Yen's stories

[XTreme]

Keep the shit coming Yen!

[Tango]

HOMERS!

When I did my apprenticeship and afterwards whilst working in the factory I'd go to one of the shops to get something done. There were machine shops, fitting shops, carpentry shops, electrical wiring shops and even a perspex moulding shop. So, I'd go in and say that I needed something done:

"Sorry son, we're flat out busy at the moment. It'll be at least a month before we can take a look at it"

"Ah, ok lads. Just let me know when you can sort it for me please?"

"No problems son. Anyway, what's it for?"

"It's a bit on my motorbike that's broken"

"What? Why didn't you say that it's a Homer? Come back in half an hour and we'll have it ready for ya"

In the factory, homers were top priority!

[boboneleg]

5 hours ago, yen_powell said:

One of the sewer workers opened up his van and started to dole out some kit to me. First was an all in one yellow rubber suit with hood. Before you ask Pete, I don't have it any more. I put this on followed by thigh high white woollen socks. These were covered by thigh high rubber waders. I was dressed as a dirty old man's dream boy. I was then given a plastic hard hat with a lamp attached and a connected battery on a belt. I felt like Arthur Scargill on holiday.

Liar , liar pants on fire

[yen_powell]

We set off along the dark steamy tunnel. I was doing my duck like shuffle. My hands were held to each side pushed hard against the old brickwork in a desperate attempt to ensure perfect balance, thank god they'd given me gloves. No way was I going to fall forward or backwards. At least there wasn't any room to fall side ways! The water came up to just below my crouched down backside. It had turds and toilet paper floating on top and underneath the water was a thick bed of sludge. I was warned to not kick the 'silt' too much, but rather to tread on it gently otherwise I would be releasing possibly dangerous gases. The bloke at the top proved correct, there seemed to be no horrible smell now I was down here. There were no rats either, although I saw a few bait holders screwed to walls in some of the manholes. I was told that they would know we were down here and usually went into hiding till we'd gone again.

As we moved along we occasionally came into slightly wider parts where there was a manhole above our heads. This allowed a brief moment to stand upright before ducking down to waddle again. In one we saw a sewer worker slightly up some of the rungs, doing some pointing work, the lid open above him at one of the vented manholes. I was told that some men even took their sandwiches down with them if working at lunch time, I took that to be a joke, but you never know.

After about 10 sections between manholes the sludge started to get higher and higher until it finally blocked our way forward. The lead man called it a day and said we all had to go back to the next open manhole to exit the sewer. This was easier said than done. By the time I had managed to turn 180 degrees, desperate not to stumble forward, I think my waders were still facing the original direction and the seat of my fetching yellow rubber suit seemed to be in front of my bollocks now, cutting off my testicular blood supply somewhat.

We made it to the next open manhole and climbed the rungs up to the road. After struggling to get myself and my battery pack through the lid again, I gratefully stood up in the cool air and crossed the road to a waiting man who had connected a stand pipe to a hydrant. He hosed us all down and gave us black sacks to put our gear in. For some reason they didn't want my suit, boots or gloves back, so I kept them in my locker for many years until I lent them to a friend to clear a castle moat with. He never gave them back, every time I asked about them he'd purse his lips and say, “Ooooh, don't mention the waders”, wink and walk away.

I googled some pictures to show you what sort of thing we had gone down, the black and white picture looks like a slightly bigger diameter, but otherwise is pretty accurate. The colour picture is the usual view I got when going through the video surveys, only with a fatburg instead of shite.

[XTreme]

16 minutes ago, yen_powell said:

We set off along the dark steamy tunnel. I was doing my duck like shuffle. My hands were held to each side pushed hard against the old brickwork in a desperate attempt to ensure perfect balance, thank god they'd given me gloves. No way was I going to fall forward or backwards. At least there wasn't any room to fall side ways! The water came up to just below my crouched down backside. It had turds and toilet paper floating on top and underneath the water was a thick bed of sludge. I was warned to not kick the 'silt' too much, but rather to tread on it gently otherwise I would be releasing possibly dangerous gases. The bloke at the top proved correct, there seemed to be no horrible smell now I was down here. There were no rats either, although I saw a few bait holders screwed to walls in some of the manholes. I was told that they would know we were down here and usually went into hiding till we'd gone again.

As we moved along we occasionally came into slightly wider parts where there was a manhole above our heads. This allowed a brief moment to stand upright before ducking down to waddle again. In one we saw a sewer worker slightly up some of the rungs, doing some pointing work, the lid open above him at one of the vented manholes. I was told that some men even took their sandwiches down with them if working at lunch time, I took that to be a joke, but you never know.

After about 10 sections between manholes the sludge started to get higher and higher until it finally blocked our way forward. The lead man called it a day and said we all had to go back to the next open manhole to exit the sewer. This was easier said than done. By the time I had managed to turn 180 degrees, desperate not to stumble forward, I think my waders were still facing the original direction and the seat of my fetching yellow rubber suit seemed to be in front of my bollocks now, cutting off my testicular blood supply somewhat.

We made it to the next open manhole and climbed the rungs up to the road. After struggling to get myself and my battery pack through the lid again, I gratefully stood up in the cool air and crossed the road to a waiting man who had connected a stand pipe to a hydrant. He hosed us all down and gave us black sacks to put our gear in. For some reason they didn't want my suit, boots or gloves back, so I kept them in my locker for many years until I lent them to a friend to clear a castle moat with. He never gave them back, every time I asked about them he'd purse his lips and say, “Ooooh, don't mention the waders”, wink and walk away.

I googled some pictures to show you what sort of thing we had gone down, the black and white picture looks like a slightly bigger diameter, but otherwise is pretty accurate. The colour picture is the usual view I got when going through the video surveys, only with a fatburg instead of shite.

