Migrant Litter Louts

Thursday 1 March 2012 – As I get older, I find I’m becoming more annoyed by things that previously registered no emotion within me. (Perhaps, I’m destined to become a grumpy old git). Anyway, today I’m walking along the street minding my own, when in a shop doorway, stand three young Polish ladies; I assume they’re Polish as the shop says Polski Sklep, and the language they are speaking sounds, how I imagine Polish sounds.

The reason these ladies attract my attention is because they are smoking, or rather two are. As I approach the third one takes a cigarette out of its packet and casually tosses the empty packet onto the pavement; as she lights her cigarette, the two who are smoking finish theirs and drop the butts onto the ground, before grinding them into the pavement with their heels.

The ironic thing is, on the lamp post next to the shop is a sign warning of an £80 fine for people who drop cigarette butts.

Later today, I’m walking through the park and see two men who both look eastern European walking towards me. ‘Running Away’ by Maverick Sabre is playing, his faux Jamaican tones bouncing around inside head. One of the men is reading a loose leaf file, and as he walks he’s tearing out pages that he obviously has no interest in, and is letting them flutter to the ground behind him. I count seven pages of A4 paper, blowing along the path before he passes me, and as he does; another page is torn out and dropped at my feet.

Now I’m not adverse to migration, I’d be a hypocrite if I said I was, but I am incensed when people feel they can enter another country and act in such an appalling way.

Moving House and the Inattentive Mother

Wednesday 29 February 2012 – Today, I move house, hopefully this will be a short term domicile, until everything is sorted and we can head back to Italy. ‘Talk To Me’ by Sylvester, from his last and not commercially successful album, ‘Mutual Attraction’ plays as  we carry the first boxes through the front door.

The day is spent humping furniture, unloading vans, and generally getting frustrated with the whole experience of moving your life from one box to another.

I take a break and drive to the shop; prosecco will no doubt be required at some stage. I drive past the local primary school; it’s the end of the day and parents are collecting their offspring. I watch as a small boy breaks away from his mother; she’s too busy texting to notice. The boy runs straight out of the school gates towards the zebra crossing, and is only prevented from running out into the road by another mother waiting for the green man to flash. The inattentive mother looks up from her phone, scolds her son, and leaving him stood beside the road, she goes back to her texting.

In the evening as it’s Wednesday I join my friends at the Renegade Writer’s group, we discuss each other’s work, before I leave with a dozen fresh, free range eggs laid by Jan’s chickens. I drive home in anticipation of a chilled glass of prosecco, as Tanita Tikaram sings ‘Sighing Innocents’.

Toyah and the Invisible Car

Tuesday 28 February 2012 – First song of the day is, ‘Thunder in the Mountains’ (Take the Leap! version) by Toyah. I’ve been a fan ever since I first heard the Sheep Farming EP.

People who’ve read my diary ‘Kia Ora Mr Shakespeare’ about my time touring two Shakespeare plays in New Zealand know how important songs from Toyah were while I was there. (Kia Ora is due out on Kindle soon).

I walk down to the sandwich shop and purchase a bacon and egg sandwich, and as I walk back another Toyah track shuffles to the fore; this time, ‘Wife’ from the excellent imaginative, ‘Prostitute’ album.

Breakfast over, I drive into town. I’m just approaching a junction and so slow down, when out of nowhere five women cross in front of my car without even looking. I sound the horn as I stop, causing five pairs of eyes to peer from beneath their hijab, after tossing me a cursory glance, the five women continue to drift across the road.

I continue on my journey, and am turning a corner when a woman with a pushchair steps off the pavement and crosses in front of me again causing me to stop. I park in town and switch on the iPod, I’m going about my day when the screeching saxophone indicates another Toyah song is starting, this time it’s my all time favourite, ‘Neon Womb’.

Later as I’m reversing out of my parking bay, despite my being almost completely out another car drives straight past me, swerving to avoid me, and to boot he beeps his horn at me. I plug in my iPod and it obviously favours Toyah today, as I drive home ‘Insects’ from the live album Toyah, Toyah, Toyah plays.

