Albert woke up in a cold sweat, his throat was dry so he reached for one of the special brew cans that littered his floor and poured the last few drops into his mouth. Albert had been plagued by the same recurring dream for the last five days…..The Irish tramp was back and Albert didn’t like it one bit.
Alberts dream would always involve him being pursued by this Irish tramp through empty streets whilst heckling Albert over and over again with the catchphrase:
‘Your not a real tramp Davey, you don’t know the meaning of tramping, you live in a flat for Gods sake!’
The dream would end with Albert cowering in the corner of a dark alley with the Irish tramp and all Alberts associates standing over him. The Irish tramp would then say they’re laughing at you Davey. And then he would laugh that evil laugh of his in his mocking Irish accent.
Early bird catches the victim. Albert rose in the small hours, wiped the shit from his face using the back of his black hand, he then wiped the shit from the back of his black hand onto the back of his black jeans Later he would wipe the shit from his black jeans onto the palm of his black hand and rub wheelchair guys black face when he greeted him.
Out on the grind again, he walked along the grey streets that knew him only too well, lost in his own thoughts he did not notice the Irish tramp until he seemed to literally appear out of nowhere. The old Irish tramp was mincing around in what looked like a brand new tweed jacket. Albert was a fan of tweed and other swanky looking clothes that you could find in Oxfam. Not wanting to appear phased or even a little interested Albert held his head up pretending to take a swig of the empty special brew can in his hand and tried to do his bad man bop around the Irish tramp without acknowledging him.
“Daviiiee, what’s the crack with ya?” Albert wasn’t familiar with this lingo and frankly didn’t want to talk so he kept it moving.
The old Irish tramp ran around Albert and stood square in front of him, stabbing his walking stick firmly on the ground. This aggressive action was enough for to make Alberts kill or be killed instincts kick in. Albert was a quick learner and an accomplished street fighter a previous encounter with the Irish tramp had proved that his rusty fingernail strike was ineffectual against this formidable opponent. Albert buried his hands into the pockets of his swanky duffle coat and pulled out two baked bean cans which he swung at the Irish tramps head in a clapping motion, intending to crush his skull. Although Albert had used his super tramp speed his technique was made to look clumsy and slow as the Irish tramp leaned backwards matrix stylee, cackling, in a mocking fashion.
Albert was again left stunned, with a number of serious doubts about his abilities and self proclaimed title of top tramp in the bits. How could this Tramp evade one of Albert’s finishing moves so easily, just as he had evaded the rusty nail swipe in their previous encounter? Was this Irish tramp another super tramp? Was he better than Albert?
Albert was scared again. ‘ ‘Davey If I wanted you dead you’d be dead already, so stop tryin to kill me. A haha hahahahahahahha!
Albert replied. Who are you? What do you want?
The Irish tramp was gone.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Tramp Chronicles: His house
If this was Five O or some other do gooder working for a social service Albert sensed that this could mean trouble. With big Trev an Albert’s girl lying cracked out on the sofa and wheelchair guy lying unconscious on the floor suffering from another head wound, this wasn’t a good look. Albert armed himself with a tin of baked beans and put his entire crack stash in wheel chair guys pockets whilst he lay on the floor. The door knocked again and Albert thought that the best thing to do would be to remain silent and wait till they went away. However the door was unlocked as usual and Albert didn’t count on a back draft caused by a rush of air entering the block to push open the door.
The two old Jehovah’s witnesses that had knocked the door were amazed that the door just suddenly seemed to open. This temporary state of wonder turned to dread and a firm belief that there was a devil as they entered the doorway of a place that they would call hell on earth for the rest of their days.
Immediately they were confronted with a tall dark figure who was staring intently at them whilst holding a can of beans in what appeared to be a menacing fashion. This startled them. The horror set in when they observed their surroundings and looked down to see that that this dark figure was standing over the body of a cripple.
