I don't get the train often anymore, which is a shame as it can be a wealth of material for me.
On this particular day I was walking to my local train station, and saw a family of tracksuits approaching, having just come off the train from Glasgow.
There were two older people who I assumed were the parents of some if not all of them, and then maybe five children ranging from late teens down to about two years old.
The parents were walking ahead and I saw that one of the neds had been struggling getting the young child in the buggy over the bridge and down the stairs, across the railway line. He looked about fifteen. Dark blue tracksuit, little black woollen gloves, shaved head, and face showing a bad attitude. Standard.
He managed to get the buggy down the last few steps, and exasperatedly shouted after the rest of his family; "Haw, gonnae someone else take the wean noo?" The rest of the tribe looked back at him. Turned, and kept walking, heading up another set of stairs.
He shouted again, but louder. "Haw, yous, monty fuck, gonnae take this, man!?" He was bent over with his hands on his knees, out of breath. A few of them stopped again, including the older couple.
One of the younger kids shouted back at him; "Naw, you dae it, you're daein it the noo anyway."
"Naw, I'm no daeing this anymore," and with this he absolutely lost it, and exploded.
There was a metal sign, pointing the way to the station and he kicked at it with the sole of his foot flat against it, and bent it, screaming "I'm no daeing it, man," pointing back at the child who sat in the buggy watching him, "I'm no pushing that thing anymore, I'm getting sick of this."
The metal sign got another hard kick and he decided to really hurt it and start punching it as well. A couple of the younger family members started to walk back to him but were told not to.
He could see not one of the family would be coming to help him, and he then shouted the rather heart-warming line; "That's no' my wean," and walked off, leaving the child in its buggy about fifteen feet away from the edge of a railway platform. On it's own. Bewildered.
As I had been walking towards them, it had only just kicked off and just as I was about to walk past him, he had done this. I felt very uneasy walking past the abandoned child, and starting to walk up the stairs to go over the line, but there was no way that I was going to get involved with this ned going mental, though I kept a careful eye on it over my shoulder.
The shocking thing about this is that after he abandoned the child, not one of the others rushed back to get the child. They just stood there watching his tantrum.
When I got to the other side, he was halfway between the child and the family and showed no signs of going to get the child, who was still strapped into the buggy, watching him.
To this day I still can't believe he left that child there in the buggy and walked off. Maybe it was the sight of another set of stairs that had upset him.
Saturday, 16 April 2011
Monday, 19 October 2009
White Suit...Don't Mention It.....Don't.
A colleague told me this story the last week, after we discovered we used to drink in the same pub in Finnieston around the same time.
He had worked in an office around that area and they used to go the pub at lunchtime.
The pub was called Brooklyns, but it has been renamed now. The time was around 1990. He said they'd decided to go the pub to start their Christmas office night celebrations.
One of the team was a guy from Maryhill. He had on his white suit. Yes. His white suit.
As they stood at the bar, there was a voice from the other end of the bar which resonated quite easily around the small pub.
"Look at the poof in the white suit".
Oops.
Do you remember the scene in Trainspotting when Begbie puts down his pint before going mental? Keep that in mind here.
The chap from Maryhill set his pint down and made his way around the bar and with a swift movement, lifted a table by its legs and ran at this man and his two friends, with the table acting as shield.
He piled into the group of men sending them into the wall, their pints flying. He then rammed the table into them a few times for good effect before dropping it. But he wasn't finished there.
As they were still stunned he set about all three of these grown men with his fists and from the first hand account I heard of this "punched fuck out all three of them" until they were immobile on the carpet.
Nobody tried to stop him.
He had worked in an office around that area and they used to go the pub at lunchtime.
The pub was called Brooklyns, but it has been renamed now. The time was around 1990. He said they'd decided to go the pub to start their Christmas office night celebrations.
One of the team was a guy from Maryhill. He had on his white suit. Yes. His white suit.
As they stood at the bar, there was a voice from the other end of the bar which resonated quite easily around the small pub.
"Look at the poof in the white suit".
Oops.
Do you remember the scene in Trainspotting when Begbie puts down his pint before going mental? Keep that in mind here.
The chap from Maryhill set his pint down and made his way around the bar and with a swift movement, lifted a table by its legs and ran at this man and his two friends, with the table acting as shield.
He piled into the group of men sending them into the wall, their pints flying. He then rammed the table into them a few times for good effect before dropping it. But he wasn't finished there.
