A Tale of Two Coats...

Look back at your teenage years or further back to childhood, then come back to the present and discuss.

What's the first thing most people say they don't see no more... white dog poo!. and that wagon wheels are no longer the same size, along with polo's and curly wurlys. But has something else seem to be in decline too? but more silent that sun bleached fecal matter and chocolate treats and sweets....

What ever happened to the memorable lovable tramp?... It seems they have just been replaced by scagheads and beggers... even big issue sellers now seem to be mostly "imported" beggars.

In the town I currently work in, all I see is what I just mentioned, scagheads etc, I do see this one old guy walking the same bit of road, in the same clothes, but he lacks the ubiquitous big bushy beard, he may have the pungent odour, but never been that close.... thankfully...

So what has happened to the quintessential Tramp?... are they in decline like the bees? or have they all died out... because they were so old in the first place? and because they seem to be in decline.. are we importing foreign tramps in? to replace the national shortage...

But I digress so back to the blog about a Tramp...

In the town where I used to live as a child there were tramps and one that became a very familiar sight, Mr Two Coats...

Now Two Coats first came to the attention of my mother, who when on her lunch or just around town, would notice him, with his funny gaited walk and vaguely odd appearance, strolling all around town. She pointed him out to me once when I was with her in town, as mothers do and blatantly said, that's a tramp. (I think he was a "care in the community" refugee to be honest, abandoned by the system, but most people just think they are just weird..)

From then on, I would notice Two Coats when in town and I named him thus. This is all due to seeing him on a daily basis, once in the morning and going home in the afternoon, but each time he would be wearing a different coat.

In the morning, he could be sporting a long blue mac, a little too small to cover his rotund belly. Later he would be dressed in a short leatherette jacket. I think any coat was fair game to him, as I think I saw him in a ladies coat once.

This was the case for the many years I used to see him, his beard growing ever larger and his belly, the top of his head becoming ever balder and his apparent wardrobe full of coats becoming ever more large and equipped for all seasons.

I wondered where this wardrobe might be? Narnia?... did he have a stash behind the big skips in town? or where they simply dropped in specific places...

Considering these days seeing abandoned clothing around town is a common sight, back then there was simply nothing.

I often wonder if he's still around, swapping fashion ever couple of hours, mumbling to himself about what is in this season.. and which designer is the one to be seen in?... as he passes his day of travel.

Skool what is it gud 4?

Well since I've been struggling to find somethings to blog about, I seem to have been searching everywhere... and today a small light came on in my head while talking to a work colleague....

It stems from remembering things in the past from school (feeling a bit bitter that I feel a bit thick, even though I'm not), all the times when I got told off for being me... there was a few times this happened.

In art, I got told to stop drawing black lines around everything... which was my style not theirs, they tried to drum it that it was wrong, only Mat Smith flourished in this environment, creating masterpiece after masterpiece, me I failed but ironically I do now work in the design field, maybe I'd started earlier if I had my own style....

Then at the age of 14 for having a black magic book, which came from a book club, Mr Salkeld took it off me saying it was dangerous.... how stupid did this fool think I was, where was a 14 year old going to get some dolphin for one of the spells, from Tesco's.. at the all you need for witchcraft aisle?.

Being the burk he was, maybe he went on to learn the dark arts, as he was a crap English teacher...

But the first time I was told off was by Miss Chadwick or was it Mrs.. I don't think we ever knew.... She was a wizened old teacher with a large ginger hairdo, who I think from this day forth didn't like me, it was a small battle of wills, I would not reform... and I think she enjoyed telling me I couldn't come back to do the sixth form due to my exam results...

It was my second year and I remember being in the classroom, but can't recall what subject it was for. Wiggy one tit (as I nick named her later) gave us all a writing assignment, what can you see out of your bedroom window at home?....

Well the thought went through my mind that what I can see was a tad on the boring side and would have been very short... compared to most of my country dwelling school friends, with all their fields and trees, I lived in a 1970's house overlooking a load of bugalows and garage roofs.... so what did I do.... well I got creative... and thought out of the box...

I proceeded to write about seeing a giant beanstalk outside my window and I used to climb it, well this rubbed her up the wrong way.. rather than seeing it as using my imagination and funny.. I was made to look like a naughty kid in front of everyone ... so having just told this story to my work colleague we came up with a new one... both of us being the smutty and double entendre type, it would have being interesting to see what my teacher would have done if I came up with this at the age of 12... I've tried to keep in context.