Although neither of the Jehovah’s witnesses could get a decent look there appeared to be some blood oozing from the dirty matted hair of the cripple whose wheel chair was indiscriminately tossed to one side. They also saw what appeared to be two lifeless bodies strewn out on the sofa behind the scary man with the beans. With this stunning visual presentation of evidence coupled with a smell that both Jehovah’s witnesses could only compare to rotting flesh, a number of hasty conclusions were made within about five seconds of the door opening.
Firstly although both were devout practitioners of their faith like most men they had their doubts, however it was now clear that there really was a devil. The devil was in fact standing right in front of them having just murdered three people with what appeared to be a can of baked beans. Just as they had always suspected the devil was a highly aggressive black man who claimed benefits and lived on a council estate. After all everyone knows that Jesus was a blond haired blue eyed white man with a pleasant disposition. The man with the beans was almost the exact opposite of this most commonly accepted depiction, the anti Christ as far as they were concerned. The stench of rotting flesh and utter gloom that was emanating from the flat also confirmed that hell did exist and that it stank.
These poor souls had been tortured by this most foul smelling demon and even with their new found faith in things that they had previously considered improbable the Jehovah’s witnesses sensed that they were no match for the man with the beans.
Albert’s super human tramp capabilities smelt the piss that was now beginning to run down one of the Jehovah’s witnesses inside leg. He looked at their bibles and chuckled whilst saying that god doesn’t live here. The last joint conclusions that the Jehovah’s witnesses formed without any discussion was GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE and they speedily vacated Albert’s flat screaming until they were all screamed out.
To the rest of Albert’s neighbours on Fracas close this was nothing out of the ordinary as screams were often heard coming from Albert’s place.
The two old Jehovah’s witnesses that had knocked the door were amazed that the door just suddenly seemed to open. This temporary state of wonder turned to dread and a firm belief that there was a devil as they entered the doorway of a place that they would call hell on earth for the rest of their days.
Immediately they were confronted with a tall dark figure who was staring intently at them whilst holding a can of beans in what appeared to be a menacing fashion. This startled them. The horror set in when they observed their surroundings and looked down to see that that this dark figure was standing over the body of a cripple.
Although neither of the Jehovah’s witnesses could get a decent look there appeared to be some blood oozing from the dirty matted hair of the cripple whose wheel chair was indiscriminately tossed to one side. They also saw what appeared to be two lifeless bodies strewn out on the sofa behind the scary man with the beans. With this stunning visual presentation of evidence coupled with a smell that both Jehovah’s witnesses could only compare to rotting flesh, a number of hasty conclusions were made within about five seconds of the door opening.
Firstly although both were devout practitioners of their faith like most men they had their doubts, however it was now clear that there really was a devil. The devil was in fact standing right in front of them having just murdered three people with what appeared to be a can of baked beans. Just as they had always suspected the devil was a highly aggressive black man who claimed benefits and lived on a council estate. After all everyone knows that Jesus was a blond haired blue eyed white man with a pleasant disposition. The man with the beans was almost the exact opposite of this most commonly accepted depiction, the anti Christ as far as they were concerned. The stench of rotting flesh and utter gloom that was emanating from the flat also confirmed that hell did exist and that it stank.
These poor souls had been tortured by this most foul smelling demon and even with their new found faith in things that they had previously considered improbable the Jehovah’s witnesses sensed that they were no match for the man with the beans.
Albert’s super human tramp capabilities smelt the piss that was now beginning to run down one of the Jehovah’s witnesses inside leg. He looked at their bibles and chuckled whilst saying that god doesn’t live here. The last joint conclusions that the Jehovah’s witnesses formed without any discussion was GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE and they speedily vacated Albert’s flat screaming until they were all screamed out.
