Tuesday, September 26, 2017

Rabbit catching

I got into a conversation with an old man, he was not happy. he'd just been fined £75 for catching rabbits. I said "Surely no one is going to miss a few rabbits, I mean there's enough of them they breed like errr.... rabbits"
"Back in the day I worked 22 farms catching rabbits keeping them under control. I used to go round the farms in rotation, catching rabbits, taking out the mixies, them with Mixamatosis, farmers would be happy, the rabbits left would be healthier, everyone was happy and I made a living. Today I get fined £75 for catching a rabbit. What's the world coming to? It's all gone to blazes."
"What about the farmers? Don't they want the rabbits kept under control anymore?"
"No. No one works the land anymore. Not in the sense that we worked the land. We looked after the land, cared for it, we understood the rise and fall, the balance. Not anymore. The land is exploited now. It's a business to make money. farmers are now business men. Sometimes I wonder if they actually know their land at all other than how big their farm is how many fields they own. It's sad. There are those that remember the old days, but they won't go back to it, they can't."
"There must be some farmers out there who care."
"If there are I haven't met them. But maybe you're right, there will be some who respect the land and treat it right, but too few of them.  They're a dying breed. I'll be dead soon and everything I know will be gone with me."
"Do you have children? You can teach?"
"My children ha ha bloody townies the lot of em. They have no interest in the old ways. All they want is their new cars an' holidays abroad an trips to Tescos. What I have to teach them would mean they'd have to do some bleedin work. They'd have to get up in the mornings. Can you imagine that? Getting up in the bleedin morning to work on the land?  I don't think so. They don't have the soil under their fingernails."
"But so many people have allotments. They're still growing their own food. There's still an interest. There are people out there with "soil, under their fingernails"."
"Hat's off to them for trying, we need more of them, but they aren't farmers, they're just playing at it. I'd love to go back to the old ways but it's not going to happen. So we'll just keep taking from the land and eventually the land will be dead. But then so will I and I wont have to see it."


1 Comments:

Blogger Z said...

I suspect he'd got a pheasant or two in with his rabbits, it's not illegal to shoot a bunny at any time of the year!

3:18 pm  

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Friday, September 15, 2017

People watching

The big man has fallen. The drug lords financial persuader and enforcer was sacked a few months ago. He has fallen from the dizzy heights of being the drug cartels most feared intimidator, to nothing. The Smack Crack and Cocaine Emporium has continued without his services and in turn he has dragged himself into the gutter. No longer wearing designer clothes, he crawls around in ripped track suits and worn out trainers, inevitably clutching a can of Tyskie. I don't suppose it's any coincidence that a couple of months ago his wife kicked him out and he is now homeless as well. It's pitiful.
I take my dog to the park and Mallen walks by also holding his usual can of strong lager at 8:30 in the morning. he says "Good morning". he's not  the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he's polite and harmless.  He stops to talk to the man with the square dog. I have never seen a dog that is so angular. Nature abhors straight lines but this dog defies nature. It's like a box with legs.
The Muslims who live in the end house make me laugh. I think they must have a sense of humour. The wife is dressed completely in a black burka you can only see her eyes, she says to me "Beautiful dog" pointing at Scout, then I notice it. Under her burka she is wearing bright fluorescent green training shoes. Then her husband comes out the house, he is in a Postmans uniform except he is wearing bright fluorescent Yellow training shoes.
Miss Amphetamine continues to speed up and down the road, she walks incredibly fast, she talks incredibly fast, she can't stay still. She doesn't have time to wash or do anything with her long unkempt hair she just has to get out the house and speed walk up and down the road all day. Whereas Mrs Slow is the exact opposite, everything in slow motion, frustratingly slow. if she is on the till aty the local shop I do a 180 and come back rather than stand in a queue for fifteen minutes while she very slowly and methodically picks up each item turns it around to look for the bar code and then very carefully scans it before slowly putting it into a bag. She reminds me of "Slow TV" where a fixed camera shows the progress of a ship on a 2 day cruise cruising up a fjord or a camera on a train taking an 8 hour trip up through Norway.
People come in many forms, they are all interesting in their own way.

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Monday, July 17, 2017

Pulp (non) Fiction

So we're in the kitchen and Zoe fueled with copious amounts of prosecco starts dancing "like a loon". I join in and we're replicating the dance scene in "Pulp Fiction" I'm John  Travolta and Zoe is Uma Thurman, well I think it was that way round, gender equality an all that.
Eventually Zoe says "You know I've never lived with anyone stupid enough to dance with me in the kitchen before."
"Thanks ...errrr... I think."

