Friday, July 25, 2014

on helping my mate Sprios meet his ambition of having his f*****g head kicked in off of a London taxi driver

hello there

right, settle down. yes, i know you are all very excited and indeed very interested in the latest exploits of Spiros and my sheer delight at helping him, but we have a lot of ground to cover here. earlier on, i think yesterday, i posted something for the sake of it, and had forgotten that i had a stack of images from even earlier in the week that i intended to post here.

like, for instance, this one, which is some sort of intersection. actually, it's not some sort of intersection, it is an intersection. not quite so grand and bold as to say as itself it is the intersection, but it is one at the least. or it is a crossroads, i guess, if you are an American and wish to be all American about it.

yeah, i suppose it is all rather like that bit in The Blues Brothers, where The Good Ole Boys simply forget all of their other songs and just do the theme off of Rawhide. the patrons and the establishment manager were most forgiving and appreciative of that particular set of circumstances, to a point at the least, and so i trust you will be just the same.

why this intersection? because it was there, really. i had the phone in my hand for some reason and just decided to take a picture. probably just so i could post it on here no doubt.

but you are more interested in the idea of Spiros getting his f*****g head kicked in off of a taxi driver, aren't you? you know you are and i know you are, so let us get on with it,

i know that to those of you who do not know better this looks like some sort of pretend, play money, but it is legal tender, issued by a bank in Scotland. you should be able to use them without restriction or interference anywhere, as they are perfectly legal.

it does not, alas, always work like that in practice. people in and of England, look you see, have been raised to treat Scottish banknotes with contempt, disdain and suspicion, with most people and shops under the most strictest of instruction to refuse to accept them. the further south you go in England the higher the prejudice level against these notes becomes, with the zenith of this being inside one of them big black taxis they have in London; Hackney Carriages or whatever they are. getting in a London taxi and waving one of these at the driver is like getting in to the taxi and telling the driver something displeasing about the Royal family, or how he should be nice to black people, or that he should stop whining.

Spiros is this very excited about getting into a taxi in London and waving these notes at the driver, explaining that it is all he has and that it is perfectly legal tender. i understand that Spiros and i get a bit Beavis And Butt-Head about things at times, but trust me, this is going to rule. more on that later. or now, if you scroll down i suppose.

if i am ever asked to picture or remember a place from my past - as opposed to my future - there are lots that come to mind. however, this one is one i have vivid memories of, and as i can take a picture of it i suppose it will do.

i recall, at some point in my teens, walking along this embankment, or whatever you call it. it was late September or October, i think - maybe into November. the black of a darkening night, relatively early in the evening, was being fought rather valiantly against by a sort of reddish-orange sense in the sky, a colour accentuated somewhat by those old fashioned, bright orange street-lights that we had before it got all fashionable to put environmentally friendly white ones in. i had my walkman on - would have been Beastie Boys, Sputink or Frankie - and i can recall as i was walking that i would for some reason remember that walk for the rest of my life.

so far that has been the case, which is weird, as nothing of particular interest or consequence happened. i do not even know where or why i was walking, really. probably to see a mate, maybe just to go for a stroll.

anyway, here is some sort of shaving cream foam gel sort of stuff. i believe that they sell it at Morrisons.

for those of you who have instantly assumed, or jumped to the conclusion, that this has something to do with my Dad, well, how very judgemental you are and, indeed, how very correct you are.

i visit Morrisons on a regular basis and i, having a beard and that, do not shave. i think you can guess, then, that this is all to do with him wanting someone to send him some over.

alas, it isn't getting posted. whereas the security agencies of the world seem very happy that toothpaste is OK and poses no threat when posted, it is not quite the same with quasi-aerosol cans with gel in them. they are, it seems, likely to explode in their own right when shipped in the post, and as a consequence they are a nice and easy thing for one to disguise explosives and that in. so no, they won't get getting posted to him then. i am sure someone or other will visit and take as many cans of it as he wishes for; usually it will be a figure measured in pure decimal terms.

yes there is more of Spiros, but not at this very moment.