As they were still stunned he set about all three of these grown men with his fists and from the first hand account I heard of this "punched fuck out all three of them" until they were immobile on the carpet.
Nobody tried to stop him.
Saturday, 17 October 2009
Arrested, Released...Straight To Work
The man who I have talked about in the last two posts is something else.
He is a man that I work beside, is skint four days after payday, doesn't take drugs (that I know of), does take plenty of alcohol, boasts of 'happy times' (masturbating) before he gets to work, and generally turns most conversations to porn or sex.
He is also a man that is 'pals' with the law. Well, he's woken up in a jail cell a couple of times. At the time it was slightly ironic, as the colleague who took the most delight/umbrage in his predicament was a colleague, a very well-to-do lady-like lady. The bonus was that her husband was quite a high level police officer, and she took mock exception to this guy's claim that anytime he gets arrested he'll just ask for her husband.
His arrest a few months ago, basically for being very pissed, caused him to end up again on a thin mattress. When he woke up, he realised where he was and they soon let him out.
He still felt pissed and got the bus to work.
He described sitting on the bus, absolutely stinking, dirty, still drunk, feeling nauseous as the bus bumped through Clydebank and Partick into the city centre.
He felt the need to tell us this story after someone noticed that he had turned up to work - in the same clothes he had on the day before. He couldn't really explain why he never went home.
He is a man that I work beside, is skint four days after payday, doesn't take drugs (that I know of), does take plenty of alcohol, boasts of 'happy times' (masturbating) before he gets to work, and generally turns most conversations to porn or sex.
He is also a man that is 'pals' with the law. Well, he's woken up in a jail cell a couple of times. At the time it was slightly ironic, as the colleague who took the most delight/umbrage in his predicament was a colleague, a very well-to-do lady-like lady. The bonus was that her husband was quite a high level police officer, and she took mock exception to this guy's claim that anytime he gets arrested he'll just ask for her husband.
His arrest a few months ago, basically for being very pissed, caused him to end up again on a thin mattress. When he woke up, he realised where he was and they soon let him out.
He still felt pissed and got the bus to work.
He described sitting on the bus, absolutely stinking, dirty, still drunk, feeling nauseous as the bus bumped through Clydebank and Partick into the city centre.
He felt the need to tell us this story after someone noticed that he had turned up to work - in the same clothes he had on the day before. He couldn't really explain why he never went home.
Friday, 16 October 2009
Don't Put Baby In The Corner.
The same guy who nearly killed his granny knows no bounds of his behaviour.
He was lying in bed on a Sunday morning after a particularly good night. Again after many Stellas ands JDs.
Some of his family came round including his sister and her baby. He's very fond of the kid so he quite often watches the baby in his room. The baby was placed at the end of his bed in the little carryseat, safely in a corner.
In his wisdom, and his still drunken stupor he got a doll from another room and replaced the baby with the doll, went to the top of the stairs and dropped the whole lot down the stairs to where his mother was sitting.
He heard her scream as she leapt out of her seat at lightning speed, squealing about the baby.
With the baby safely in his arms he walked down the stairs to see his mother nearly having palpitations, pulling at the blankets around the bundle, and sprung his surprise on her.
Why did his sister not race to save her child?
Worry not, he had clearance from the baby's mother all along, so that makes it okay.
He was lying in bed on a Sunday morning after a particularly good night. Again after many Stellas ands JDs.
Some of his family came round including his sister and her baby. He's very fond of the kid so he quite often watches the baby in his room. The baby was placed at the end of his bed in the little carryseat, safely in a corner.
In his wisdom, and his still drunken stupor he got a doll from another room and replaced the baby with the doll, went to the top of the stairs and dropped the whole lot down the stairs to where his mother was sitting.
He heard her scream as she leapt out of her seat at lightning speed, squealing about the baby.
With the baby safely in his arms he walked down the stairs to see his mother nearly having palpitations, pulling at the blankets around the bundle, and sprung his surprise on her.
Why did his sister not race to save her child?
Worry not, he had clearance from the baby's mother all along, so that makes it okay.
Thursday, 15 October 2009
She Screamed, He Screamed.
This guy I know told me this story about himself. He was quite proud about it.
He'd come in from a night out at the pub. Very pissed. It was 4am and also after far too many Stellas and JDs.
