort them, so it was a bit hectic, you got a request and it was search like a mad thing, guessing sizes and hoping for the best. I had heard one person give her name to the next section which was doing footwear so I knew it was a lady. Unfortunately when she moved along to us she asked one of the teenagers if we had any jeans to fit her, he replied with, "Sorry mate, we are all out of men's jeans". She looked at him stonily and said, " I am a woman". He went the colour only a teenager can go and was mortified.

If you're not prepared to put the effort in you deserve to fail the entrance exam.

Yes, perhaps add a dash of excremental detail, that's what I would do.

Listen, I have a BNP councillor and the Union Jack story and that involves shit. You can get it in anywhere if you try hard enough.

4/ The Moroccan murder attempts As time went by our little team in the corner gained or lost people. Mostly there were just two of us doing our trafficy type stuff, but at the time of this story we had been joined by a lady called Jane who did our finance and a man known as Normsboy, because his last name was Tebbett. He just had nowhere else to sit. Normsboy was probably one of the most intelligent people I have ever met, he had two degrees and was doing another through the Open University, carrying out the work during his train journey in from Kent. He didn't need to work at all really, his wife was a highly paid part time QC, but he liked his job which covered lots of different areas, the most interesting being the arranging of pauper funerals as I called them. If someone died who had no relatives he would visit their homes, sort out their affairs and arrange for their burial or cremation. He would laugh at my drawings showing traffic schemes, he had a theory that any information for a construction drawing could be adequately conveyed in written form. He also taught me a few new words to add to my limited vocabulary. In those days the public could walk in and demand to meet us face to face, this usually involved someone shouting at you or poking you in the chest. In one case an old lady hit me with her walking stick. Normsboy came back from a face to face meeting and told me that he had “never met with such personal vilification before”. This meant that he had received a good slagging off. I learnt that after a quick flick through the office dictionary. I stored the word away for future use, but to be honest, this is the first time I've used it since. So one day I have just finished a good spinning session on my drawing board chair and I'm just shaking my rotring pen to get the ink flowing when I heard a commotion outside. I opened the window and stuck my head out. Down below I could see an old man, an old woman and a young heavily pregnant lady. They all looked middle eastern to me. They were all shouting and the man was waving what at first appeared to be a sword, but was actually a cane walking stick that had split and broken leaving a sort of a point. The old woman punched him repeatedly, whilst at the same time he was bashing his broken walking stick handle on her head. Then the pregnant lady pushed him over and started laying into him with some serious sandal action. Hormones will do that to you I suppose. It was at this point I saw that the old man had also been holding a small knife that was now laying on the ground. A young male appeared, running up the street like a dusky Seb Coe. He pushed the pregnant lady from behind and she goes arse over tit over the old man and ends up laying on the floor. She managed to turn over like a struggling tortoise just in time for the young man to start stamping on her belly, what an animal. I turned and shouted at Normsboy to ring the old bill quickly. By now a crowd is starting to gather on the opposite foot way and they are shouting across the road at the fighting people. Mostly encouraging, it seemed to me. Traffic had been moving slowly, drivers were looking to see what was happening, but eventually one car stopped and the driver opened his door and left his car with the engine running. He was a very big bloke, vest top and muscles, shaven head. This was unusual because it was a very cold day. There was a lorry with two men right behind him and the lorry driver started beeping his horn when he realised the car was now blocking the road. The beeping stopped suddenly when the big geezer ran to his boot, opened it and emerged carrying a baseball bat and a large carving knife. He ran at the young male who was assaulting the pregnant lady. The young male turns and runs into our public office out of my sight and the knife wielding Hulk ran in after him. Newspapers would later say that local school children watched in horror, but in fact quite a few were shouting 'stab him' across the road, little shits, all of them. A single police car pulled up and a lone police woman jumped out of the passenger door. I couldn't see the two males, but the crowd across the road obviously could because some one shouted at her to “Get back in the car you silly cow, he's got a knife”. She hopped back in for a second and then the cavalry turned up. A van screeched to a halt on the opposite carriageway and the boys in blue, wearing riot gear and carrying large round perspex shields charged en masse into our public office. 10 minutes later they carried the Hulk out by the arms and legs. He was facing down and handcuffed and wasn't going quietly, shocking language, but they bundled him into a van and took him away. The other bloke left on an ambulance stretcher covered in blood and holes. He had run into one of the interview rooms I was told later and the big bloke had followed him in and started battering and stabbing him. The odd thing was, the baseball bat was never found after the event. We all pondered on who had secreted that away and how on earth they did it. Things quietened down, although the next morning several parked cars in the street nearby had no glass left in the windows and slashed tyres, I believe they belonged to the combatants. The story I later heard was that two Moroccan families had been joined by a marriage and then had fallen out big time, resulting in the fighting I had seen. One of my colleagues, a good friend as well, knew them all, she went to the same gym as the dusky Hulk and dealt with the rest of the family on a day to day basis. She had been on the front desk when it all kicked off so was a prime witness. She was not keen to give evidence against a family of people she had to walk past every day and who had shown how they liked to settle a disagreement. When the police started to tell her she had to appear in court as a witness she spoke to her doctor who wrote to them. She had been losing weight for a while, ever since running in the London Marathon 6 months before oddly, no one could work out why. Her doctor said that additional stress could be dangerous for her health. Despite this the police or crown prosecution issued a subpoena for her to appear. She didn't go, prepared to take the legal consequences rather than face them in court. My name had helpfully been given to the old bill by Normsboy, the twat! So I got interviewed and a day in court. The police interviews and the following court case were quite an experience, I'll come back to my only appearance as one of the witnesses for the prosecution, questioned by 8 barristers (one for the prosecution and 7 for the defence) and then shuffled quickly out of the witness box. The end result was a bit weird as well.