here is the Brunton Arms. i was reliably informed that some dogging happens here, but i have not seen it myself. i suspect i have not been there at the times that it does, but no one seems particularly keen to let me know exactly when it does.

there were two pubs in close proximity to each other this one, known as the Brunny, and the Southern Cross. basically, as you were growing up, if you were inclined to visit the Southern Cross it was an indicator of you enjoying the social aspect of alcohol. if you were, however, drawn to the Brunnies, it was more a sign that you basically just wanted to get totally hammered by any substance available, really. which one was i drawn to? well, the Brunnies was closer, but really i was more of a four cans of crucial brew in the park sort.

here is a street. yes, officer, i had stopped the car when i took this and all the other pictures. honest.

dear me, i am tired. feels like a long week, especially with it being in mind that the class new bus timetable unleashed on me means an earlier start and a later finish.

perhaps it is time i returned to a vehicle on a regular basis. not a car, we have one. my (considerably) better half enjoys driving around, i do not like driving. maybe i should give in to my wishes and dreams and get myself a class scooter, or a moped thing? yeah, that would be ace - i could Who it, have all the mirrors and that on. however, i would not be able to read on it as i went about. actually i probably could, but the constabulary and other motorists would probably go right ahead and get all Australian about it if i did. so perhaps it is best if i just stick to the bus.

the shops at The Avenue, or should i say the shop in the singular, for i am led to believe that only the chippie that is in the corner is still a going concern. very sad, it used to be thriving.

the wine lodge, or if you like offy, that was there were in fact very, very helpful in respect of providing cans of crucial brew, irrespective of any sort of correct correlation between the law and the age of the purchaser. which might, now that one thinks about it, be why they are closed. oh, whoops. anyway, never mind, that does not explain why all the other shops were closed down. the sort of Mr Patel out of 8 Ace in Viz mini-market there used to have some class video tapes to rent, and they too had a somewhat ambivalent approach to making sure there was a correct correlation between age of renter and age that was allowed to rent. hey ho, happy days.

i am led to believe that the area where these shops are is populated for the most part by footballers who are, to put it mildly, seldom short of money. as a consequence of their opulence, they probably despatch their people to buy items from more luxurious places, such as Marton and Ormesby, in order to give it that "imported" feel and show off how flash they are.

speaking of which, it has been all quiet from Duran Duran lately, bar the fact that they are engaged in some sort of class lawsuit against their fan club. i think the value of the lawsuit is twenty grand, so it must be a "but it's the principle" of it thing, as twenty grand is the sort of money i suspect that Simon Le Bon spends on [TEXT REMOVED ON LEGAL ADVICE] and John Taylor spends on [TEXT REMOVED ON LEGAL ADVICE] before either get out of bed.

anyway, they presumably decided not to sue whoever it was that made this beer that pays tribute to one of their better known albums.

i am sure it's a smart ale, that. all beers that have them metal caps on the top instead of a proper lid are always fancy and exotic and thus they must taste good.

i seem to have taken quite a few pictures of roads, here is another.

sorry, i am really tired. i dare say i had some dull and great story, but i have forgotten whatever it was.

anyway, you want more Spiros and you know you do.

i shall be forwarding these bank notes, very kindly provided to me by a good friend, to Spiros in the very near future. he is exceptionally excited about it all, and is looking forward to using them. or, at least i suppose, trying to use them.

why is it that Spiros wants to get his f*****g head kicked in off of a taxi driver? it's not for me to question or ask, really. he's a mate, and so i wish to support him in anything he wants to do. i am always delighted to help him reach all his dreams. i must confess starting a fight with a London taxi driver does not have much appeal for me, and does not sound like the sort of thing that is all that difficult to get involved in, but if he feels that he needs some extra help in starting a fight, i am very happy indeed to help out. with the greatest thanks, as mentioned to a very good friend who arranged for these notes for me.

i have to be honest and say that the idea of Spiros getting his f*****g head kicked in by a London taxi driver is, to me, exciting. it is the sort of thing i would very much like to watch, although i suspect that what will happen is that Spiros will give the cabbie a right good hiding. he is a bit tasty, is Spiros, and can handle himself.