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Friday, July 07, 2017

The Indian Pissing contest

I'm in an Indian restaurant with my two good friends Mike and Rory, they are musicians, guitarists although Mike is a multi- instrumentalist, there is no occasion, we're just there for a meal. The waiter comes over to take our order. Mike says "I'll have the chicken Phall, with extra chilli."
"But Sir the Phall is already our hottest dish."
"Yes I know," says Mike,  "But I'd like it hotter. As hot as you can."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes Phall with a lot more chilli."
"I'll get the chef." The waiter hurries away and comes back a few minutes later with the chef.
"I'm told you want the Chicken Phall.... but with extra chilli?"
"Yes."
"This no ordinary Phall, it's very hot,  I make it myself,are you sure you wont have the regular Phall?"
"No I want extra chillis."
"OK But understand I am making this to your specification so you don't send it back if you don't like it."
"Yes absolutely. Hot as you like. Hotter." The chef walks away shaking his head, the waiter writes down Mikes order he turns to Rory.
"I'll have the same as him."
"The extra hot chicken Phall?"
"Yes."
The waiter looks at me expectantly, but I'm not joining in their pissing contest. I say "I'll have the Jalfrezi."
We chat over beers and the food arrives. Two extra hot Phalls and my relatively mild (But still spicy) Jalfrezi. The waiter is hovering. I look over to the kitchen the chefs are watching as Mike picks up his fork digs in and takes a mouth full. It takes his breath away, his face is turning red and little beads of sweat start appearing on his forehead.
"Everything toy  your satisfaction Sir?" asks the waiter sarcstically.
Mike looks up and croaks "Yes perfect, just as I like it." The waiter smiles and walks off. I swear he was doing a  fist pump.
Rory takes a mouthful, immediately he is reaching for his lager. he put's his hand up to attract the waiters attention "Three more cobras here please." he gasps.
"Of course Sir."
Meanwhile my Jalfrezi is perfection, delicately balanced flavours, nice level of heat, with a side order of cucumber and mint relish. I watch Mike and Rory match each other fork for fork, neither will admit defeat, except Mike has the higher ground as he is not drinking half a bottle of Cobra between mouthfuls. I am enjoying watching them struggle. Macho nonsense. They are both red faced and sweating. Finally they finish. Mike pronounces it the best curry he's ever had,  Rory says "It could have been hotter."
Then in an act of bravado Mike goes to the kitchen to congratulate the chef on a fine curry.
I was not sure how he could tell it was a fine curry.  

1 Comments:

Blogger Sir Bruin said...

I'm with you on this. Jalfrezi is plenty hot enough

3:42 pm  

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Wednesday, July 05, 2017

Getting old in the underworld

My main man came to see me. his dog fell asleep in Scouts bed. Scout was not happy with that. I said to him"Your dog is very quiet. That's unusual. Normally it runs about everywhere."
"He's just been to the vets."
"Why? What's wrong with your dog?"
"It ate £10 worth of marijuana. So he's a bit zonked now."
My man was mugged the other day. he was getting £20 out of the machine in the wall, he took the money from the machine, turned around and a man punched him in the face. He fell to the floor and the man grabbed his money and ran off. He was not really hurt but more shocked and surprised. Then he was very angry. He said he knew the man who did it. He knows all the bad people round here.. So now he has all his friends looking for him. This is another world within a world. A world you don't see but it's there all around you. It's the same everywhere.
A few days ago a man we saw an old man, bent with age and arthritis, he couldn't walk very well and was very polite.When he had gone he said "I know that man,When I was growing up his family were the worst. he was the father and all his children were thugs. Everyone was scared of them. They thought they could do anything and get away with it. So they did what they wanted. Can you believe that?""
"No I wouldn't."
"Well it's true. Complete bastards the lot of them. They made everyones lives a misery. Now he is saying please and thank you because he is old and weak."
"What about the kids? What happened to them?"
"Well when he couldn't back them up anymore, they sorta lost their courage. It was false courage. To be fair they were all a bunch of cowards, living on their father reputation and when that went so did theirs. They drifted off to other places. We don't see them anymore. Just him. You wouldn't believe it would you to look at him?"

1 Comments:

Blogger Z said...

Ah, I hate it when people fall asleep in my bed because they're stoned.

10:19 am  

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Wednesday, May 03, 2017

Life is pain. Suck it up Princess.