Now, where did I put my eye bleach?

An old bloke at work had a beard and hair at the sides, the rest was bald. Standard issue if you know what I mean. One day he walked in quietly with a completely shaved head, like an egg it was. We all asked of course and he gave some story about the guard falling off the electric trimmers and once he had made a slot in his remaining hair he thought he should take it all off. It later turned out he and his brother in law had both been drunk and agreed to shave each others head. He went first, then his brother in law said he'd changed his mind and ran away. BUT, the funny thing was, we had a new young Nigerian lad, a real innocent, not long in the country and with a loud sing song voice. He walked through the door and without even slowing down as he walked past, his sing song voice went, "Hallo Kojak."

They are Satan's Testicles!

The ones I saw were on for someone special, we are not talking standard British issue. I forgot to mention I hung on and copped a second eyeful when she left, purely for confirmation you understand.

They look like grapes that have gone off but taste like meat to me. I'm alone in this, everyone else I know loves the things.

Stuff I can't pull open easily any more, plastic covered items etc. More and more I have to go looking for scissors after a fruitless few attempts. People who are so busy faffing about in their cars doing other stuff they miss a green light and go at the last minute just as the red comes back on. Things you have to do at work that you know are just a box ticking exercise and makes no difference what so ever but take up your time anyway. Police cars obeying speed limits in front of you when you are in a hurry and there is no alternative route. Olives. Prawns, they look at you. Noncey tea.

No he'd been gone a while before it occurred to me to search them for a proof photo. I suppose I could try our local archive place.

Yup. There were a few nicknames, like:- Hoxton Tom (google that one) Dracula The Judge (young bloke, summer job after his law degree) BTC (Bog Trotting C*nt) a nasty Irishman I took a dislike to. His girlfriend had her face removed in the film SEVEN just before she dumped him in real life which cheered me up no end. Daffy (not to her face) Otis (not to her face) cos of being caught shagging in a lift at the GLC (RIP) Normsboy (cos his last name was Tebbett) Hacker (for his footballing atrocities) Lord Welk (RIP) Len of Bow or Groutie as mentioned earlier Hooker (cos he was called TJ, short for Telampule Jaganathan, a Tamil Sri-Lankan) Rabid Abed (as mentioned earlier) The Body (Cos it was lovely and curved in all the right places) The Sperm Whale also known as The Rottweiler. Stanley Mean Time (because he only came in when he liked) Fug (because he liked West Ham, now very senior, who still calls me Motor) Cookie (RIP) Muzzy (never sure why) Muck Von (cos his first two initials were MV and he was a racist) Jod (caught wanking in the toilet, cockney rhyming slang for that is Jodrell Bank) Renais (cos he said everything twice, I know that's should be Michelle of the Resistance, but you know how it is)

I used to know the council photographer until he retired, we competed for the single motorbike space in the work car park in my early days, but he had an Italian bike so was usually broken down on the way to work leaving me to park my CX500 there instead. One of the things he did for me was give me a log on i.d. for all the council photographs stored on our server in case I wanted to use them for any work purposes. I have looked so hard for a picture of her with that shovel but couldn't find one. If I could put the shovel with the picture..... Last I heard the photographer was enjoying his retirement by riding a horse on some prairie in Canada and he had a heart attack and was very lucky to survive it due to his remoteness when it struck.