"Well from my bedroom window I can see Mrs Bradbury's house, she in her 20's, blonde, pretty and married.

It's a lovely house, with a nice pair of big knockers, I like to fumble a little with them,

as they are very unusual.

She waves to me sometimes from the kitchen, wearing her apron. I can see she has a nice rack.

It's full of spices to make meals with, it must be hand made, the kind of thing we'd make in CDT.

At times she scratches herself a lot, with some meals, something about crabs,

I think she has an allergy to shellfish, but her husband really likes them.

On occasion I can hear her scream YES YES YES...

as I think she has solved her cooking conundrums or come up with a new tasty recipe...

She also has a huge flowery bush, at the bottom of the garden.

Mr Brabury grumbles as he has to go down so often, to sort it out.

In winter I see her with two fat balls in her hand.

There is nothing more pretty than Tits hanging off them.

The Tits can't stay for too long, as her pussy keeps popping out of it's flap,

it's very scary and the meanest cat on the street.

I sometimes go round for a good time and fun, generally I come first,

before all the other kids, as I live closer.

One week she asked me to help her put a bun in the oven,

it took us a while to work out how to put it in, it was a big cake, the whole street could have had a piece.

We played a game where you have to pull things out,

Operation is really tricky.

The end.

Total Recall!

No don't worry this is not a break down of the 1990 movie starring Arnold Szarshburger, Sharon Pebble and Michael Copperside, it a comparison... (bit long too) of what could be put onto my memory drive for future generations to ponder through?

So what can you recall of your life so far? do you want to remember everything from the littlest detail... I try too...

Where were you when something major happened?, can you recall your first kiss?, your first sense of loss?, joy?....

Anything momentus in the world can make an impression on us, such as you can probably recall where you were when diana died or the space shuttle blew up...., but what about our own little orbit? can you recall your moments like that?, not so much earth shattering, except to you? and in what detail?

Me personally, I can recall things, from the random, to the weird and downright factual sometimes in very good detail. I do have items that remind me and I have the knack of picking up a film I've seen and remembering most of it even before I put it in the dvd player, which then means I have to put it back and find one I've not seen in a while.

It does freak out and amaze some of my friends what I'm able to recall and remember, my parents and sister will sometime text me from pub quizzes wanting answers to questions I'll know... would be nice in the first place if they'd asked me to be there in person. I think I've always had the power to recall some random facts, but it's never really helped me educationally.

But is this because these things have made such an impact on me, in my one lone orbit?

My earliest memories of loss are pretty clear and still make me well up even now as I type it.

They revolve around the thoughts of my grandad a family member we simply will never know enough about. I remember one of the last times I saw my grandad in 1978 when I was 4, he was sat in a chair with his foot up on a poof waiting for me and my sister to arrive, he'd always seemed to be ready to tickle us when we got there.

I didn't realise at the time this was the start of his illness, which took him a year later and again I can recall, my drawing from school of him in a hospital bed and then the day of his funeral, everyone was crying accept me, as I didn't understand what was going on, but I make up for it now....

Grandad 1918 - 1979

Next was the first time I was allowed to stay up and see the new years celebrations in Trafalgar square on tv, the time click 1979 went and 1980 came.... but they are just a minor things I can remember....

But what the other stories things, that everyone will have gone through?

I'm not going to put these stories into any specific order....

REAL WOMEN AND NUDIE PICTURES.

My first dealings with this again began at my grandparents house, I remember having a scrap book where I would just put cut out of women, from anything that was lying around, (I don't know where this book went... be curious to know). They also used to get the Sun newspaper, and there in black and white everyday was a semi clad woman, it used to facinate me intently, what was going on? why is she like that?... I'm sure all boys would have done the same... wow is that a girl?...

The page 3 was for most kids my generation, the only source of titillation apart from Hills lingerie clad angels, unless you had an older brother, who along with garden bushes seemed to be the source of naughtier magazines.... blown there by some magical wind.