Nunthorpe Shops, then. in healthier times, the kids could go here from school and by a bag of crisps and half a loaf of bread for lunch. i suspect they now make them eat broccoli and other such rubbish.

is the bakery that sold these items still a going concern? no idea, sorry. would be nice if it is, but not a shock if not.

i imagined that a few of my friends, of those that had reason to pause and reconsider me, might appreciate this image. it is entirely possible that Jonathan features amongst that number, and i make reference to him with very good reason, as it links in quite nicely with the next section. but i will write a bit more here so you forget that i said that and you don't notice how it all in a seamless way just sort of blends in and works very well indeed sort of. if you are still reading.

Jonathan recently mentioned Tizer, which is what reminded me that i had taken these pictures, look you see.

Tizer has an exciting name, and a very glamorous if not sophisticated image, but it was never something that i liked. i was always more of a Lilt or a Quattro man, really. mostly Quattro.

you can still get the Lilt, but Quattro seems to have vanished from the world. i have not seen it for sale anywhere, which is a shame, as i would have bought some. no, i did not buy any Tizer, and no now that i think i did not purchase any Lilt either. i might, i suppose, as and when i next go to the shops. which will probably be at some point within the next 48 hours, probably more than once too.

one thing that has always interested me in life is when people have had the audacity, the nerve if you like, to dare to assume and presume to be able to speak on behalf of others that they are not connected to. most commonly, of course, this relates to issues of race, since few are brave enough to speak of other religions and things like that. more often than not it involves someone imposing their own values and outlook, or what they think is their values, or what they want their values to be seen as, on other people. an exceptionally pious and self-indulgent thing to do. and often misplaced.

i, in my imagination, would go right ahead and assume that such pious types, usually white middle class sorts (of which i may be a member, i don't know, judge away if bored) who made a fuss and ensured that the golliwog was branded racist and banned from appearance and sale have in their innocence or ignorance no issue whatsoever in buying this and spreading it all over their turkey, chicken, duck or whatever they eat.

my apologies to friends around the world, in particular in South Africa, who know only too well what this word means and represents. it is, quite frankly, disgusting and a disgrace that such a name is allowed to be applied to a product and put on sale. i don't care about "ah, but history" and "ah, but it doesn't mean that in this sense". the same can be said of many other words and images that have been banned or struck from public use.

apologies for the rant if needed, no apologies for any "well, really" types who believe that they should free to impose their own values and beliefs about what is and is not offensive to others.

dear me, i am tired. anyway, there are still some pictures here, so let me press on.

here is a building at an unusual angle that some of you may well recognize.

even though of course i was perfectly legally parked and that when  i took the picture, it might have seemed like i was not, and there might have been some swerving going on. the kind of swerving that, for instance and to a degree hypothetically, upsets lorry drivers. so i decided to stop with the pictures at this point.

some of you have a most peculiar wish to see me from time to time, so here i am, in a picture that isn't a selfie for a change but was rather taken by my (considerably) better half.

yes, that's a standard Sunday afternoon lunch thing for me. salt and pepper bread rolls, a doughnut with raspberry "flavoured" things in it, and of course an Eccles cake. all gently washed down with some tea. lovely.

we normally have chicken or something later, in case you are worried about a balanced diet and all that sort of stuff. although this weekend we may well dine upon half a loaf of bread with crisps.

let us finish off, then, with an image of one of them Subway places.

i had a rather fine lunch at a Subway today, as it happens. really smart, it was. thanks.

part of me wishes to prepare the letter to Spiros now, forwarding the illicit money to him so that he can, as soon as possible, upset a London taxi driver and get into a fight with him. i suspect it will have to wait, however. if he only gets it later on next week then that will be fine, i am sure in the mean time he will be able to conjure up or work out a way of upsetting them without waving Scottish currency about. just being their, by all accounts, seems to be quite enough to upset them. which is odd, considering the reasonable and unassuming nature that London taxi drivers have such a reputation for.

right, bed i think.

more as and when something of interest happens, and with some luck Spiros will take pictures of it when he uses the Scottish currency so i can post it here.

no idea why you do, but many thanks for reading.

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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