Just as I pull into the road where I'm staying at the moment, a dog shoots out in front of me; the dog is closely followed by a teenager, resplendent in trackie bottoms and hoody. Neither man nor beast give me a glance as I apply the brakes, confirming my suspicions; that today I am driving an invisible car.

By the way I also had Toyah's song 'Angel and Me' playing when I got married.

The Doctor’s Digit

Monday 27 February 2012 – I had to take OH to the doctors today, as his cough is still getting on my nerves. So as he visits the doc in his new and shiny health centre, I pop the ear buds in, switch on the iPod and take a stroll. The first song to shuffle forward is a classic piece of Northern Soul, "’Gonna Fix You Good (Everytime You’re Bad)’ by the Alan Brown Set. I notice that the traffic is slowing down on the A50, so with a dancehall bounce in my step I investigate.

I discover the road is blocked by a broken down lorry, and six policemen are struggling to bring some order to the scene. Tina Turner now fills my head with her version of the Al Green classic, ‘Let’s Stay Together’, and I turn around and head back to the health centre.

When I get back, OH is waiting at the car, turns out he got a shock when he met the new doctor. He went in with a cough, but ended up over the couch with one the doctors digits inserted into his back passage. I ask, “Why? and he replies “I don’t know why.”

Now I’m no medical expert, but even I know that a cough is in the throat, maybe on the chest, so why does the doctor need to stick his finger in your ass, just to send you away with some antibiotics?

Overheard Gem

Friday 24 February 2012 – Today I overheard a cracking piece of conversation, it went like this:

Official: “Hello Joe, what are you doing here?”

Joe: “I’m making a new claim for Jobseekers.”

Official: “I thought you’d signed off.”

Joe: “I did.”

Official: “How long were you working for?”

Joe: “Just under two months.”

Official: “What happened?”

Joe: “I got the sack”

Official: “Why?”

Joe: “Boss found out I shagged his daughter.”

What a gem.

Love, Hate and the Tattooed Lady

Thursday 23 February 2012 – When you’re living in someone else's space, it’s difficult to function normally, I miss having my music playing, and also being able to do the things I normally do; mostly due to my life and possessions being split between Italy, Jumbo storage and the back of my van. So, just to get away from it all we go into town, there’s nothing we need there, but the need to escape is strong.

My OH keeps coughing; it’s been driving me mad for days, so I suggest we go to the local ‘walk-in’ clinic. We are sitting in the reception, waiting for OH to be called through, when the light is blocked by a huge man who has hobbled in; his bulk supported by a walking stick that looks unable to bear his weight. He’s wearing half mast shorts and red slippers, and his legs are covered in tribal tattoos, as are his arms and his face. I look across at him and spot his hands; on the fingers of his left hand is inked in capitals ‘LOVE’ and across his right is ‘HATE’.( I thought the popularity of these tattoos had died out in the seventies). His wife appears; a diminutive woman who’s also covered with tattoos, vines creep along her forearms, flowers bloom at her wrists and butterflies flit across her shoulders.

They are an odd looking couple, her inking is serene and tranquil and his is confrontational and malevolent.She looks like she’d not be out of place in a circus back in Victorian times, and he looks like he’d fit right in on a anti-political demonstration.

The Woman in Orange and the Pointless Offer

Wednesday 23 February 2012 – Today I find myself unravelling, threads of my existence having no purpose – or in a nutshell; and easier to say, I’m at a loose end. I have a quick walk around town, and come across a sign inside the window of an independent music shop; it’s an offer that’s really not an offer. the sign reads:

 Sale: cassettes unplayed - £1 each or three for £3.

Despite my not being fond of sitting in the cinema, we decide to go and see the film adaptation of Susan Hill’s ghostly masterpiece, The Woman in Black. Daniel Radcliffe is pleasing in the role of Arthur Kipps, but not outstanding. There’s plenty of moments designed to make the viewer jump in their seat, and although the story has been tinkered around with, it’s not a bad adaptation; despite the sentimental drivel tagged on at the end – possibly to please the American audiences.

In the evening I take a stroll around the churchyard of the impressive church opposite the pub where ‘The Renegade Writers’ meet. I turn a dimly lit corner and come face to face with a cheery looking woman, dressed in an orange fleece; her shape making her look like a walking tangerine. I’m a little startled, but not as much as she is to find me poking around among the graves in the dark.