To the rest of Albert’s neighbours on Fracas close this was nothing out of the ordinary as screams were often heard coming from Albert’s place.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Tramp Chronicles: Insufficient Funds
Wheel chair guy rolled onto the close, making that weird noise with his lungs, he negotiated the small step into the block using a nifty pivotal manoeuvre with his one good leg and his amazing balance which he had developed as top school gymnast back in the day. It had taken a while to master this move, after countless occasions of getting stuck in between the doors on the bus, and bussin his face on the curb but it was worth it.
As he got into the block, he called Albert’s name in the usual fashion, “Alberrrrrt”, his voice didn’t hold a great deal of impact, due to his breathing issues but Albert’s super human tramp capabilities were heightened at the prospect of wheel chair guys earnings. Albert sauntered down the stale stairwell and looked at wheel chair guy with an eerie smirk on his boat. This sent a shiver down Leemo’s crooked spine and his breathing became even more irregular, he knew that smirk only too well.
Albert grabbed wheel chair guy by his one good arm, and with his other hand took hold of his chair, he marched up the stairs, dragging his disabled associate behind him.
By the time they reached the doorway Leemo’s breathing had become erratic and he was having some sort of mini fit as Albert dashed him on to a chair which was placed precariously in the middle of the front room.
Trev and Albert’s girl were cracked out on the sofa at the back of the room, and Albert walked through his beaded curtains, to the kitchen where he was cooking up some beans. Leemo thought to himself, from the smell of it, that they must be some doodoo beans, knowing Albert however, the smell wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t surprising but it did add to the multitude of other anti-fragrances, it created what can only be described as an oppressive stench.
He came out of the kitchen, with what looked to Leemo like a bowl of excrement in his hand and stood over him, clearly disregarding any sense of personal space that wheel chair guy had left.
“What you got for me?”, Albert asked in a very menacing tone of voice, at this point wheel chair guy sunk even further into himself, looking behind him at the two cracked out entities, clearly unable to help him and then looking at the floor, searching in vain for some sort of escape.
He knew what he was sent out on the street for and he knew that he had come back too many times with insufficient funds according to Albert’s high tramping standards. Today he had nothing.
“I said WHAT you got for me?”, Albert repeated himself while spooning the ‘doodoo’ beans into his mouth, some of them were spilling out the side of his face and dripping on to wheel chair guy’s useless leg. Albert put his hands in wheel chair guy’s pockets; he searched his every orifice and found nothing but a lighter and some red Rizla. At this, he breathalysed wheel chair guy’s face which unsurprisingly knocked him out cold, he then picked him up by his collar and threw him onto the ground mumbling something to do with sitting in a big mans chair and being worthy.
The door knocked, strange because no one ever knocked.
As he got into the block, he called Albert’s name in the usual fashion, “Alberrrrrt”, his voice didn’t hold a great deal of impact, due to his breathing issues but Albert’s super human tramp capabilities were heightened at the prospect of wheel chair guys earnings. Albert sauntered down the stale stairwell and looked at wheel chair guy with an eerie smirk on his boat. This sent a shiver down Leemo’s crooked spine and his breathing became even more irregular, he knew that smirk only too well.
Albert grabbed wheel chair guy by his one good arm, and with his other hand took hold of his chair, he marched up the stairs, dragging his disabled associate behind him.
By the time they reached the doorway Leemo’s breathing had become erratic and he was having some sort of mini fit as Albert dashed him on to a chair which was placed precariously in the middle of the front room.
Trev and Albert’s girl were cracked out on the sofa at the back of the room, and Albert walked through his beaded curtains, to the kitchen where he was cooking up some beans. Leemo thought to himself, from the smell of it, that they must be some doodoo beans, knowing Albert however, the smell wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t surprising but it did add to the multitude of other anti-fragrances, it created what can only be described as an oppressive stench.
He came out of the kitchen, with what looked to Leemo like a bowl of excrement in his hand and stood over him, clearly disregarding any sense of personal space that wheel chair guy had left.
“What you got for me?”, Albert asked in a very menacing tone of voice, at this point wheel chair guy sunk even further into himself, looking behind him at the two cracked out entities, clearly unable to help him and then looking at the floor, searching in vain for some sort of escape.