So my man staggers into my gaff looking rougher than a badgers arse, Wayward hair, sunken eyes and swaying.
"You look rough." I venture the obvious.
"Don't just don't."
Which of course means "Do ask" or he wouldn't have come staggering in in the first place. So I ask "What happened?"
"Oh mate. Had a late one last night with the girl. Woke up this morning and she was gone, so was my f**king phone. She only went an stole m'phone, the bitch."
 This is a new girl. Not the Russian Princess. The new girl is really an old girlfriend who has resurfaced after a few years inside, possession and supply of class A drugs amongst other things. A new Princess.
"You were getting on with her though."
"I thought so too. Then she does that. I'm going to give her a good slapping when I catch up with her.I'll twat the bitch from here to next week, I'll..."
"You know maybe she didn't take your phone."
"I know exactly where I left it, an that bitch has took it. I've already been round her house she's not there. Just as well considering the shit storm she's got comin' to 'er. You wouldn't want to be on the same planet when i catch up with her the bitch."
"Er isn't that her coming down the road?"
"Yes stay out of it . It's gonna get ugly." he runs out the door, grabs her arm and  "Hey babe where have you been?"
"I just nipped out to get us breakfast." she holds up a carrier bag.
"Have you got my phone?"
"No. It's on charge in the kitchen. I thought you might need it charging."
"I was so worried about you. I've been looking all over. Anything could have happened. I was worried."
Well that was the "shit storm" she had to endure. The overwhelming pain of being called "Babe" multiple times.

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Friday, April 07, 2017

Love in the slow lane

My man comes into my gaff. He doesn't look happy.
"What's the matter?" I ask."
"Don't ask." he says
But I know the only reason he came to see me because he wants me to ask.
"Go on tell me all about it."
"Well you know that Russian girl who was living with me?"
"'Was' living with you? What happened to her?  Where did she go?"
"I kicked her out didn't I."
"Why? I thought you  two were getting on fine."
"We were. She's a right little stunner. She moved in and everything was peachy. We got on fine had a few laughs."
"And.... what went wrong?"
"I came back home from shopping. heard some noise upstairs and there she is in bed with the son of a mate of mine. In MY bed."
"Jeez!"
"She actually waved at me to say hello as if nothing was wrong. So I dragged the little fuck out of MY bed and twatted him. Then kicked him out the house. Then I kicked her out the house."
"Job done then."
"No she's crying and screaming  that she didn't want to leave and she had done nothing wrong. Can you believe that? She didn't think she had done anything wrong. Just a bit of fun. Just a bit of fun? NO that's taking the piss."
"So she's history now then."
"Damned straight she's history. And as for that little twat... I'm having him."
"I thought you already gave him a belting."
"Not enough he ran before I could really sort him out. Teach him some manners. The little fuck. I'll..." he trailed off and looked out the window. I followed his glance and saw his "stunning" Russian girl walking up the road  "Gotta go." he says "looks like there's gonna be trouble." and he runs out the door after her "Martina Martina" he's shouting after her.  She stops, looks round and he catches up with her. Puts his arm round her shoulder and they walk off together. Aint love grand?

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Artemis

Artemis, five foot ten, wrapped up in a padded brown jacket red baseball cap and further insulated with a big brown beard. He's standing outside my gaff with all his possessions in a shopping trolley. He's looking for something, riffling through his stuff. He looks up "Gudding morning" he says. "I looking for food." He laughs then stops. I have a pack of three hot cross buns. I show him the pack and offer him one. his hand darts into the pack and he pulls one out. he holds it carefully with both hands, and smells it. "Good" he pronounces. But  he doesn't eat it. he carefully puts it in his pocket for later.
Artemis is Russian. He was born in September 1972 in a  town a few hundred kilometres from Moscow. I can't pronounce the name. he was married then divorced and somehow ended up in Peterborough.
"I am Russian!" he proclaims beating his fists on his chest "Ya Russkiy." He seems quite proud of that fact. Turning back to his trolley he resumes his search. he pulls out a crumpled plastic drinks bottle with a  piece of baking foil pushed into the neck. "my pipe." he explains, keeping it low down and almost out of sight.
With a  swift movement he turns away from the road and ducks down by the wall of my gaff, crouching he flicks his lighter and sucks on the bottom of the crumpled bottle. The bottle fills with smoke and he breathes in deeply.  Just one pull and he puts his "pipe" back in the trolley and covers it up. The effect on him isn't obviously noticeable. But he seems satisfied. He pats his pocket with the Hot Cross bun in it.  The bun is still there.  "I am RUSSIAN." he repeats emphasising Russian. Suddenly he is taller. "Goodbye my friend. I go." and he wheels his shopping trolley down the road.

There's a war going on. Not the one in Syria. Or anywhere else. But right here, unseen. The Russians and the Pakistanis fighting it out for control of the drug world. I don't think Artemis is part of this war, he's too... polite. Mr Charisma the most boring man on the planet walks past. 68 years old and still not a clue. The world carries on around him and he's totally oblivious to everything.