Mrs Tangerine tells me a little history behind the building of the church, and with a promise to come in the daytime and check out its interior I leave her for the writers’ group.

The Housing Lottery

Tuesday 21 February 2012: So today we go to view the only property we feel suitable on the letting agents list. We drive over early and take a look at the area, it’s raining, road works just outside are making the traffic look like a demented snake and there’s the disembodied bark of dogs in the air.

To be fair, the area may not be aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but at least it’s convenient for local amenities. We wait for the landlord to arrive and when he does, he has other people with him. It soon becomes apparent that we’re all here to view the place. The front door opens and we’re met by carpets that have three inches of dirt around where they meet the skirting board. (the previous tenant mustn’t have had a very good vacuum cleaner – if any).

The kitchen has paper down to soak up an undisclosed puddle of water, the bathroom is as cold as Captain Scott’s moustache, and the purple bedroom with luminous butterflies assaults the retina.

It turns out that the agent does block viewings of properties, asks if the clients are interested, and then decides which one will get it. Despite being better odds than the lottery, we feel it’s an unfair situation to put people in.

We discover that the funky smell in the dining room is coming from a half pot of yogurt on the windowsill, (weeks past its ‘best by’ date), we take this as our cue to leave, just as the two lesbians in Harrington jackets decide to take a second look upstairs at the purple bedroom.

Fifteen minutes later the letting agent calls to ask if we’re interested, the reply is a resounding, no!

We spot a sign in a newly refurbished property a few streets away, a quick phone call later and we’ve found an ideal house for us.

Hindered List

Monday 20 February 2012: So we are definitely in an hiatus situation, because of an errant relative, we are now powerless to complete our move to the land of La Dolce Vita. We have been informed that it may now be another four months before the probate etc. is wound up, so far we’ve waited two and a half years for said errant cousin to state his intention; RE:the will, and now another four months are added to the wait; suffice to say we’re not holding our breath in anticipation it will be over by June 2012. So having sold the UK home we are now looking for somewhere to rent here, and what a nightmare it’s proving to be.

We register with a letting agency, pay £77 for credit checks and we’re given a list of properties available: Well just three actually and a note telling us two more are coming available soon. One property has three bedrooms, and another four; we rule these out thinking it unfair to go for these, as there must be families in need of larger ones. We are left with two, two bedroom properties, one available and one coming soon.

We know the coming soon property so call the agent to say we’d like that one. The response we get isn’t good. “You’ll be offered that one when it comes vacant,” we’re told. “But we’ll take it,” we say. “We’ll offer it when it’s available.” We end the call bemused, why is the agent reticent to put us down for it, surely if we want to take it they’ll be happy is tenanted?

So we look at the list again and decide to view the last remaining one available. Another call is made to the agent, and we register our interest. The iPod shuffles and Ace of Bass start playing, ‘All That She Wants (is another baby)’ maybe if we had one of those getting a place to live would be easier?

So What Prompted Me?

09 February 2012 – It’s been a while since I updated my blog, and quite a lot has happened, much of which has prevented me from writing. Sadly both of my dogs passed away and to top it off a friendship came to an end. Christmas arrived and departed, with us being homeless, as we sold the UK house. Our Italian home was broken into and most of the things we had over there were stolen, so all in all it’s been a bit of a low point in my life.

But, life goes on and as soon as we get back over to Italy we shall be restoring the house and land in earnest, and hopefully start to enjoy our new life in the sun.

So what prompted me to get back to my blog?

I’ll tell you. – Spelling mistakes.

The first of these was on a board advertising a house for rent, apparently the master bedroom came complete with an ‘On’ suite bathroom.

Just a matter of minutes later I am driving passed a bed showroom, and in the window is a handwritten sign proclaiming discounts on all bedroom furniture; including ‘head-boreds.’

The final one was a sign inside the window of a Polish convenience store, so the writer could be forgiven, with English not being their native language. However it amused me as the sign asked for engine parts in any condition required, also wanted are ‘geraboxes.’

So as Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds play ‘Supernaturally’ I’ll upload my first blog entry for 2012 and also leave you with a snowy shot from a few days ago.