He knew what he was sent out on the street for and he knew that he had come back too many times with insufficient funds according to Albert’s high tramping standards. Today he had nothing.
“I said WHAT you got for me?”, Albert repeated himself while spooning the ‘doodoo’ beans into his mouth, some of them were spilling out the side of his face and dripping on to wheel chair guy’s useless leg. Albert put his hands in wheel chair guy’s pockets; he searched his every orifice and found nothing but a lighter and some red Rizla. At this, he breathalysed wheel chair guy’s face which unsurprisingly knocked him out cold, he then picked him up by his collar and threw him onto the ground mumbling something to do with sitting in a big mans chair and being worthy.
The door knocked, strange because no one ever knocked.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Tramp Chronicles: Ponderance
Albert needed to get shit in perspective so he stopped off at a nearby crack house. As he exhaled from a draw of his pipe he looked at all of the curled up bodies with cracked out faces lying on the vomit stained carpet. It occurred to him that the Irish tramp could be a weird manifestation of a guilt ridden lifestyle brought to life by consuming copious amounts of crack. He dismissed this thought however, for two reasons.
Firstly the fact that he was able to rationalise these thoughts in his head (whilst smoking crack) told him that he was still in control. Crack had never affected Albert like a normal person, consequently Albert was able to smoke crack like most people smoked weed. He used it to chill out and reflect upon the days events. No doubt this was due to his superhuman tramp capabilities. Some would say that crack robbed a person of their soul, but Albert lost his a long time ago.
Secondly guilt was a term that Albert had to look up in the dictionary from time to time in order to get a grasp on exactly what this emotion was meant to be. Albert was remorseless and therefore never regretted his actions unless they had unfavourable consequences for him.
It was a surprisingly cold day but there was a hint of optimism in the air inspired by the persistence of sunshine. It was just the sort of day that Albert loved not for the obvious reasons but for the fact that it should be a good days tramping. Wheel chair guy was one of Albert’s top earners and should do well on a day like this. Wheel chair guy was that tramp that you couldn’t help but look at (If you did try and ignore him there was a high probability that his wheelchair would fuck you over somehow) and looking pitiful was his ‘thing’.
It was breakfast time so Albert went to the Corner shop and bought two cans of special brew (one for lunch) and returned home. When he arrived Trevor was outside with Albert’s girlfriend both of them screaming ‘Alberrrrrt’ a great deal louder than necessary.
Albert gripped his girl’s entire arse in one hand (one of the many benefits of beating a skinny crack fiend) whilst looking directly at Trev. Albert then poured some of his special brew onto the girl’s forehead and proceeded to lick it off her face. Although Albert was a grimy guy, this behaviour was done purely to make Trev jealous as he knew that Trev had always liked this girl. In fact that was Albert’s sole motivation for turning her into a crack head and making her his bitch.
The three of them went into the block, climbed the pissy stairwell and entered Albert’s flat. The door was open as per usual, no one would dare thief from him, not only because he was top tramp in the bits, but the smell seeping out into the hallway was rancid.
Albert awaited wheel chair guy’s arrival.
Firstly the fact that he was able to rationalise these thoughts in his head (whilst smoking crack) told him that he was still in control. Crack had never affected Albert like a normal person, consequently Albert was able to smoke crack like most people smoked weed. He used it to chill out and reflect upon the days events. No doubt this was due to his superhuman tramp capabilities. Some would say that crack robbed a person of their soul, but Albert lost his a long time ago.
Secondly guilt was a term that Albert had to look up in the dictionary from time to time in order to get a grasp on exactly what this emotion was meant to be. Albert was remorseless and therefore never regretted his actions unless they had unfavourable consequences for him.