I found my first at the age of 13 in a bin at school, this was an odd thing to find.. it was a boarding school, just before breakfast (the only thing these steps had offered me before was a hard surface to break my JOVIK souvenir cup on, I was gutted). So I had to formulate a plan to get it back to somewhere safe... so what did I do...the most cunning thing a 13 year old with a moments notice could do... I stuck it up my jumper (I did prefect this technic over the next few years, to avoid bullies and other things). I then had to sit through breakfast, probably with the biggest look of guilt on my face and probably sweating like I'd just robbed a bank.

Eventually we got back to the dorm, where me and my fellow room mates rapidly gained a crush on the girl named SANDY, who started out in a yellow bikini and was laid out on a beach, to four 13 year old boys her name was rather apt to the background, was it coincidental? like we was bothered she was nude......

So by the end of term we still had this copy of "Mens World", knowing all the time if we got caught with it there would be big trouble!, much worse than lines or standing in a corridor. It finally languished in the box for my setreo, which was packed up for the end of term. But terror was about to enter my young heart again.... somebody had had something big stolen, so every where was being checked.....

Again I could have lost "Sandy" and her pals and got some serious trouble... and at first thought I appeared to be safe, as the said stolen item was a little to large to be in my box, but they checked it anyways... with panic in my eyes the box was opened by a sixth former (who did prove over the years they were sadistic with their punishments) and he searched it.... luckily Sandy lay on her beach in the bottom of the box and being a bit OCD I'd kept all the packaging so it she and friends were well hidden... I breathed a sign of relief once again.... till the next time...

FIRST TIME DRUNK.

My first major adventure with alcohol was when I went to my first works doo at the age of 17.

Having preformed rather crap at school, I went to college for a year, then onto Blackburn Itec, who got me my first proper job way back in 1991 at Crown Eyeglass.

This was a low paid factory job, £89 a week as I recall, after a year of being there the pitiful raise had raised it to this amount, but I did always seem to be rich, as I didn't know much back then.... but back to the story.

So having been at my new place of employment for about 6 months, xmas came around, the Savoy in the town was booked, a fairly low budget place, but fun none the less... By now most of my friends and the girl who I had a crush on, Michelle Fenton, knew that I'd not really drunk before then, so they where on a mission to get me drunk.

(I eventually became friends with them after they sent me for a glass hammer in my first week and a long stand).

So I turned up rather nervous in something very 90's other than my Terminator 2 t-shirt (which did give birth to the nick name The Termite as I was small). And so went my first xmas doo..

So The alcohol menu was as follows:

A couple of pints I think from Louie an Lenny (No they were not a comedy double act... but maybe they should have thought about it, Louie a hardman biker from Blackpool and Lenny who was nearly 7ft giant from Rishdon, Lenny's brother was slightly taller than that),

A Guinness and Black (As I had once drunk this before, but only a half)

A vodka and orange (Which was to become my tipple of choice) from Wayne (A friend which in one of the following years, we'd have drunken adventures, ringing his girlfriend telling her he'd been arrested and getting locked in a friends flat, which lead my dad phoning the police.)

So the night ended I found myself walking home. (Which did become a habit of mine walking nearly 3miles after a night of drunken tomfoolery and snooker). Just over 2 miles and 47min later (according to google maps), I arrived home merry with a wet back as it had been raining. Parents laughing at my great big smile....

WORLD EVENTS THAT MADE A MARK...

I have 2 that have left a mark on me, one because of the length of time since it happened has just gone over 20 years and the other because a. I thought I'd never see anything like that in real life, but it was my nieces birthday.

Just over 20 years ago I remember it was the peak of the ending of apartheid in South Africa and the freedom of Nelson Mandela was about to happen after 27years, a song had been written and everyone was preparing for this a moment to tell your grandchildren about.

So on Sunday just after meeting (Quaker school thing) everyone piled into the tv room, even though it was a nice day and the local village, town, fields etc.. beckoned, there on the old box an image of open gates was broadcast, I think originally he was supposed to be coming out about 11am... so we all crammed in, dressed in sunday best and ties, egar to see this moment... so we waited.... and waited... but after 2hours, I had the best seat in the house... everyone had gone... making the most of their sunday.... me I stayed for the slog, eventually Mr Mandela came to the gates gave a wave and the world press went wild, me I felt good he'd been released but at the same time wondered if I should have released myself into the outside world?

The second event which will have made an impact on everyone, was the fall of the Twin Towers.