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Thursday, March 09, 2017

The shitty fur coat

A yeti walks into my gaff. I do a  double take. It's my man, my ear on the street. he is dressed in a full length fur coat. He looks like Chewbacca.
"Whaddya think?" he says doing a twirl  and smoothing down the synthetic fur with a swoop of his hands.
He really doesn't want to know what I think. It's awful. It's cheap and nasty and has no pockets. I demand to know why it has no pockets. This flusters him a bit and he throws in arguments that it's all about style not function and I should not be so judgemental when it comes to fashion there are higher things to consider. This coming from my man who does more drugs than anyone I know. "Get this for a hit" he says later on in our  conversation "the girls came round pretty flush with gear, she loads up this pipe  with marijuana and  heroin then on top a lump of  crack, she says light that bastard up. So I give it some flame and BOOOM."
"I thought you said you'd given up drugs."
"It was free."
"Oh that's OK then. But that's a rare old combination of drugs."
"Gotta be done. But what a  hit BOOOOM just like that. I'm still a bit  wankered now to be honest."
"So these girls. What's their story?"
"Oh they're professionals."
"Prostitutes?"
"No, good God no.  Shop lifters."
"That's  their job?"
"Yes. That's how they earn a  living.  They're very good at it. Get you anything. They usually leave on the price tag and you pay half the tag price. You name it they'll get it for  you."
"Not exactly moral is it? I mean it's plain stealing."
"No they only lift from the big stores like John Lewis and they can afford it."
"So that makes it right then?"
"Well yeah they don't  lift from small independent stores that would be wrong."
"Hmmmm interesting set of values you've got there."
"Well I don't  steal anything."
"But do you buy from them?"
"Bits an bobs. But they've already stolen it. So I can't do anything about that. It's done."
"That's like meat eaters who say it's OK to eat meat because the animal is already dead. What if they had to kill and butcher the animal themselves? Not so keen then."
"What are you talking about?"
"You. You're happy to have stolen goods as long as you don't have to know where it's come from."
"Well I haven't stolen it, if I don't have it someone else will."
"And pedophiles who think it's  OK to look at child pornography because they're not harming anyone. Of course they are. If they didn't subscribe there would be no market and so no harm."
"So I'm a pedo now am I?"
"No it's just an analogy of cause and effect."
"I think you need to step into the real world. See what's it's really like down here at street level. Struggling to survive. You have to do what you can. Do what's necessary.  It's OK for you wiv your job an money an all. But what about us? We've been friends for longer  than I remember but you don't really know do you?  You can't know. Unless you've walked in my shoes you'll never know."
"I try and understand."
"But you  don't. You see but you don't feel. It's like those fucking politicians up there, looking down on us. They pass laws, they make decisions, they haven't a fucking clue. Their idea of poverty is only having three holidays a year instead of four. This is not  a compassionate society. They keep squeezing and then wonder why shit happens. Why there's more drugs, why there's more robberies, why there's more violence. So they squeeze harder and it just gets worse. The harder they squeeze us the more we fight back. It's your cause and effect."
"Have I upset you?"
"Have you fuck, we're mates. You can say what you like."
"It's  a shit fur coat."
"Now  you're stepping over the line. I'm going to the offy you  want anything?"
"No I'm good  thanks."

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Monday, February 27, 2017

Retiring from the mob

I am beginning to get some inside information on the owner of The Smack Crack and Cocaine Emporium. It seems he has a little side business that involves relocating troublesome people. The word is anyone can disappear without trace, just an overnight trip to the Norfolk marshes or the fens, and problem solved, no body, no evidence, no crime, just another missing person statistic.
I delve a little deeper. The victim is lifted straight off the street and delivered "gift wrapped" to the man. Who armed with only plastic sheets and a cornishman, relocates the body to somewhere very quiet. This is all done in the dead of the night. The only time his white van ever moves.
The Police are not particularly concerned about a missing drug dealer, a wannabee drugs baron. They move about enough anyway. They upset people and do a runner. So if they're reported missing it's another problem gone from their patch. So they just do the paperwork and sit on it. Everyone is happy except perhaps the poor guy who is buried on the marsh.
I had a friend, a retired fixer for some London gang. He used to drive the van to the Romney marsh, where people who had transgressed the unwritten law were disposed of. He assured me they were all "bad uns" and not one of them a "civilian". In fact he was very proud to tell me that of the many places in "The smoke" "civilians" were safest in a mob ran bar. They had the least trouble. Safer than going to your usual East End boozer. My friend was a big fella, his hand shake could crush bones in your hand. He drank whisky like water. he boasted that back in the day money was never a problem. He had the smartest suits, the best shoes and everything tailor made. he wanted for nothing.  I enquired about his "retirement". He didn't retire. No one retires from the mob without permission and then they are still on call. My friend had to disappear into hiding. So now bothered by old age and arthritis he tends his garden growing his beloved Sweet Peas and orchids keeping a very low profile. Money is tight nowadays and the suits are all gone. But he's happy now except for the arthritis that makes him swear. If you didn't know his back story you would think you couldn't meet a nicer more gentle kind of guy. He now lives in east Anglia where it's very flat and from his house he can see people coming from miles away.  But I don't suppose he will ever be called back in for duty. Not at his age. Anyway his Sweet peas and orchids take up most of his time these days.