What is it that attracted you to working with shit Yen?

[Sir Fallsalot]

1 hour ago, yen_powell said:

We set off along the dark steamy tunnel. I was doing my duck like shuffle. My hands were held to each side pushed hard against the old brickwork in a desperate attempt to ensure perfect balance, thank god they'd given me gloves. No way was I going to fall forward or backwards. At least there wasn't any room to fall side ways! The water came up to just below my crouched down backside. It had turds and toilet paper floating on top and underneath the water was a thick bed of sludge. I was warned to not kick the 'silt' too much, but rather to tread on it gently otherwise I would be releasing possibly dangerous gases. The bloke at the top proved correct, there seemed to be no horrible smell now I was down here. There were no rats either, although I saw a few bait holders screwed to walls in some of the manholes. I was told that they would know we were down here and usually went into hiding till we'd gone again.

As we moved along we occasionally came into slightly wider parts where there was a manhole above our heads. This allowed a brief moment to stand upright before ducking down to waddle again. In one we saw a sewer worker slightly up some of the rungs, doing some pointing work, the lid open above him at one of the vented manholes. I was told that some men even took their sandwiches down with them if working at lunch time, I took that to be a joke, but you never know.

After about 10 sections between manholes the sludge started to get higher and higher until it finally blocked our way forward. The lead man called it a day and said we all had to go back to the next open manhole to exit the sewer. This was easier said than done. By the time I had managed to turn 180 degrees, desperate not to stumble forward, I think my waders were still facing the original direction and the seat of my fetching yellow rubber suit seemed to be in front of my bollocks now, cutting off my testicular blood supply somewhat.

We made it to the next open manhole and climbed the rungs up to the road. After struggling to get myself and my battery pack through the lid again, I gratefully stood up in the cool air and crossed the road to a waiting man who had connected a stand pipe to a hydrant. He hosed us all down and gave us black sacks to put our gear in. For some reason they didn't want my suit, boots or gloves back, so I kept them in my locker for many years until I lent them to a friend to clear a castle moat with. He never gave them back, every time I asked about them he'd purse his lips and say, “Ooooh, don't mention the waders”, wink and walk away.

I googled some pictures to show you what sort of thing we had gone down, the black and white picture looks like a slightly bigger diameter, but otherwise is pretty accurate. The colour picture is the usual view I got when going through the video surveys, only with a fatburg instead of shite.

You see some interesting shit in the sewers, we were working on a pumping station in the St melons area of Cardiff years ago, i was there to isolate the pumps so the wet well could be cleaned out, they found an engine block in there it had been washed along the sewer and dropped into the sump how it got into the sewer only god knows. Also found someones glass eye in one of the micro screens 

[XTreme]

You going to take an action cam with you for this @yen_powell?

[yen_powell]

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.

[XTreme]

Brilliant Yen! 

You had Diana's shovel, which would probably be worth something now, and you went and fucked it up building a shed?

[Pedro]

@yen_powell, you were called Mr. Head over at work? 

[Pedro]

17 minutes ago, XTreme said:

Brilliant Yen! 

You had Diana's shovel, which would probably be worth something now, and you went and fucked it up building a shed?

mixing concrete with the royal shovel... 

[XTreme]

11 minutes ago, Pedro said:

mixing concrete with the royal shovel... 

He could have proved that was the shovel because of his job......and Diana handled it!

Worth 5 figures easy if he hadn't fucked it up.

[yen_powell]

4 minutes ago, XTreme said:

He could have proved that was the shovel because of his job......and Diana handled it!

Worth 5 figures easy if he hadn't fucked it up.

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.

[Pedro]

6 minutes ago, yen_powell said:

 

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.

Come on, finish the story, did he know the code to the Diana / shovel picture or not?

[yen_powell]

27 minutes ago, Pedro said:

@yen_powell, you were called Mr. Head over at work? 

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)

 

 

[yen_powell]

6 minutes ago, Pedro said:

Come on, finish the story, did he know the code to the Diana / shovel picture or not?

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.

[XTreme]

8 hours ago, yen_powell said:

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.

I think you should Yen.....you never know!

[boboneleg]

13 hours ago, yen_powell said:

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.

Well you are a very lucky man Yen. 

By my rough calculations I reckon you're one of only four blokes to have seen that.  1 - Charles, (only once) to produce William,  2 - that ginger bloke who shagged her to produce Harry, 3 - the Arab prick who got her in his car where she met her demise and 4 - yourself.

Count yourself lucky mate 

[boboneleg]

12 hours ago, yen_powell said:

Otis (not to her face) cos of being caught shagging in a lift at the GLC (RIP)

   

[XTreme]

7 minutes ago, boboneleg said:

that ginger bloke who shagged her to produce Harry

James Hewitt now working as a Gardener!

[yen_powell]

8 hours ago, boboneleg said:

Well you are a very lucky man Yen. 

By my rough calculations I reckon you're one of only four blokes to have seen that.  1 - Charles, (only once) to produce William,  2 - that ginger bloke who shagged her to produce Harry, 3 - the Arab prick who got her in his car where she met her demise and 4 - yourself.

Count yourself lucky mate 

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.

[boboneleg]

1 hour ago, yen_powell said:

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.

It's a shame it wasn't now where everyone has a camera on their phone, had you got a photo of them you'd have surely got a fiver off the Daily Sport for that.

[XTreme]

1 minute ago, boboneleg said:

It's a shame it wasn't now where everyone has a camera on their phone, had you got a photo of them you'd have surely got a fiver off the Daily Sport for that.

Good call Bob.......cos no paper is going to give him any dosh for a photo of his pants!

[yen_powell]

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.

[XTreme]

58 minutes ago, yen_powell said:

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.

Wow.....this is interesting stuff Yen! And no shit involved yet?