It was a surprisingly cold day but there was a hint of optimism in the air inspired by the persistence of sunshine. It was just the sort of day that Albert loved not for the obvious reasons but for the fact that it should be a good days tramping. Wheel chair guy was one of Albert’s top earners and should do well on a day like this. Wheel chair guy was that tramp that you couldn’t help but look at (If you did try and ignore him there was a high probability that his wheelchair would fuck you over somehow) and looking pitiful was his ‘thing’.
It was breakfast time so Albert went to the Corner shop and bought two cans of special brew (one for lunch) and returned home. When he arrived Trevor was outside with Albert’s girlfriend both of them screaming ‘Alberrrrrt’ a great deal louder than necessary.
Albert gripped his girl’s entire arse in one hand (one of the many benefits of beating a skinny crack fiend) whilst looking directly at Trev. Albert then poured some of his special brew onto the girl’s forehead and proceeded to lick it off her face. Although Albert was a grimy guy, this behaviour was done purely to make Trev jealous as he knew that Trev had always liked this girl. In fact that was Albert’s sole motivation for turning her into a crack head and making her his bitch.
The three of them went into the block, climbed the pissy stairwell and entered Albert’s flat. The door was open as per usual, no one would dare thief from him, not only because he was top tramp in the bits, but the smell seeping out into the hallway was rancid.
Albert awaited wheel chair guy’s arrival.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Tramp Chronicles: Irish Tramp, what on earth?
Who was this old Irish tramp? Why did he keep calling Albert, Davie? Better still why did Albert have it? The last question was the most perplexing to Albert, although he didn’t like to blow his own trumpet he was a grime Lord and no one fucked with him and got away with it. Although this might seem like a minor annoyance to a normal person Albert had abducted people’s kids for less, he had a rep and this would simply not do.
As he sat down on the bench thinking about what had just happened he felt the urge to punch wheelchair guy in the face, he fulfilled this urge and knocked out another one of his front teeth. Wheel chair guy spat the blood out of his mouth, thankful that he had managed to stay in his chair this time, because trying to crawl back into your wheel chair with one arm and limited legs is a bitch. Albert seemed to be having another one of his turns so wheel chair guy and mad Scottish tramp fucked off.
Albert didn’t remember much of his meeting with that Irish tramp, but he felt different his superhuman tramp capabilities seemed to be enhanced. Also there was a yearning for something, something he could not quite put his special brew smelling finger on. He needed some answers so he set off to find this Irish tramp. Albert didn’t think that this would be a problem as this was his manor and he could find anyone that was out on road. At this time of the morning the streets were his, it was nice and quiet, the perfect conditions for disposing of an unsuspecting old tramp.
Baffled again. Albert try as he might could not locate this old tramp. He was just beginning to doubt himself when he heard that mocking old voice with an Irish accent saying ‘Davie’ directly behind him. Even Albert was in awe at the stench of this guy’s breath and for the first time in the longest while Albert experienced a shiver down his spine. No one crept up on Albert. But here was this old Irish Tramp standing down wind from him stinking of piss and smiling a toothless smile. Albert reacted from fear for the first time in his life and tried to bore the Irish tramp in his neck with his rusty fingernails. The tramp seemed to disappear but from nowhere he was behind him again. This time he was laughing Ah Ha HA Ha Ha Ha………. ‘You’ve got potential Davie there’s a war comin an you’ve got works to do!’ The Irish guy was gone and Albert looked at his can of special brew for answers; war? Potential? Works? Albert had never completed a days ‘work’ in his life.. The only thing that he knew for certain was that getting rid of this old Irish bastard would be a lot harder than anticipated.
As he sat down on the bench thinking about what had just happened he felt the urge to punch wheelchair guy in the face, he fulfilled this urge and knocked out another one of his front teeth. Wheel chair guy spat the blood out of his mouth, thankful that he had managed to stay in his chair this time, because trying to crawl back into your wheel chair with one arm and limited legs is a bitch. Albert seemed to be having another one of his turns so wheel chair guy and mad Scottish tramp fucked off.
