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.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

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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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Saturday, September 10, 2016

Crack open the beers it's going to be a long night

Last night I went to Stamford. I wasn't enthusiastic. I stayed at home drinking coffee and looking at my newspaper. Zed looked up "Hadn't you better get going?"
"Yes in a minute." But really I didn't want to go. I didn't want these musicians telling me my songs were rubbish and they don't know why I bothered.
So I took my guitar and drove to the Directors house, there was only one musician there. Mark.  He had his expensive electric guitar with all the pedals and amplifier. Nooooooo.
Eventually the Director tells me to play one of my songs. I take out my guitar and play it. Mark immediately starts playing as well watching my fingers. When I finished he said "That's great. We can work with that song. Play another."
So I play another song, explaining what I was thinking and why I was doing this or that. He listened for a few seconds then blasted in with his electric guitar. He learns very quickly.
Then the Director says something about a fight scene and she wants music for it. Dirty music. I tell Mark I have been thinking of Death metal music but using their chords on my acoustic. I play a barred F#m and dropping the F# to E. Immediately Mark says "I know where you're going" and joins in. We have great fun blasting away at death metal. It works with my acoustic. I forget that Mark is the professional. I forget  all about him judging me and my songs. He loves my work. he asks if it would be OK if he can be part of the production team. He is very enthusiastic. He loves the concept. He loves my songs. He wants the challenge of doing something new and making something happen.
I don't know  why I was worried about meeting him. Lack of  confidence maybe?  I was amazed that someone actually thought the songs I wrote  were good? I have renewed faith.
"I like your style." says Mark, "you're old school."
"I'm just old, there's no school with me I'm completely self taught."
"No there's an openness about your style. it's wide and expansive, I've got room to move and do what I do."
"Really?"
"Yes I can work with you. I'm fed up with those musicians who are so intense in their playing they don't leave you anywhere to go, they're  greedy, possessive."
"How about this?" I play a little jazz number I've been working on based on Amaj7. I never intended to use it in the Opera, but Mark loves it. He's pleading with the director that we've got to shoe horn it into the production somehow. What the fuck? It's nothing. It's a bit of fluff, a bit of fun, laid back and relaxed Roll me a joint and we'll play this sucker all night type  of fun.
Mark plays  it again and starts mucking about he throws in a Cminor and suddenly I have a song. I do a  run Ebm Cm Bbm resolve to A major 7.  We have something. Abm7, Gm7, F#m7 It's cooking. Crack open the beers it's going to be a long night....

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Friday, September 09, 2016

Let me die now

So tonight the director of my Opera has arranged for me to meet the musicians she has found. They are "awesome", "Professional","Highly accomplished". Help. She wants me to meet with these guys and teach them my songs. Well that's not going to be very intimidating and daunting. Much.
I used to be a professional musician playing my chunky chunk crappy cover songs. I got paid good money too. But that was then. I have never been what anyone would call accomplished or virtuoso. I just had fun playing songs people wanted to hear and not very well.
So I have to teach these guys my songs.... why did I ever  start this? let me die now

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Thursday, September 08, 2016

Everything costs a tenner

It looks like the Police are getting serious about drugs in Peterborough, yet another dealer has been raided and arrested for possession and dealing in Class A drugs. I weep for them. I weep for myself because soon I will have nothing left to write about. The streets will be clean. The druggies will turn from their life of squalor and debauchery and instead don smart new clothes and get jobs and become incredibly boring.
Not that it's going to happen. It's an eternal war. They might slow it down. They might win occasionally, but ultimately where there's a market there's gonna be a dealer.
Really these people have almost zero impact on my day to day life other than provide entertainment. It's like they all live in this parallel universe, going about  their business, fighting each other and getting off their heads. They walk past my gaff like ghosts. Totally unaware, or oblivious, of my existence. I don't bother them they don't bother me.
I knew a debt collector once. He went door to door collecting five pounds here, ten pounds there, from people who didn't have five pounds or ten pounds to spare. His favourite month was January. His "customers" had overspent at Christmas giving their kids the "Best Christmas ever" to make up for all the shit the rest of the year. Of course January comes and there's no money for food rent gas electricity. So Mr Debt Collector would roll up on their doorstep demanding his £10 and walk away with their kids' brand new X-Box or something, which he would then sell in the pub, thus supplementing his wages. Throughout the year he had successive sexual opportunities offered in lieu of this months payment. I asked him how he felt about that. He was of the opinion that there was no crime no victims, indeed he thought of it as a friend helping out a friend. Everyone came out smiling.  I have often wondered about that. If she wasn't in debt would she have offered herself to him anyway as a friend? If she wasn't up to her eyeballs in debt would she really go to bed with him for a tenner.
I was stopped on the corner of Burghley Road and Park by a girl in a  fur coat. It was raining and she had her collar up "Looking for business mister?" she says.
I glance down to my guitar case and say "I'm going to a gig."
" I just need ten quid for the electricity meter. What ever you want. The banks don't  open until 9 tomorrow and my leccy has gone off."
"I really am in a hurry. I'm late already."
"It'll be worth being late for me, you'll see.I'll make sure of it."
"You are kind but I must go."
"Alright. Well have a nice night anyway. I'll see you around maybe."
I walk off down the road swinging my guitar case. I turn around in time to see her get into a car that had just stopped and wound down the window. I no longer existed.
You can get all sorts for a tenner round here.