I was still working nights and had just got up, at the time I was living in Wythenshawe and just flicked the TV on casually to see it beaming out pictures of the burning tower, oh it's a film.... so my half asleep noodle thought.... As I focused properly on the TV, I saw the second plane hit and realised it was real, like everyone I was shocked and amazed that anything like this could happen and how a whole plane could just simply vanish into a building. I collected as may newspapers as possible for the following weeks to get as many pictures and reports as I could, soaking in the images of twisted, burnt metal jutting into the air, people rushing to safety and just the mass of damage caused.

But what I think made it more memorable it was my nieces 4th birthday, I thought it was bad to have a birthday on the 13th like my grandpa, but now this event will always be remembered.... as was proved at my nephews naming ceremony.

Sometime in 2005 he was christened just after the anniversary of this tragic event, the vicar said that we should have a few moments silence in remembrance, a hauntingly sad tune filling the air for a few minutes. Once it had finished, the vicar enquired about my niece, (who had managed to stay quiet through the tune) and how old she was?, well, said my sister her birthday had just been and then had to whisper .... it was the 11th of September.... the vicar didn't know what to say.... what kind of thought ran through his head?... could he possibly have thought about happiness on such a sad day... after the moments silence? he just appeared bemused... like any man of god...

me hanging with the kids...

To be continued.....

Abandoned things and their stories...

We've all seen the all to common sight of abandoned or lost clothes scattered across town and road, victims of passion, possibly... or lack of cash at the weekends who knows?. I did hear an urban myth about taxi drivers taking peoples jeans if they could not pay...

I myself take pictures of these unfortunate items. I started this after my long and still ongoing project of taking pictures of abandoned shopping trollies which evolved and before anyone ones says "thats been done before", well I had the first idea to do it 11 years ago now, whilst existing in the twilight.

Where I used to work in Sale, was a trolley mecca. My office block stood in an area littered with Tesco's finest, Mark and Spencer's best, Sainsbury's try something new wire metaled constructs, along with many more, all casually abandoned after ferrying their own weight in eggs and bread, milk and stockings.. (plus I also used to have crushes on some of the check out girls, who I'd had given names, I was too nervous to actually find out their names. These where the only other people I interacted with on a regular basis, working nights at my previous job, was a killer of friendships and souls).

So armed with my trusty film camera which I still prefer (I'd only purchase my first digital 2 years later whilst drunk and getting fat in Tenerife, with a massive 2 mega pixels). I'd go out after work or dinner, sometimes as late as 2am and wander around snapping up the local abandoned trollies, we'd also used to get large gathering on our carpark, hiding from the collectors or left by kids, looking more like animals than inanimates.

A lot were left as if causally waiting for a friend or punting for extra business as if it was something illicit, some as if they had run away themselves, others huddled together for warmth like pack animals and many cast upon their sides - the dead or murdered, but the most unfortunate would be in rivers or canals.

I still take pictures of them, but after a while this evolved into collecting shopping lists, left within these trollies. Yes I'm strange for the most part and I did get quite feverish at collecting them, sometimes going out of my way to get these scraps of screwed up paper. But I often wondered why lists are so readily thrown away....

If you think about a list, most people will spend a lot of time and effort to scribe down their wants, needs, treats and then simply screw it up and leave it... this list, that may have taken time to produce and probably the most thought out thing in that persons day or week.

But also interestingly the scraps of paper or what ever comes to hand used for lists is vast and the previous information or added information can just be as interesting, mobile phone numbers, letters from schools... wanting to see the parents of so and so... and some of the items listed are hilarious... Some badly spelt, but all in a different cursive. Some surprisingly long, whilst other suspiciously short and vague, did they know what the wanted or just thought "hell with it.. what ever takes my fancy shall be cast into my basket or trolley... I don't need it but I don't care...."

Again I still collect the odd ones, I did have a project to collect 101 randomly found lists, my eventual idea was to make a big list from all the scraps... which is still in the making...

Well as all things do, the evolution continued and I moved onto taking pictures of abandoned clothes. It's surprising how many loose articles are scattered around and when you mention it to people they too have come across a fair amount of this detritus.... My mum and dad once saw a bra hanging from a tree or on top of a bush in a very public area.