Albert didn’t remember much of his meeting with that Irish tramp, but he felt different his superhuman tramp capabilities seemed to be enhanced. Also there was a yearning for something, something he could not quite put his special brew smelling finger on. He needed some answers so he set off to find this Irish tramp. Albert didn’t think that this would be a problem as this was his manor and he could find anyone that was out on road. At this time of the morning the streets were his, it was nice and quiet, the perfect conditions for disposing of an unsuspecting old tramp.
Baffled again. Albert try as he might could not locate this old tramp. He was just beginning to doubt himself when he heard that mocking old voice with an Irish accent saying ‘Davie’ directly behind him. Even Albert was in awe at the stench of this guy’s breath and for the first time in the longest while Albert experienced a shiver down his spine. No one crept up on Albert. But here was this old Irish Tramp standing down wind from him stinking of piss and smiling a toothless smile. Albert reacted from fear for the first time in his life and tried to bore the Irish tramp in his neck with his rusty fingernails. The tramp seemed to disappear but from nowhere he was behind him again. This time he was laughing Ah Ha HA Ha Ha Ha………. ‘You’ve got potential Davie there’s a war comin an you’ve got works to do!’ The Irish guy was gone and Albert looked at his can of special brew for answers; war? Potential? Works? Albert had never completed a days ‘work’ in his life.. The only thing that he knew for certain was that getting rid of this old Irish bastard would be a lot harder than anticipated.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tramp Chronicles: The Plan, (the beginning)
At this point, Leemo, a man known to most as wheel chair guy wheeled onto the close, even if you couldn’t see him there was no way you could not hear this intermittent panting when he rolled by. This was a very irregular breathing pattern if you ask me but I’m not a doctor, still.
He had the use of one arm and one leg, apparently he suffered a ‘fall’ one day, yet anytime he started talking about this to somebody, he got the ‘hard stare’ off Albert which seemed to stop him mid breath. Truthfully that ‘hard stare’ would stop anyone in their tracks regardless of the subject matter.
Leemo winged it round to the side of the bench and positioned himself next to Albert, he proceeded to reach into the side of his chair with his one good hand and take out some drug paraphernalia; rizla, tobacco and the like. He was old school, so he was still on the small red rizlas and seeing as he only had the use of the one arm, he had developed what some might describe as an invaluable skill. He single handedly constructed a three paper zoot, it wasn’t loose, it wasn’t tight, it was just right, a smokers delight really.
There they sat, on the close, 2 on the bench, one in a chair, drinking and drugging, frightening passers by with their presence alone.
Every now and again mad Scottish tramp would swear under his breath, at nothing in particular, perhaps life on the road was getting him down.
Albert often just nodded his head in agreement but never said much, he would observe everything around him but not in a paranoid way. Albert’s demeanour was over powering and projected the unpredictability of your scarier than average mad man about town. The hours rolled by as the bench began to deform into the angular shapes of their tramp arses. The old Irish geeze from outside the bank came strolling onto the close with a ‘Dick van Dyke come Billy the Kid’ swagger. “Daaaaavie”, he crooned as he looked all three in the eye, “I’ve got an offer for ya, an offer you can’t refuse”
At this point, he was staring at Albert; Albert returned the stare with a blank yet omniscient look on his face. This lasted for a period of time unknown, but it was long enough to remember it was significantly longer than a normal ‘stare down’. The Irish geeze then tipped his hat and spun on his heel, he walked as though he was leaving the close, and without looking back he gestured with his hand for Albert to follow him.
Without saying a word, Albert slowly got up, nodded at his two companions, I imagine that the nod meant ‘stay’ because they didn’t get up to follow him. He had gone after the Irish geeze, marching out of the close, he made a left and the old man tapped on his shoulder.