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Wednesday, February 15, 2017

Heroin chic

Over the weekend the police raided the Smack crack and Cocaine emporium. It was a big exercise. They gathered together the cream of the British Police and hit the place hard and fast. They found nothing. The guy was clean as a whistle. His new modus operandi requires he never has any stock. he buys to order and delivers same day. Nothing ever comes home and there are never any drugs in his house. The police are visibly disappointed. Their intelligence told them this guy is a major dealer, he is. But there is no evidence. As they wound down the search  and prepared to leave Mr Dodjeeasfuk made a  big thing of trying to shake hands with the police officers with a big smile, "No hard feelings then?" "You're just doing your job"  and "Thanks for swinging by " Etc etc Some just turned their backs on him. Others reluctantly shook his hand.

Meanwhile Mr Dodjeeasfuks neighbours daughter has acquired a grey pallor. Her normal chubby face is now gaunt and thin, her whole look is Heroin chic, She has dyed her hair black to accentuate her ghostlike features. I can only guess who her supplier is. OR has she become one of his runners to fund her new habit. She is unemployed, unemployable, having been sacked three times in the last year for thieving from various shops she worked in. Taxis are on constant stand by, to take her, or members of her family, places. The money must come from somewhere.

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Monday, January 02, 2017

Waiting for the heating to come on

So today we took down all the Christmas decorations, but I have left up the lights in my apple tree that I forgot to take down last year. They have been burning all year. To be honest I have grown to like it that way. My Apple tree lights aren't just for Christmas. They're for all the year. They guide my way home on a dark night.  We live in the middle of nowhere and the lights help me find our house. This year I put up extra lights in the apple tree. These I have removed until next year. They twinkled.
Today Zoe and I spent most of the day walking and later in one of our favourite pubs where we walked around in our socks because they asked us, by a A4 notice,  to remove our muddy boots and leave them outside. Zoe curled up in a big armchair and had a large Pino or two. Scout lay at her feet. I lounged in another armchair with a pint or two of beer while we waited for the heating to come on at home....

3 Comments:

Blogger Z said...

I rather like walking around in my socks in pubs. Not at home though. With gravel outside and, for most of my life, dogs with capacious paws, bare/shoeless feet was asking for trouble.

9:48 pm  
Blogger Mike Da Hat said...

It was like being at home. Shoes off, just curled up. So many very pleasant people all with their boots outside the door. It's a leveller. No one is above you when there boots are off. We are all equal. Having a drink and a lovely time.

10:10 pm  
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Sunday, January 01, 2017

The turf war

The scientist within me stands back and analyses. I watch myself. I measure my own reactions. I rationalise what I am doing. I find explanations for everything and nothing.
All around me people are wishing me Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. It's all I can do to acknowledge their existence never mind reciprocate their wishes. I mumble something along the lines of "thanks, the same for you." I don't even know I'm saying it. I feel awkward. I have become that odd boy everyone laughs at. The socially awkward boy who says inappropriate things. Except I carefully say nothing. I am hiding my awkwardness inside of me.
I get an email asking me if I will help organise a Folk Festival this year. I got the email last year, last week. It's taken me until today to reply. I write that I could not reply right now. I'm not sure if that makes sense so I elaborate on my condition. I read it back to myself I sound insane. I delete my reply. I'll try again another day when I don't assume the mantle of someone totally deranged.
 My closest friends know what I'm like, they make allowances for my strange antisocial behaviour. My dark humour. My silence.
I have two more weeks of this before I return to my normal self. I can't wait. To be able to think clearly again. To rid myself of this God awful two month headache.

On the plus side a customer came into my shop she said "Did you see that?"
"See what?"
"In broad daylight as well."
"What was it?"
"I... just... witnessed... a drugdealer. Dealing drugs in... the.. street."
"That's what they do. Was it over there?" I pointed towards the Smack Crack and Cocaine Emporium.
"Yes on the road up there."
"Hmmmm he's getting careless."
"who?"
"The dealer."
"You know him?" she looked visibly shocked.
"Not as such but that's his van outside the house."
"No it wasn't a van it was a blue car."
"Oh this is serious." I said gravely.
"Why?"
"we could be in for a turf war..."
"Should we call the police then?"
"NO why spoil the fun?"


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Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Bearing it

I'm getting through the Black dog slowly but surely. I haven't killed any one yet. I don't think I've upset anyone yet. I keep my mouth shut, say nothing. I know I'm irritated by almost everything. But I know it's a lie. Normally I don't have any problem. So why should I have them now? It's what I keep telling myself. All my demons are in my head and they are not real. So I ignore them. Sometimes the demons in my head seem so real. But the scientist in me knows that's not true. This is how I get through these two months. By pure logic. I ignore emotion. I ignore gut reactions. I rely on logic and reason.
Right now Zed is watching a recording of "Eastenders". I can't bear to watch it. It's so depressing, and right now I can't do depressing. I have enough trouble with normal life.