Things Seen out of an office window:- For quite a few years (probably 89-95) I was based on the 2nd floor of a small mini town hall that faced on to Roman Road in east London. In those days we were allowed our own desk and I plonked mine right next to the window along with my drawing board and wheeled cabinet with all my pens, pencils, stencils, set squares, compasses, and all the other paraphernalia that a successful international draughtsman and man of mystery surrounds himself with. I also had a normal desk chair and best of all, a tall swivel chair which I could spin myself on till I felt sick, any time I wanted to. I have grabbed a GSV view of the building as it is now and put an arrow pointing at my window. They managed to get it clean after I moved out, although the carpet was a write off. (That tree wasn't there back then) Anyway, in between producing works of fine art and drinking tea I would occasionally gaze out of my window, usually until my boss would shout, 'Oi Motorhead, get on with your work you lazy twat.” I have been called Motorhead at work since 1986 when I turned up on my first day with long hair and a leather jacket knocking the potted plants over with my crash helmet. That scruffbag looks like Motorhead someone joked and it stuck. Variations were used such as, “Oi M. Head, Oi Motor, Oi Monsier Head, Oi Mr Head”, you get the idea….Gradually less and less people know me as that now, the older generation has retired, moved or popped their clogs, although at one time, our chief exec was going to allow me to have 'motor.head' as the first part of my work email address. The I.T. department nipped that in the bud. It still occasionally gets shouted across a noisy street by people old enough to remember. I saw many things out of my window, I will now list some:- 1/ Diana, Princess of Wales' underwear. She was visiting the building for some reason, the police had been in hours before she got there to look for bombs and assassins and our small car park at the rear was full of coppers on BMW K75s. We had been told that we could stand on the stairwell to see her as she went up them, but I wasn't a big royal fan so I decided to spin around on my tall chair whilst the governor was away. Anyway, a crowd had gathered and I heard a cheer and looked out of the window. A large black car pulled up and the rear passenger door was right under my window. Someone opened the door from the outside and first to emerge was a lady in waiting who gave a classic example of how a lady should get out of a car in a short skirt, nothing was put out there for general viewing. Then the Princess of Wales showed the incorrect way to get out. It was done that poorly I could read the labels. I'll say no more on the subject in case MI5 come for me. On a seperate note, a bloke came in just after another occasion when she was planting a tree in the borough. He had a lovely shiny shovel she had used for the photos and perhaps a gentle dab or two at the soil around the tree. He was in a rush to get to the reception and apparently thought turning up with a shovel would look uncouth. He asked me to put it in my locker for safe keeping. He then retired or rather was bullied out for various reasons and it is now in my garage with crusted bits of concrete on it when I used to to mix up a shed base. 2/ Bootsie, I often saw an old woman with snowy white hair and shoes with large flaps sticking out at the front of the toe and the back of the heel. She would rush along with these slapping at the pavement and sometimes local children would run along mocking her. I asked a lady working with us at the time what she thought they were. She laughed and said that they were the pieces you bought to resole shoes and that you were then supposed to trim the excess off which the old lady hadn't done. I saw her often, sometimes shouting at people, sometimes looking frightened and nervous. I found out years later she was well known locally as Bootsie and was a concentration camp survivor with mental issues. 3/ Reggie Kray. Ronnie Kray had died whilst incarcerated in Broadmoor Hospital and the cortege was leave from a small funeral directors in Bethnal Green Road. This leads onto Roman Road and the streets were heaving with people who wanted to watch it go by as Reggie was to be allowed to attend the funeral on day release from prison. There were more barriers put up along the foot ways than for the London Marathon, it was a very big deal locally. Colleagues in Bethnal Green had even lowered some evil shaped traffic calming measures for the hearse so the deceased wouldn't get bruised when it went over it. You could hear constant cries of “They loved their Mum”, or “They bought very pensioner a colour telly you know!”, or even, “They only mutilated and murdered their own, bless them, we wouldn't have no trouble now if they were about still carrying out their protection rackets and shooting people.” When the procession finally went past I saw the main car behind the hearse with the back windows down. It was proceeded and followed by the roughest looking bunch of ne'r do wells I have ever seen, I was glad I was up a few floors, they were even scary from a distance. Bald heads and sunglasses abounded, I recall one black man with dread locks all the way down the back of his knee length leather coat. We used to joke that if you went on a 2 week holiday then the borough would look different when you came back. A new road, or something demolished, or a new tower block etc. You could see Reggie Kray's face looking out the window at all the people and also at all the buildings. I got the impression he couldn't believe how much had changed since 1969, he looked a bit sad and lonely and of course, old, still recognisable though. I wasn't in the building for the second funeral when he passed away, but colleagues who were there said there was hardly anyone in the street to watch it pass by, it was suspected that they only came to the first one to see a live Kray pass by. 4/ The Moroccan murder attempts and my day in court as a witness. To be continued.

I'm even more impressed with putting a big bike on the centre stand in flip flops!

What was the middle choice again??

Heard this for the first time last night as well

Wack the volume up, probably put this here already, but heard it last night and it deserves an airing again. If only I could find the video of the first time I heard it on a tv music show. Couple of female ballet dancers just danced the whole thing, was brilliant, never found it since.

Have you thought about retraining, it's never too late?

Another link from my favourites folder, this bloke cracks me up.