“Listen Davie, you strong arm having fella you, listen close”. He leaned in, speaking for hours detailing some plan or other to Albert, who just nodded, the man spoke in an animated fashion, taking off his hat drawing figures in the air with it, spinning it around and putting it back on his head. Until finally, Albert gave the big man nod and walked away, this is when he started the bop, the mad man bop, the ‘I might punch you up or I might give you some stolen flowers’ bop. Albert was unpredictable, flagrant, definitive and more alive than ever.
He had the use of one arm and one leg, apparently he suffered a ‘fall’ one day, yet anytime he started talking about this to somebody, he got the ‘hard stare’ off Albert which seemed to stop him mid breath. Truthfully that ‘hard stare’ would stop anyone in their tracks regardless of the subject matter.
Leemo winged it round to the side of the bench and positioned himself next to Albert, he proceeded to reach into the side of his chair with his one good hand and take out some drug paraphernalia; rizla, tobacco and the like. He was old school, so he was still on the small red rizlas and seeing as he only had the use of the one arm, he had developed what some might describe as an invaluable skill. He single handedly constructed a three paper zoot, it wasn’t loose, it wasn’t tight, it was just right, a smokers delight really.
There they sat, on the close, 2 on the bench, one in a chair, drinking and drugging, frightening passers by with their presence alone.
Every now and again mad Scottish tramp would swear under his breath, at nothing in particular, perhaps life on the road was getting him down.
Albert often just nodded his head in agreement but never said much, he would observe everything around him but not in a paranoid way. Albert’s demeanour was over powering and projected the unpredictability of your scarier than average mad man about town. The hours rolled by as the bench began to deform into the angular shapes of their tramp arses. The old Irish geeze from outside the bank came strolling onto the close with a ‘Dick van Dyke come Billy the Kid’ swagger. “Daaaaavie”, he crooned as he looked all three in the eye, “I’ve got an offer for ya, an offer you can’t refuse”
At this point, he was staring at Albert; Albert returned the stare with a blank yet omniscient look on his face. This lasted for a period of time unknown, but it was long enough to remember it was significantly longer than a normal ‘stare down’. The Irish geeze then tipped his hat and spun on his heel, he walked as though he was leaving the close, and without looking back he gestured with his hand for Albert to follow him.
Without saying a word, Albert slowly got up, nodded at his two companions, I imagine that the nod meant ‘stay’ because they didn’t get up to follow him. He had gone after the Irish geeze, marching out of the close, he made a left and the old man tapped on his shoulder.
“Listen Davie, you strong arm having fella you, listen close”. He leaned in, speaking for hours detailing some plan or other to Albert, who just nodded, the man spoke in an animated fashion, taking off his hat drawing figures in the air with it, spinning it around and putting it back on his head. Until finally, Albert gave the big man nod and walked away, this is when he started the bop, the mad man bop, the ‘I might punch you up or I might give you some stolen flowers’ bop. Albert was unpredictable, flagrant, definitive and more alive than ever.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Tramp Chronicles: The Change
The change in Albert occurred over a period of time, I couldn’t put it in an exact time frame, but it is clear that these changes came about through a series of events. Albert was a character, but until now it was never clear what sort of character he was except that he was a character you didn’t want to get to know.
One of Albert’s favourite pastimes was begging on the high street, although he had clothes, food and shelter he liked to fit in with the other local tramps. On a day like any other, Albert was sitting on the pavement on the steps of Barclays bank, looking trampy and not smelling very wholesome, one might say he smelt less than halfsome. He was collecting his booty in a medium sized juice cup from a local fast food outlet, when a very old, somewhat crooked man walked past and dropped a tin of beans in Albert’s lap. This instantly infuriated him and he dashed the tin in the back of the old mans knees as hard and as fast as his superhuman tramp capabilities would allow him. The old man fell to the ground, but instead of him falling straight to the ground and flat on his face, he fell forward, his knees hit the ground, but then he rose back up in an almost elegant fashion. It was as though his bandy legs were made of rubber. He spun around on his heel and looked Albert dead in the eye: “Daaviiie”, he said in a strong northern Irish accent, “you’ve got a strong arm on ya, and a strong arm is what I needs”…Albert stared into the man’s face, with great intensity, half contempt, half intrigue. The man gave a wry smile and disappeared round the corner.