I myself have seen shoes (mostly babies), a pair of jeans, a couple of jumpers and many hat, but by far the most lost piece of clothing must be the humble glove. A sad lonely thing on it own, always craving for it's opposite equal. This is where my final part of the abandonment has come to rest, finding that single glove in the gutter or run over in the road, all wet and dirty.

If these glove weren't an inanimate object and had feelings what would they be?, a constant feeling of loneliness? or loss?, a want of rescue to meet lefty or righty again and be happy ever after?... that desperate plea to meet a one handed person....

No Doubt this will continue on until the point we evolve something better than hands, either a bluetooth dongle or a USB finger tip

String ... the master of man.

Mankind can truly believe that he is the master of this world, now that we have cracked the gene code and can clone virtually anything all we need next is time and space to be sorted... but there are a few things that can master man....

I speak about string, that simply little thing, but string, string, string can be the master of many a man...

I for one was conquered by this apparently simple item, I got knotted, and not in a good way.

Being blessed with the D.I.Y gene, I tend to do all my own repairs and things, and this can include cars, houses, computers and generally anything I'll have a try at repairing, of which string can play a major part... But this does not blend well with the being the random abnormal sort of person I can be at times.

I was the slave to string during my recent D.I.Y, which was an attempt to get my house feeling warmer. (my friends and my girl friend say it's cold, but one bound to feel it more, wink wink nudge nudge.. do you catch my drift).

So after working out all the fundamentals - bit's of wood, that used to live in the window frame, panel pins which once were hammered into my doors (I try to recycle as much as possible), I got into my D.I.Y super suit and bobble hat, strapped a torch to my head and ventured into the trap...

The trap consisted of the area underneath my floor, approximately 2 feet high, full room width, white mold growths here and there, plentiful amount of dust, bare earth and the odd spider web complete with a desiccate spider corpse. Thankfully I'd not bought the house off either a guy called West or Shipman, as there could have been some more surprises (The other thing the trap manages to do is make you smell like you've just been dug up).

So armed with everything I needed and more, away it went, smoothly at first but then snaggs began to appear. The string I was using was one of the many that my father seems to own. The ones that I think existed before me, possibly purchased by him, never seem to run out and will probably be passed on by me to my son, (if the winds are favourable) and to his and so on...

It began to tangle, like nothing else.

So after the excessive amount of dust making me cough, and bits falling on my face as I hammered and laying on my back in what really is a big coffin, this is all I didn't need, but this is where a normal sort of person would have reached for the scissors, snipped the offending piece of string and carried on. But being of made of the strange brew, (maybe a few more puppy dogs tails than normal, as plenty of friends and people know) I began to untangle a 20ft knot...

My brain was totally focussed on the freeing of this string, so for the best part of an hour, in my makeshift coffin (since I was mostly on my own, no phone it could have been my resting place).

I happily sorted out the knot. (I hate being beaten by a problem and equally I hate useless knots, How can a hosepipe packed away cleanly get so messy? answers on a postcard to the usual address). I should have used the time more wisely, working out a possible string theory (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/String_theory) but sadly no.

So what were the benefits of such a time?... yes I got my brain and hands to untangle a problem, but did I lose something in the process?... it did have a prize at the end, I finally got it done, but unlike the knot below... no fun was ultimately had....

A nice knot to undo :)

Lost in Transience...

There are times in life where you think you're wasting your mortal coil, watching the very seconds of your life tick away... but ever so inhumanly slow....

A second in everyday life is nothing much, your brain far to removed and busy to worry about a mere second... what can you do?.. not much ... but being transient they can last a lifetime, as anyone can find out.

So what events lead to this? what became my second escape from reality... well...

Sunday night, things have changed since I last stayed out so late on a school night and I found myself eagerly flapping my arms at what I eventually found out was the last bus hoping it may stop.

But as I well found out and have seen before, some bus drivers have heart, where as late night bus drivers have none... I was a mere ten foot away when he decided my future state of limbo.

So now what? stood at a bus stop, some fellow travelers also stuck with the same dilemma... walk, taxi, wait? each ran through my mind... some fellow waiters actually clubbed together for a taxi to longshite, which would have still meant I'd have been far from my destination of sulmberland, but wait a small light in the darkness popped into my head...

On my swift journey to the bus I was accompanied by recently acquired friend.... a master of the transience, that after a brief walk, now stood before me once more...