Walking through the house he saw a figure sleeping on the sofa. In the dark it looked like his sister's friend and being in a playful mood he decided to scare the crap out of her.
So he grabbed her and shouted at her.
She screamed out, then he screamed. And then his Mum and Dad screamed when they ran downstairs and saw him standing over his Gran who had fallen asleep on the sofa.
True story.
He'd come in from a night out at the pub. Very pissed. It was 4am and also after far too many Stellas and JDs.
Walking through the house he saw a figure sleeping on the sofa. In the dark it looked like his sister's friend and being in a playful mood he decided to scare the crap out of her.
So he grabbed her and shouted at her.
She screamed out, then he screamed. And then his Mum and Dad screamed when they ran downstairs and saw him standing over his Gran who had fallen asleep on the sofa.
True story.
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Mr Bannerman
I heard a story years ago from the naked shower lady (That Woman Was In The Nip 30/8/07).
There was an incident in the office when the ladies toilet became a little 'jammed' one day.
Someone had gone in and been absolutely repulsed by the sight of a huge log in the bowl. It wasn’t one that someone had forgotten to flush away. It was lodged in there.
Naturally she didn’t try to flush it away or go to use another cubicle…she went back out to tell everyone which prompted a discussion as to whose it was. Some people actually went in to view the log and came out almost pissing themselves.
They narrowed down the list of culprits to a middle aged woman who would have been mortified if she knew they were discussing her huge shit. Apparently the log stayed there for some time. At some point during the day, someone overheard this middle aged woman having some trouble on the phone with a customer named Mr Bannerman, as they learned.
After short discussion, someone suggested that they name the shit “Mr Bannerman” and so it stayed as that and was literally talked about for years afterwards. That shit is now office folklore.
I often wonder who Mr Bannerman is and what he would think if he knew he had a huge turd named after him.
There was an incident in the office when the ladies toilet became a little 'jammed' one day.
Someone had gone in and been absolutely repulsed by the sight of a huge log in the bowl. It wasn’t one that someone had forgotten to flush away. It was lodged in there.
Naturally she didn’t try to flush it away or go to use another cubicle…she went back out to tell everyone which prompted a discussion as to whose it was. Some people actually went in to view the log and came out almost pissing themselves.
They narrowed down the list of culprits to a middle aged woman who would have been mortified if she knew they were discussing her huge shit. Apparently the log stayed there for some time. At some point during the day, someone overheard this middle aged woman having some trouble on the phone with a customer named Mr Bannerman, as they learned.
After short discussion, someone suggested that they name the shit “Mr Bannerman” and so it stayed as that and was literally talked about for years afterwards. That shit is now office folklore.
I often wonder who Mr Bannerman is and what he would think if he knew he had a huge turd named after him.
Tuesday, 6 October 2009
Glasgow's Dumbest Criminal
One time in the recent past, it was 1.30am on a Saturday morning. I was standing in front of the television, doing the ironing, a bit drunk and watching Scarface. As you do.
My wife came running downstairs and told me to cut the sound and put the lights down.
'What the hell are you talking about?' I enquired, swaying slightly as I turned, gripping the ironing board for support.
'There's a guy in street with a baseball bat and he's smashing car windows'. That perked my interest.
We bolted upstairs to view the scene covertly from a sliver of a gap in the curtains in the darkened bedroom. We were just in time to see him disappearing round the corner 100 yards away.
She described him to me. Tracksuit, cap..... and a baseball bat. None of that surprising.
She'd seen him walking past, stop at a neighbour's car and smack in the back window, move on then take the wing mirror off another car.
I went out the front door under cover of darkness and checked the headlights of my car on the driveway but they were intact. My car has been vandalised a few times over the years from having the wing mirrors battered off (using a For Sale sign out the garden opposite - which we witnessed) to the car being keyed. The second time the car was keyed, you could see where the scumbag even lifted off, then started a new scratch to get the last last side panel as well. I keep my car on my new driveway now. £2000 well spent.
We called the Police and to their credit they were there quite quickly. After a short talk they disappeared round the corner at the end of the street, and into the park area. About an hour later, there was a knock at the front door. The Police arrived to take statements from us.
An hour later. More Scarface. More wine. Very little ironing.
With the excitement and all, I'd kept on drinking, even cracking open a new bottle.
As the policeman and policewoman sat on our sofas taking statements, there was a slight comedy moment when I wobbled slightly and knocked the ironing board, causing the iron to fall.