1 Comments:

Blogger Z said...

Patient endurance is sometimes the best way. Not too much longer now xx

4:29 pm  

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Sunday, December 18, 2016

The Black Dog

Depression is a terrible thing. It's, in my case, totally irrational. I go down every year on November 15th and come out of it January 15th. It's like clockwork every year. I can set my calendar by it. It never varies. But every year coming up to November 15th I am ready to fight it. I am feeling positive, firing on all cylinders I have the strength to fight. Then inevitably like night follows day it hits me like a sledge hammer. My world comes crashing down around me. I don't sink into a depression, I plummet head first, uncontrollably. I hit rock bottom.
I am plagued with thoughts of suicide, despair, pointlessness of anything. I just want to give up and die. This is what my mind is telling me. My conscious logical mind tells me otherwise. My life is fun and interesting. My mind is lying to me. This depression isn't real. I try to ignore it.
But I also have a headache that lasts two months. No amount of paracetamol or aspirin will touch it. It's like a steel band is tied around my head and tightened. It's a low grade pressure always there. Stopping my ability to concentrate on anything. Dulling my senses. It's like a fog in  my mind. I concentrate on routine and mundane tasks that I don't have to think about too much.
People tell me to "cheer up", to "snap out of it". It doesn't work like that. If I could I would. It's not as if I want to feel like this. Who would?
Years ago I sought medical help. I was given tranquillisers. I felt nothing. It was like living on a flat calm. No movement at all. I stopped taking them because I needed to feel at least something rather than nothing. Even being down was living. It's like a roller coaster when you're that far down you can only go up. When you're flat you're going nowhere. So when I was rock bottom there was hope. I could not get any lower than thoughts of suicide. This spurs me on to make it through to January.

Right now I am half way through. One month to go before release. You can't imagine what that is like. Well maybe you can. Sometime during the 15th of January a switch clicks and it's like someone has turned on the pressure relief tap. All that pressure in my head just flows away. The steel band is removed.

I get into arguments about it frequently. I'm told I'm imagining it. I'm told that these dates are in my head, they are not real. I personally have chosen these dates. One person even asked me if anything traumatic had occurred on that date. Well my daughter was born the day after on the 16th. "Well that's it then daughter being born was too traumatic for you!" Ridiculous. I've heard it all.

So I carry on by myself. Ticking off the days. I don't expect anyone to understand. I accept that people will think I'm being melodramatic, attention seeking, or just downright miserable for the sake of it. I don't ask for help. In fact don't give me advice. I'll be back to normal again soon enough.

2 Comments:

Blogger Liz said...

Depression is a horrible illness that takes many forms and affects everyone differently. Anyone who suggests you "cheer up" clearly has no experience of it.

9:45 am  
Blogger Z said...

No argument from me either, only sympathy for a horrible affliction.

9:14 pm  

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Wednesday, November 09, 2016

Oooh Aaah night

It was "Oooh Ahhhh night" on Sunday in the village. Except these days you don't hear people "oooh" or "aaaah" because of the musical accompliment to the fireworks. Our fireworks night is huge. This year it was sold out yet again. Zoe and I walked, there was no point driving. Cars were parked everywhere. It's a small village but the population quadrupled for the fireworks. It's the best display you can get for £6.
Everyone turns up. No matter how cold it is. It's a thing about our village, people make the effort to do village things. It's like they have bought into the lifestyle of  village life. We have two pubs and a Post office come corner shop. That's it. The nearest supermarket is four and a half miles away, north or south, take your pick, it's the same distance either way. Everyone is English except for the "only blacks in the village" who incidently are really nice people. The village Vicar visits twice a decade. I have not found any drugs dealers in the village so far. We get one police car a year drive through, they probably made a wrong turn. Nothing happens. It's quiet, it's peaceful. The most exciting thing that ever happened was when a man turned up and set up scaffolding to repaint the village sign on the green. Life goes on. The old man cycles to the village shop every morning with his dog running in front of him. Old Mrs Weatherthorn valiantly wears out yet another dog in her daily marathon walks across the fens. Mr Fernickety would mow his lawn daily if his wife let him. She does. His lawn is a bowling green. So is the grass beside the road outside his house. It's the only thing I ever see him doing. Walking up and down with his motor mower.
Me? I have my apple trees. I've got to prune them. The first time Zoe came to visit I had to prune the apple trees and fix the roof of my shed. A "hurricane" had blown the felt off the roof.; That was the time I found out Zoe was not allowed to climb ladders. That was the time Zoe found out how vicious the wind is on the fens. But she still came to stay. She's a tough one is Zoe. Marching across the fens with my Border Collie beside her. I'm sure she was ooohing and aaahing during the fireworks. She told me it was the first firework display she had ever seen. They don't have Bonfire night in Belgium.