Through our walk from the pop porn, we had enjoyed earlier, with a larger group of friends and the delicate process of chat, I'd find out that he came from the same hick town as myself, another born and bred Blackburn person, a few years difference but his thoughts being similar to mine about the place, ie it's dire, and clicky.... so after a long talk,our journeys began taking a similar route back to our methods to return from hence we came....

He told me that he had a wait on for the train in the morning, but was fine that had some tunes to get him through, so I bid farewell and engaged in my lesser hobby of bus flagging (where you stand slightly drunk flapping your arms as soon as you see the large mass move towards you and hoping it is a bus).

-----------------

So here we were again in each others company and now how do you properly waste five hours? and I say waste, I had no ipod, no jotter book, just 3 cameras... and both of us being too sober to just fall into a stupor....

For a while we talked and walked, watching the endless repetition of 2 hollywood movies, trying to catch the bullet sounds and pretend to be shot dead (every 8mins, which we worked out and did last the full course of 5 hours). These where churned out by the 3 dvd vending machines (there are no food vending machines or bins in the station, so you may die of starvation and dehydration, but you'll be entertained to the end ). Endlessly watching the staff clearing up the detritus of the previous day and observing others at least 4,who where stuck in this limbo... but where they here by choice or such as ourselves, circumstance?

My companion smoked, so at least we got to go outside, quick chat, a laugh and I did inform him there was a 24 hour shop just up the road, so that's were we headed, not cold enough to come out with the line... I'm going outside, I maybe some time!.

So having previously already been in the establishment I went straight for some light entertainment, which once I left the shop consisted of the magazine Esquire, The lovely Rachael Weisz, seductively placed on the cover and it's seedier distant cousin Nuts all about good bums!, a drink and a packet of Crisps.

Back at our free hotel, in the warmest seating, I began to peruse my magazines, I had already read many leaflets, so now with my back to the clock, with it's slow ticking seconds I opened the magazines eagerly hoping it would kill a little time and fill my brain with knowledge.

The articles mentioned how it's bad to know too much, Racheal being the woman most men would marry in a survey, glamour girls boobs,and bums, new unaffordable sports cars, football yuck, all managed to kill some time... but as it lasts forever not much time actually passed.

It did remind me of a time 11 years ago, where I first fell into this transient hole, on a dance floor in Ibiza waiting for a foam party. It was loud, full to the rafters and again I was under the drunken illusion and as I danced my night away quite energetically till the point of collapse, I thought time was passing at the same speed, but no, I ended up sitting down till just after 6am, waiting for the foam. I since found out my mate got lucky by the sea during this time, with a quite attractive girl, one I actually ate coleslaw for (sad face, as wish I'd been lucky, I think I'm the only person never to have been lucky in ibiza).. but in the end the foam was well worth the wait..... but back to now 11 years later.

So being only armed with 3 cameras, I proceeded to take pictures of my new companions and then myself larking around.

The girl in the first picture moved about the station during the five hours, partly from the staff having to clean, but also I think for warmth. She posed an interesting quandary, she looked eastern european and the contents of her blue plastic bag seemed a little random, were these her only possessions?. The was an air of sorrow that seemed to be with her, and I was curious about her, she must have viewed me and my companion as safe and she didn't stink....

The rest that lay in various states around the station consisted of:

a group of young lads with a suitcase each, who looked like they may have been kicked out of their hotel, they did offer for us to join them and listen to crappy tinny tunes coming from a phone, but we gladly declined the offer.

two other people managing to sleep on the chairs near us...

A couple of ladies of the night, maybe a judge-mental thought on my part, but I guess that they were for three reasons.

1. I knew that just behind the station is a well known area for touting for business.

2. I had seen an interesting documentary in the past all about the area and the station at night. 3. Who else would have dress sense such as that?

One stayed for a while, she must have been on a break... or full up.

A couple of scallies came through, asking to borrow a pound, asking everyone in turn, wether they slept or wide awake. They sloped by not stopping even if anyone had a offered them a pound, but they did kindly tell the girl next to us that she "had a nipple on her head", I just thought they'd never seen a beret before. This made the girl awake, then move on to another place in the station.

By now time had speeded up slightly, as my attention had been taken elsewhere, distracted by people and actually trying to learn how my digital camera works. So at last 4.13am was reborn, along with the purchase of my cheap ticket home.