Instinctively I grabbed for it, and thank Christ, I managed not to grab hold of the hot bit. It was 2.30 in the morning, and I'd had a couple of bottles of wine. The Policewoman on the sofa just looked at me.
What the Police told us next just made our night.
Very soon after we'd called them, they sent a car that was nearby into the area. An unmarked car.
At the end of our street, there is a large area of grass leading to three paths and when the police arrived they drove forward onto the grass to drive through one of the pedestrian tunnels to follow the likely route of the ned. But their car became bogged down in the soft grass.
The two policemen got out their car and began the job of rocking it and pushing it to get it moving again. Out of the darkness this guy came along the path and seeing their predicament, walked up and offered to help them push. It took a fraction of a second for them to note the tracksuit and baseball cap and slapped the cuffs straight onto him.
What a dick.
Of course he denied it. Denied it all. What evidence did they have? It could have been any other ned walking around at that time of night in a tracksuit.
Well, his baseball bat. Distinctive. Even at a distance, under the streetlights as he had swung it around his head, my wife had seen it had a striped design to it. But there was no trace of it. It was gone.
As I walked to the train the next morning, I saw a broken piece of wood lying behind a fence. Striped. It was the handle of the broken baseball bat with nice smooth blue and yellow tape carefully wrapped around it in a beautiful striped design. Smooth tape. Probably covered in fingerprints. It went to the Police later that day.
Apparently he was a bit squiffy from some drugs that night.
My wife came running downstairs and told me to cut the sound and put the lights down.
'What the hell are you talking about?' I enquired, swaying slightly as I turned, gripping the ironing board for support.
'There's a guy in street with a baseball bat and he's smashing car windows'. That perked my interest.
We bolted upstairs to view the scene covertly from a sliver of a gap in the curtains in the darkened bedroom. We were just in time to see him disappearing round the corner 100 yards away.
She described him to me. Tracksuit, cap..... and a baseball bat. None of that surprising.
She'd seen him walking past, stop at a neighbour's car and smack in the back window, move on then take the wing mirror off another car.
I went out the front door under cover of darkness and checked the headlights of my car on the driveway but they were intact. My car has been vandalised a few times over the years from having the wing mirrors battered off (using a For Sale sign out the garden opposite - which we witnessed) to the car being keyed. The second time the car was keyed, you could see where the scumbag even lifted off, then started a new scratch to get the last last side panel as well. I keep my car on my new driveway now. £2000 well spent.
We called the Police and to their credit they were there quite quickly. After a short talk they disappeared round the corner at the end of the street, and into the park area. About an hour later, there was a knock at the front door. The Police arrived to take statements from us.
An hour later. More Scarface. More wine. Very little ironing.
With the excitement and all, I'd kept on drinking, even cracking open a new bottle.
As the policeman and policewoman sat on our sofas taking statements, there was a slight comedy moment when I wobbled slightly and knocked the ironing board, causing the iron to fall.
Instinctively I grabbed for it, and thank Christ, I managed not to grab hold of the hot bit. It was 2.30 in the morning, and I'd had a couple of bottles of wine. The Policewoman on the sofa just looked at me.
What the Police told us next just made our night.
Very soon after we'd called them, they sent a car that was nearby into the area. An unmarked car.
At the end of our street, there is a large area of grass leading to three paths and when the police arrived they drove forward onto the grass to drive through one of the pedestrian tunnels to follow the likely route of the ned. But their car became bogged down in the soft grass.
The two policemen got out their car and began the job of rocking it and pushing it to get it moving again. Out of the darkness this guy came along the path and seeing their predicament, walked up and offered to help them push. It took a fraction of a second for them to note the tracksuit and baseball cap and slapped the cuffs straight onto him.
What a dick.
Of course he denied it. Denied it all. What evidence did they have? It could have been any other ned walking around at that time of night in a tracksuit.
Well, his baseball bat. Distinctive. Even at a distance, under the streetlights as he had swung it around his head, my wife had seen it had a striped design to it. But there was no trace of it. It was gone.
As I walked to the train the next morning, I saw a broken piece of wood lying behind a fence. Striped. It was the handle of the broken baseball bat with nice smooth blue and yellow tape carefully wrapped around it in a beautiful striped design. Smooth tape. Probably covered in fingerprints. It went to the Police later that day.
Apparently he was a bit squiffy from some drugs that night.
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