The short walk from Brixton tube to my house is usually pretty interesting, whatever the time or day. My favourite regular character is undoubtedly the lady who sits outside Iceland selling homemade artworks. She plays the comb (a dying art!) and has a tube of Pringles with beans in or something for percussion. Her works are all brightly coloured pictures of animals, often incorporating use of reflective silver paper. She's great. When we were tidying up our house recently we found one of them that was presumably bought by our landlady - I'll put a picture up on here.
Then there are the many regular preachers out spreading the word. One woman in particular is very impressive - the volume and projection that she manages really is something. A one-off highlight was the topless gentlemen who had a snake coiled around the top of his head. There is also of course the most widely known feature of Brixton high street: the drug dealers. A walk home isn't complete without at least a couple of whistles or mumbled "Skunkweedpills?"
But last night was pretty memorable, even for Brixton. It was about 2130 and I'd popped out to the shop. On my way back I got the usual and predictable offers of illegal substances (I often wear a hoodie on purpose - it's amusing to see how many more offers I can get when I am wearing it). But I was also stopped three times by:
1. a guy telling me he had run out of petrol and could I give him 85p to get some? No, sorry, I could not.
2. 100m further on another guy stopped me. I said I had no cash and he looked really offended. He just wanted to know where he had put his beer. I said I'm sorry, I don't know. He then spotted that the church was open and told me he was going in there. Ok. Bye.
3. Not again - I just want to get home! This time a woman crouching on the floor calls me over. Oh God...what kind of trap am I being lured into here? What kind of fuckery is this? As I had rounded the corner I had got my phone out of my pocket and the front was lit up. She asked if I had a torch. "No, it's my phone" [Great work Willis - why not just hand it right over now?] "I need a torch. I've lost my nose stud. Help me look for it". As it turned out, she really had just lost her nose stud. So we both ended up crouching down looking for it in the feeble half-light provided by my phone. And I found it! Well done me.
I got home with no further escapades.
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8 comments:
Firstly, hurrah for blogs. Bring them back, I say.
Secondly, your ventures sounds interesting. There used to be an old man in Lincoln who would dance a puppet (feebly) along to a radio in the street. He was there every week. And I daresay he made quite a bit of cash, too.
Thirdly, I salute you for getting the Winehouse "fuckery" line in.
Just to update you on widemouth, this week she was spotted shouting at someone to move on bitch in the wheres winehouse? column in heat magazine. I was going to blog about my Friday afternoon off watching tv. I'm not sure I will now because I think your life is more exciting than mine. I hardly ever get stopped by people when walking about, though I did once get stopped by a mentalist in Headingley who told me a story about a dead parrot. It wasnt like the monty python sketch.
We had three people providing entertainment in Barnsley (other than them who don't mean to provide entertainment, but nevertheless they do, if you can bear the degradation of the human race) - One was (/is - is he still there?!) a curly-haired busker fellow with an ace little dog that used to sit at the side of him all day. Credit where credit is due, this guy was good.
The second, was an older gentleman, equiped with hat and fingerless gloves, playing the accordian. We always forgot that his instrument was named this; we had to refer to it as the 'squeezy organ'. This guy was amusing as all his songs sounded the same. His singing was akin to Bing Crosby's singing... ah bah bah bah bah bum.....
The third entertainer was a gentleman with what might be described as 'learning difficulties', named 'Kipper Jackson'. Kipper was arrested on a weekly basis, even though this was greated with boos from the surrounding members of the public as we all loved him. Kipper had a portable karaoke machine that he carried around in a wheelbarrow.
Pop idol my arse. Get Kipper Jackson on telly.
In describing the local scenery, I did miss out one prominent aspect. Since moving down here I'm regularly stunned and appalled by the openness with which the local men go about their bodily functions. Within a fortnight I had seen 2 guys merrily pissing away in the open, in broad daylight. There's been loads more of that since; one guy walking down the High Street, pausing to violently vomit, and then continuing along his way; and last week a guy cleared his nostrils loudly and forcefully onto a wall as I walked past. The sights you see when you ain't got your gun.
And to return to a previous point: the amount of dog sh*t on the street near me is seriously f*cking disgusting. Honestly, some b*stard must get up early every morning and take a f*cking horde of dogs out cos I am yet to see one being walked at any normal time. I sometimes daydream about buying a rifle and sitting on the windowsill all night waiting to cap the f*cker. I'm thinking of writing an angry letter to Ken. (no G, I don't mean Branney).
Ah but that's where your plan is flawed Bola. Ken would be able to do something. He used to sit on the Council's 'Action' body. I saw it on his amazing CV.
Ooh, I'm so excited by your phrase about the gun! I was just saying to Moon at the weekend (as prompted by the sight of the copacobana outfits on strictly ice dancing) that my Mum uses the phrase 'the things you see when you havnae got a gun'. I think you'll agree its the same phrase really, just in a Scottish accent, I'm only excited because I've never heard anyone else use it.
G - hahahaha. And comments during the day eh? Work going well is it? ;o)
Munch - Ooh...weird. I hardly ever say it as well. Not sure why it came to mind today. I've only ever heard it used a couple of times. I can only vaguely remember pinching it from someone but I can't be sure who. Possibly an old teacher as I remember being a bit shocked at whoever said it.
If it takes carrying a gun to prevent seeing people pissing in the streets, then it's worth the risk. Only last week I shouted loudly at a bloke who didn't even attempt to hide himself behind a lamp post. Disgusting, I tell you. I presume I've discussed the street urinals that emerged from the ground, in Durham's North Street, before? Oh dear, I'm getting flashbacks. No pun intended.
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