More people now where beginning to file into the station, the boards lighting up with trains to the north and the south, and there was mine the 5.05am train to the big smoke.

So just before I got on my train, I bid my friend goodbye as he went to Victoria to await his 6am train, cursed Costa Coffee for not opening early enough, from there on a 10min trip and a 15min walk... and the view of sumberland would be in my sight....

So do my fellow transients still roam the cold halls of Picadilly now?, or where they just passing through like myself.

Dinner, Dinner, Dinner BATMAN!

Well I'm back and it took me long enough.... I have been coming up with stories and following the amount of monologues that have run through my mind about possible blogs... I thought it about time to put my fingers on the keyboard and ticker-tapper some out.

So what's dinner, dinner dinner BATMAN?

Well I work in a small studio in Macclesfield and at dinner I get to escape, unlike some of my previous places of employment... which where like war camps questioning everything you did and needing a planning committee to go anywhere outside!!!... sorry name and serial number only to the bosh!

So I take this small amount of time to rush of into the exciting world that is "MACC", please hear the sarcasm in the word MACC... exciting and joyful is not the words that currently could describe the town centre... more like scally infested, empty shops and a huge overtly proportion of dog mess/general detritus per person.

But I do this ever working day and now after nearly three years, it's becoming too familiar. The press has mentioned that people don't interact the way they used to, from my little trips into "The world of MACC" (say this loud and with an echo) I can see how right the press was, heads down and into the scrum!.

So back to my daily routine, (yes it is a routine, as I tend to eat the same day after day, go to the same shops... as there is little to see... even if you do look up...)

Off I trot down the flagged and cobbled streets (which description makes them seem nice at first), then pass the dog mess left in all the tread-able places, inbetween the odd used condom, smashed glass and discarded food tray, half full with chips, the rest looking like they are crawling back to the centre of town, trying to escape....

The second house I pass, lives a rat or to some people a yorkshire terrier, which yapps away at me and probably every passerby, running from room to room, avoiding me and my shoes, which would either step on it or gift it with a swift kick up the arse.

Then passed the three storey house, whose occupiers seem to on a weekly basis chuck out something of large proportion and leave it in the street, unable to formulate a plan to get rid of it themselves, ie car + tip = job done.... or is that a catchpharse?

Items have included

- a sofa, which was there for best part of a month, a shade of pink at first then a slight

green tinge.

- a broken door.. wonder how it was snapped like that...

- a large screen tv, which again was there for a while, it was a surprise that no local scally had bunged it into the river, like someone had just before xmas, but I don't think ducks like Eastenders, a survey was carried out with mallards, but the findings where never released as many of them didn't pay their tv license bill.

Next is the talking cat, which does talk back, so a quick hello there and a quick stroke, is is such a nice cat.. I couldn't eat it all at once, it's also not a very talented cat, the other day I asked if it could ride a bike..and whether he was good at fixing videos, all he said was "me how?"

Then the house with the "curious step", curious why you ask in droves... (doubt even one would ask) well it always makes me think there is a cat apon it, could this be from the shape formed by the flaking paint or is there something ghostly!... I don't know, I still stare at it like a loon, shaking my head, knowing that there is simply nothing there!, except in the corner of my eye.... probably a bit of leftover sleep from the morning....

Then comes tripod, who is a three legged cat (front left is missing for those who want to know). Generally just a pile of hair sat on a door mat, but of late I've not seen it, he wasn't the fastest of felines so may have come to a sticky end...(4x4 garage across the road).. and again not very talented.. I asked once if it could paint a wall?...."me how?"

So at the end of the street we have the chippy and the pot of gold cafe (names have been changed to protect the innocents). Both always packed full of overweight sweaty workmen called Bob and Tom, their vans/trucks causing chaos at the junction, as they consume the weight of a small child and family in chips, peas, meat pies and chips, it shouldn't be possible for a person to sweat whilst eating.. but I have seen it happen... next is a flying elephant.

I used to go in once to the chippy and enjoy the young girl asking me "would you like a fuurck?" her accent evermore making it sound like she had a sideline in prostitution, how it would make me titter! and I never did say "how much?" or find out if her offer was any good.