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Anonymous Anonymous said...

elmer@mail.postmanllc.net

8:33 am  

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Monday, October 24, 2016

The Opera

Things are progressing with the Opera. I now have a band who are enthusiastic about playing the music. I have a Director who is totally committed. We are now in the process of building up interest with a view to crowd funding the project.  We're working on an Audio book which will be a sort of  prequel to the opera story itself. The Director has written a load of short stories as  a taster. So if you fancy a bit of Vampire soft porn have a look here https://dreadfulthingsblog.wordpress.com/
Let me know what you think.
Meanwhile the band and I are working on themes and background music. Landscaping the Opera with sound. All sorts of things I never initially envisaged doing. In fact when I started writing the opera I never envisaged anything other than having a bit of personal fun doodling around with some ideas. Then it got serious and the real work started. If I had known then what i know now would I have even started? Thwere have been times when i would have said definitely NO. But as time goes on I'm quite proud of what we've achieved so far. Even if it never happens it's been interesting. If it does happen then all the better. I will have something to show for it.

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Monday, October 17, 2016

Stop me and buy one

It's all change in the drugs world the Smack Crack and Cocaine Emporium has closed down and gone mobile, like a grocer who used to sell spuds and stuff off the back of a van. The need is still there, the demand is still high, the product needs shifting. Where the game is to stay one step ahead of the law, bricks and mortar are now so 2015, modern times require modern thinking. Deals on wheels. Dial-a-drug. Drugs delivered straight to your hand by a squadron of drones. Shoot 'em down and shoot it up. The police shooting nets into the air Spiderman style to bring down the drones.
I meet up with a friend who lives in a less well to do area of Liverpool. Over dinner he tells me of the Ice Cream man who everyday trawls up his road, except it's 9:30 at night and he's not playing "Popeye the sailor man" on his kiddy caller.  When he stops there's a queue of men at the counter and they aint walking away with 99s or Strawberry Mivvis either.
Here in Peterborough the definition of  "White Van Man" can have a different interpretation. Our White Van Mans van is immaculately clean. It's a Transit of course, a proper working mans van. It's even white. Except it carries no commercial load heavier than a few hundred grams. The dealer spends his days sitting outside the front of his new house on a kitchen chair mobile phone in one hand, fag in the other. people walk past they shout at him "alright?"
"Cushtie."
"Sweet. See ya later."
No one ever shouts "You got any gear?" they know better. Very few actually stop for a chat, just a  couple of words without even breaking step and the phone doesn't come away from our mans ear, as he seemlessly moves from conversation to "cushtie" back to conversation.
I had not seen Lurch in a while. He's the dealers 6 foot 8 accountant, whose job it is to advise people to pay. I ask my man about him.
"Oh he's banged up innee."
"What for? What did he do?"
"GBH."
"Not drugs?"
"Nah he's a smack head hisself but they wont ever find drugs on him. Fucking loads IN him. But not on him. No he went over the top and messed some guy up a bit, someone saw and called the police, he was nabbed whilst smacking the guy around a bit. Very unprofessional. if you're gonna do someone over you don't do it in the street fer chrissakes,  what a knob head, you go round their gaff dontcha? Fucking belt them in the privacy and comfort of their own home. They don't press charges because you know where they fucking live. That's how it works.  But fucking doin' someone over in the street is so sloppy. Even if they don't press charges there's still witnesses to violent public affray. He's not a pro. He's a fucking low life scum smack head tosser who gets free drugs for doing the dirty work. That's no  way to run a business. An' 'im up there gving him the drugs? 'Im wiv the White van? He thinks he's Mr Big fucking drug dealer. He's nothing and never will be anything. if he thinks the Police don't know he's still dealing .....Escobar he aint."
"So his new stop me and buy one scheme isn't going to work?"
"You can bet your boots the Police already know what he's doing and you know what? He'd probably make more money selling fucking ice cream, than he makes selling drugs. Except that would mean he'd actually have to do some bleedin work, and he aint the working kind."

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Thursday, October 06, 2016

Opportunity knocks. The Police hammer.