Albert got up and walked back to his abode, at this point in time it is impossible to say exactly what was going through his mind; was he thinking about how the old man was uninjured when Albert had clearly utilised his superhuman tramp capabilities on him? Was he wondering why this old bastard called him Davie? Or was he thinking about the beans and how he could have used them for his tea? It’s impossible to say, such is the mystery that is Albert’s mind.
On return from a hard days tramping, Albert met up with some associates of his, one a white man, middle aged, large frame, and a tough guy image if you would. Trevor Willis, the mad Scottish tramp, was yet another unsavoury character who had some form of unspecified dealings with Albert. Trevor was known for his aggressive attitude and violent outbursts, although family members may describe him as being a ‘BFG’ this is rather unlikely as the sort of personality disorder Trevor suffers from or in fact inflicts upon others is more inherent than an acquired ailment he uses to camouflage his soft nature on the mean streets of south London. Noted in the minds of many as a particularly dangerous tramp, Trevor rolled up and down the high street like he was always on a mission, some tramp mission but a mission none the less. He strolled onto the close with a can of tenants in his hand, giving Albert the “big man nod”, Albert responded with the same action and the proceeded to sit on the bench, the only bench on Fracas Close. If this bench was not inanimate and in fact had the power of speech, it would tell us the trials and tribulations of every bottom that graced its wooden splinters.
One of Albert’s favourite pastimes was begging on the high street, although he had clothes, food and shelter he liked to fit in with the other local tramps. On a day like any other, Albert was sitting on the pavement on the steps of Barclays bank, looking trampy and not smelling very wholesome, one might say he smelt less than halfsome. He was collecting his booty in a medium sized juice cup from a local fast food outlet, when a very old, somewhat crooked man walked past and dropped a tin of beans in Albert’s lap. This instantly infuriated him and he dashed the tin in the back of the old mans knees as hard and as fast as his superhuman tramp capabilities would allow him. The old man fell to the ground, but instead of him falling straight to the ground and flat on his face, he fell forward, his knees hit the ground, but then he rose back up in an almost elegant fashion. It was as though his bandy legs were made of rubber. He spun around on his heel and looked Albert dead in the eye: “Daaviiie”, he said in a strong northern Irish accent, “you’ve got a strong arm on ya, and a strong arm is what I needs”…Albert stared into the man’s face, with great intensity, half contempt, half intrigue. The man gave a wry smile and disappeared round the corner.
Albert got up and walked back to his abode, at this point in time it is impossible to say exactly what was going through his mind; was he thinking about how the old man was uninjured when Albert had clearly utilised his superhuman tramp capabilities on him? Was he wondering why this old bastard called him Davie? Or was he thinking about the beans and how he could have used them for his tea? It’s impossible to say, such is the mystery that is Albert’s mind.
On return from a hard days tramping, Albert met up with some associates of his, one a white man, middle aged, large frame, and a tough guy image if you would. Trevor Willis, the mad Scottish tramp, was yet another unsavoury character who had some form of unspecified dealings with Albert. Trevor was known for his aggressive attitude and violent outbursts, although family members may describe him as being a ‘BFG’ this is rather unlikely as the sort of personality disorder Trevor suffers from or in fact inflicts upon others is more inherent than an acquired ailment he uses to camouflage his soft nature on the mean streets of south London. Noted in the minds of many as a particularly dangerous tramp, Trevor rolled up and down the high street like he was always on a mission, some tramp mission but a mission none the less. He strolled onto the close with a can of tenants in his hand, giving Albert the “big man nod”, Albert responded with the same action and the proceeded to sit on the bench, the only bench on Fracas Close. If this bench was not inanimate and in fact had the power of speech, it would tell us the trials and tribulations of every bottom that graced its wooden splinters.
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