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Wednesday, September 07, 2016

Screaming like fishwives

Lurch, the drug cartels financial advisor is temporarily out of work.  The recent police raids have taken their toll. I spot him coming down the road. He is six foot seven and riding a childs bicycle. He looks like a clown. It's hard to imagine him "putting the squeeze" on anyone while he's riding a childs bike. He passes me riding one handed, he's using the other hand to hold his fag, he's coughing his lungs up.  I hope the people he is trying to intimidate into paying up money don't see him because his reputation will be in tatters.
You can tell the lack of drugs on the street is beginning to take effect. A husband and wife combo come to blows outside my gaff. She is screaming like a fishwife at him, her friend is trying to hold her back while hubby, one of the most noxious detestable people you'd ever have the misfortune to meet is threatening to "punch her lights out." His theory being if a girl can give a punch she can take it. Well she's giving alright, he's holding his arms up and so far resisting the urge to hit back, resorting to some sort of twisted logic to sway her opinion. Eventually she lands one punch too many and he gives her a slap. She starts screaming that she's a girl and he's hit her. Somehow it doesn't seem fair, she has the punch of Rocky Bilbao on a good day and now she's crying like a little girl. Her friend wades in shouting that he's just hit a girl "what sort of man does that?" and she throws a few herself.
Our man is now hopelessly out classed, he's punching well above his weight and doesn't stand a chance. He is being hindered by years of  social conditioning, you don't hit girls. meanwhile the two girls have no such qualms, they continue to try to beat the living shite out of him. It's tough out there on the street. Be safe guys.

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Sunday, September 04, 2016

Black Perla of the Caribbean.

My man turns up, he has brought his "breakfast" with him, four cans of Black Perla 7.8% "Only £1 a can." he announces for the hundredth time.
"It's been a bit quiet over the Emporium recently." I say casually.
He takes a swig of his Black Perla, only £1 a can "You know why that is dontcha?"
"No. Summer holidays?" I venture.
"No ya plonka, they've all bin nicked aint they. They wuz raided the other night. The bastards."
"Oh I never knew."
"Yeah and guess who has bin sent down as well?"
"I don't know."
"Shed man. That fucker who was living in my shed. he's just bin handed a four year stretch."
"What for? Living in your shed? That's a bit harsh."
"No aggravated burglary and other stuff. This is good stuff this..." he hold up his can, "only £1 a can. It hits the spot an does the job." he throws the empty into my bin and cracks open another "Black Perla." He puts on a pirates voice "Black perla of the Caribbean"
"Nice, except it's Polish, hardly Caribbean."
"Yeah but at £1 a can? .... oh look there's old Henry." he points to a guy in a motability scooter coming our way.
"What's his story?"
"He's the longest surviving addict in Peterborough. he's been doing heroin for forty years."
"And he's not dead?"
"No he does a tenner a day now, not much but enough to take the edge off. It doesn't do anything for him. Just enough to stop him getting the shakes." he pauses, looking up the road "And that m'boy is the brother of the girls who fell out the ugly tree hitting every branch on the way down." He says pointing to a young man staggering down the road. "He's nasty little shit, on his way to the chemist for his methadone. The fucker can hardly walk."
"I didn't know they had a brother."
"Oh yes, they have a brother alright and that's him." He cracks open another Black Perla and takes a long drink. "Almost there." he says
"Almost where?"
"Almost finished breakfast. Right. I'm going up the road to have it out with someone." by now my man is not so steady on his feet three cans of Black Perla 7.8%, £1 a can, in quick succession will do that to you.
"Have it out? Who with? Why?"
"Don't you worry about it. He's got it coming."
"You worry me sometimes. Why do you have to have it out with anyone?"
"Because he pissed me off alright? And no one crosses me."
"Be safe."
"Ha it's the other guy you want to worry about. Second thoughts don't worry about him, he's not worth it."
My man staggers off into the  night clutching his last can of Black Perla, Except it's broad daylight and ten o'clock on the morning.

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