My man gets rolled by the Police.  A "friend" of his was walking past an ATM when she noticed a guy stick his card in and request £20. Someone called him and he went off to say hello leaving his card in the machine. She immediately snatched the £20 and left the card and wandered off down the road with her bonus double heroin voucher.  The guy turned round and went back to collect his money. It was already gone and he saw the woman and put two and two together, he shouted, she legged it, ducking down an alley she found her way to my mans house and hammered on the door. Thinking she'd lost the guy she went in. But reality with drug addicts is rarely in synch with actual reality. He saw her go in and called the Police.
In turn they are hammering on his door, ready to turn over his house.
In a way I feel sorry for my man because he does try hard to stay out of trouble but somehow, against all odds, trouble seems to find him. I look at him as he is telling me his story, can of Black Perla in hand, swaying slightly. he's back to wearing his combat gear; I guess summer is over. I gently shake my head in disbelief as he says "It always happens to me." But you know, I think he likes it that way. He lives on the edge, trouble finds him but he doesn't hide from it. he doesn't avoid trouble like normal people. His friends are all addicts, dealers or downright dodgy. Or a combination. He tells me he's been clean for the last fifteen years but I can name three occasions when he's plunged headfirst off the wagon. His most recent descent into drug fueled oblivion was with China White a particularly nasty drug.
Suddenly he looks up "Ahhh I know him. I'll see you later, gotta go." and he's off up the road chasing down some guy wearing Adidas leisure trousers, hoodie and a reversed baseball cap proclaiming "BOSS".

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Anonymous Anonymous said...

miguel@mail.postmanllc.net

9:15 am  

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Thursday, September 22, 2016

The Smack Crack and Cocaine Emporium closing down sale.

So after  so many hits by the Police. The Smack Crack and Cocaine Emporium has closed down. A huge victory for law enforcement. The house is now occupied by a lovely old man called Mick and his motability Scooter.  Maybe the window will get fixed now after a rival gang had put a brick through it.
No more Smack Crack and Cocaine Emporium. Wait a minute, who's moving into that house across the road. Damn it to hell and back The Smack Crack and Cocaine Emporium is up and running again across the road. I call my man over who I see walking down the road with a can of Breakfast.
"Am I reading this right? The Smack Crack and Cocaine Emporium has moved?"
"Yep the fuckers have crossed the road."
"They're hardly staying under the Police RADAR just moving across the road."
"Yeah well y'see the cops aint ever gonna find anything in the new premises."
"Why have they stopped dealing?"
"Have they hell. No bigger and better. But they've got a new system."
"Oooooh how exciting! how does it work?"
"well matey boy has all his customers on a one hit speed dial. He knows how much he neeeds.  So when he has reached his target, he brings the stuff in quickly splits it into the lots and hit's the button. The whole deal is gone in an hour. It's never in his house. Not  now. he just sends a one word text to everyone."
"What's the word?"
"Online. He goes out and meets everyone in prearrangeed locations. A quick spin round the city and the job is done...... ahhh look check out that one."  a girl is walking quickly down the road, she'd just turned out a side road and was walking away from us... "She's a smack head addict, look at the state of her, she needs a fix, look how she's shaking."
"I can't really tell from this distance."
"Trust me she's got them bad. She's looking for a hit. or the money for a hit.  I know her very well. You know she once boasted that she banged her uncle for twenty quid. What sort of sick fuck bangs his niece? Hold up she's turning into my road. I'd better go after her."
"You're not? Surely not."
"Not what?"
"Going after her."
"Hell yeah I'm not her Uncle."


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Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Batting for Britain

I hadn't seen my man in a while, then, like a bad penny, he pops in. "Where have you been?" I ask
"I've just been let out."
"Of where?"
"The nick of course."
"What have you done this time?"
"Hit a guy round the head with a cricket bat."
"That's a bit extreme...."
"Not as extreme as what he intended to do to me. He's a psycho. Blasted on drugs and came round mine. He was hammering on the door screaming he was going to kill me. I quickly opened the door and before he could do anything, I thwacked him round the head with the cricket bat. He was out for the count."
"Then what happened?"
"A neighbour called the police. They turned up and took one look at him and pronounced him an evil fucker."
"I'm sure they didn't say exactly that."
"Well they said he was very well known  to them and was violent."
"So you were arrested."
"Of course what else were they gonna do? They had to arrest me, take me in for questioning you know  the  routine. Keep me in for  a while for good measure,  then kick me out. It was self defence. I had witnesses."
"Did they charge you?"
"Did they fuck. I did them a favour. I'm their golden boy."
"How did you do them a favour?"
"Well he was in no condition to resist arrest after I'd seen to him. So they got him easy."
"So they've been looking for him?"
"Oh yeah. They have a whole list of crimes they want to talk to him about."
"So they wanted him and arrested you?"
"They took him as well. Look they had to arrest me. I twatted the guy. They did their job. I expected it. So I just sat on the wall and waited for them to come get me. I held my hand up Yep I hit him with a  cricket bat."
"So why did he want to kill you in the first place?"
"That m'boy is a very long story that goes back years. Put it this way I may have been responsible for no one seeing him for the last five years. While he was on holiday at her Madges request."
"ahhhh."
"Druggie scum. Got what he deserved."

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