And further I go into MACC.... past empty shops and a boarded up pub, a fallen down part of the pub, littered by various odd objects from prams, bags & cans, all clustered around the remains of the fireplace, the warmth long since gone, the only pretty thing here is from the flowering bush, a bloom of purple in the summer.

Go around the back and your presented with another lovely street scene just as littered, but here are the pub's cellar doors, which are fast becoming a accident waiting to happen, the rotting timbers shift under my weight every time I cross them. The street was cleaned up though last year .. and displayed as the prefect 50's street in a recent advert... see pics (the pub is in the background, they took the boards down for the shoot), the only irritating thing left was the little lad running up and down it.

Next comes the only thing to interest me on the walk, the cenotaph with it's well maintained gardens and a wash of colour, a pleasant place to sit for a while in the sun. But alas even this suffers from the blight, as you can't stay long due to the colourful smack heads... all a shade of puce and tinged with the smell that will make you throw up something of the same colour.

This is where the first human characters of my tale appear, the smack head group has two memorable characters, first "Peggy wheels" the one legged wheelchair bound female and "straight line Stan" a male of the group... yes from here on in it becomes a nature study....

I've had the pleasure of watching this group more than once, on my dinner,

Peggy is quite niffty at maneuvering around the course at the cenotaph, while shouting a constant stream of expletives and shaking one fist in the air, as this must be some kind of mating ritual, too which I am unaccustomed, but it does draw all the males smackies to her side.

While the Alpha male, Stan, has a more direct course, calmly waking in a straight line, cutting a sway through the treacherous flower beds, over the little bush, then a short frog hop over one of the stones with war dead on, to the final meeting area just behind the main statue, here they all gather round, swearing, wetting pants and drinking purple liquid.

This may have been where Sir David learnt his trade.

From here on in the interactions where people get fewer, I just give them names, which if published correctly, it could become a popular seek and see series...

We have -

Turmour Eileen - a young girl, curly hair, with crankles and a mobile phone which I think now is superglued to her ear, the new observation is that one leg appears to be shorter than the other and she's as comfortable in heels as a thug.

Lumpy John - a middle aged guy, blue baseball cap, scruffy, a big lumpy gout in his neck, always having a tab infront of the cancer research charity shop and I don't think he has the ability to stand up, as I've never seen it - update I have since seen him walking....

IGOR - works in WHS, only interaction I ever have is "would you like a bag for that...ha ha har (creepy laugh)" or "can I interest you in any half price chocolate? in exchange for a brain?" I have to wonder if she is made from the parts of dead people and automated?...

The Non-Smiling Woman - works in Marks, and never seems to smile when I reach the counter.... must be the sight of me in my tramp coat, purchasing the same daily items and fumbling for my change like I'm playing with my bollocks..

Flannel Scally - a grey suited moron, no matter what the weather, including in winter when I heard him say "it's cold" the snow not being a big enough clue to this numpty, as he was too busy with his hand in the grey flannel pants or shouting "w**ker" to his mate across the street, who responded with the choice words "F*ck off you're gay", brains, I tell you witty respond like that, I'm at a loss.

Old Lady Shoe - a little old lady whose back is so bent she can only look at her shoes, I've not seen her lately, so she maybe trapped in a high sided tray, thinking that the walls have surrounded her, or the cold snap may have claimed her.

The variety of Big Issue sellers - "alright Luv"... or big tissue, there is a set of four who regularly sell this magazine... there is one, who makes it painful to hear the words "Big Issue" as she always followed up with PLEEASSSE... that would drag on to a high screeching pitch and attract dogs..

I could go on and on....

But then there is the rarest of all, a flower within the weeds you might say, all be it I sound weird and like a stalker that I've noticed people, but the flower is a very attractive woman.

I've seen her the odd couple of times in Marks, inbetween the sandwiches, pieces of cheese, tweed and the tartan trolley. Cutting through the throng of old people and the ignorant in order to purchase a sandwich... a very vision of beauty, but having never heard her speak, she may have a voice like a 30 st brickie... and formely been called Nigel, but she does sport a decent hair-doo.

But alas after all this fun and frivolity I have to go back, stopping in all the charity shops on the way, seeing what dvd has been underpriced by oxfam, more and more making my collection bulge at the seams, back past all the derelict things, litter and mess

It did look pretty once... when all the snow covered it...