morethanjellytots Subscribe to RSS Feed
post 12 on Tuesday 6th March 2007 at 12:11

A Tale Of Stolen Bins pt II

Bin number two has returned! Welcome back cache-pig bin! The deviously but insufficiently masked scribing of the neighbours was evidently no match for my indelible pen! The question remains whether I shall reclaim what is rightfully mine and surreptitiously pull the bin to the bosom of my backyard? Or shall I cast it to the eternal torment of number three/seven/nine?She's leaving

tags: [ 13 oak street ] [ crime ] [ south bank ]
post 17 on Friday 30th March 2007 at 12:00

Run, Itís The Pigs

RobocopWhat is it with Oak Street? Why is it full of lecherous criminal scum? As I type, the Police are hammering down the door of number eleven. Last year my house was stormed by a SWAT team, some on horseback, six on foot (four of which feet made light work of trampling my Convolvulus to oblivion), allowing them to gain access to a house up the road via my back yard. Am I the only person stupid enough to allow such intrusion? Is it the law to let four brick-shit-house Police men storm my palace? As it happened, I was doing something illegal myself at the time, and was highly paranoid. But they didnít get me. Thinking back on it, I neednít have worried. Smoking grass to them is like a walk in the (druggie filled) park compared with the shit they put up with in Middlesbrough.

There are nine houses on this street. Of those houses there are only two that use their yard for anything other than a refuse dumping ground. It annoys me that my local friendly Police service think itís OK to treat us all like dogs. I blame Ray Mallon and his Robocop tactics. What can you do? Smile, say "yes officer" and keep smoking your drugs to block it all out?

I think a society makes itself, say what? Knock it all down. Great stuff.

tags: [ 13 oak street ] [ boro ] [ crime ] [ domestics ] [ ray mallon ] [ south bank ]
post 41 on Saturday 4th August 2007 at 02:27

Crimes Against Normality

A youthOK so you've probably heard by now some of the sagas connected to the criminal damage that's been too regular a feature in my life over the last 9 months.

When I first moved to South Bank, I couldn't quite understand what the fuss was about. Criminal damage? Surely if you had an alarm on the house, an adequate insurance package, and the right attitude towards keeping the locals happy, everything would be OK?

I clearly just didn't get it.

These aren't hardened criminals looking for heists on Grannies Wedgwood figurines, nor are they in any way associated with some romanticised idea of bygone robberies Ė bags of swag and harmless goons and all that.

No, these are obnoxious and wicked kids; a group of young lads no older than 18, who maraud the streets of South Bank in the small hours with a mťlange of weaponry including knives, chains, and bricks.

It started off with the breaking of the rear passenger window of my trusty Ford Mondy. I came down one morning to find it had been smashed through, yet amazingly, not a thing had been taken from the inside (which incidentally contained the CD player which I'd forgotten to unhide from the glove box, and a good fifty CDs). Although a relatively harmless incident, I think this first time perhaps felt the worst for me, as I gained the realisation that I was no longer living within a crime-free bubble. It hit me quite hard, but I tried to make sense of it by stashing it away in my brain under "one-off incidents".

To err on the side of caution, I was now sure to lock the car away every evening. But even locking it in the alley every night wasn't enough to protect it from my local friendly hooligans: no Ė they somehow managed to manoeuvre their red house bricks over the 8ft alley gate to land beautifully and gracefully upon my rear windscreen, rendering it down to the shards and cubes that would later become wedged in my backside.

On a third occasion, my front windscreen was broken too.

Then the abuse on the house started, and I waved goodbye to any sense of security, whilst desperately trying to figure out how I could raise the £200+ needed to repair the window. Luckily, a friend of 13 Oak was able to help, and the whole debacle cost just pounds to straighten out.

But now, as I sit here protecting what is left of my belongings; with two broken bay windows and three slashed tyres, I start to see the severity of the situation. Not only do I lose a days pay, hours of sleep, and quality time with my fella; I also have lost my peace of mind. Because I canít explain why four or five youths would target my house, break the windows, and slash my car tyres at 1.30am, and be seen on the horizon; brandishing a blow torch in my general direction. What makes me stand out amongst my neighbours?

I certainly have things they donít have: I have a car, I have a job: two very normal things, in a normal society. I have a way out of here. They are stuck here indefinitely.

And so I sit here at 2.00am, sipping coffee to keep myself awake, jumping at every noise, and unable to get into my own bed to sleep for fear of being attacked. I can't use my car. I canít get to my job. And what have they gained? Do they feel happier for stripping me of my ability to keep moving forward? I doubt it.

But maybe this is the push I need, to help me move forward, to make me see I am different and that it's better that way. I don't belong here, sad to say. It's not a crime to be normal.

So Monday I pay a visit to the Citizen's Advice Bureaux. I find out how I can get out of here, and I go. So you see, young thugs, you're actually doing me a favour. Bet even your own Mums' didnít think you would be so helpful. Cheers lads.

tags: [ 13 oak street ] [ boro ] [ class divide ] [ crime ] [ rants ] [ south bank ]
post 49 on Thursday 10th January 2008 at 19:24

The South Bank Glossary pt1

This place actually existsGutterance
The mumbled yet scathing articulations of a drunkard South Bankian returning home from Fat Katz night-spot.

Doorstep Challenged
Subhuman species that flock into the foulest of streets to engage in some bizarre social ritual of littering the place up. Usually involves SCOOOOTER!

Land of the Undead
The square in South Bank, where old gits stagger out of Greys with the evening's entertainment/company wrapped loosely in a carrier bag under their arm; soon to be joined by numerable lifeless creatures in the form of the "dawn chorus": urban choristers who instigate the weekly braying down of taxis which drive along Normanby road, and the subsequent outbreaks of violence.

Skip Rat
A gentleman, who makes a living from salvaging "unwanted" items from refuse and waste receptacles, namely skips. Can also be found scavenging public bins when times are lean. The most infamous of South Bank skip rats is known as Bob, who can be sighted regularly around the town being followed by his pet mongrel.

Not Inhabited
Delivery men never knock since the windows got boarded up.

Power Rangers
Want-wit and impoverished neighbours who, after determining they cannot afford the luxury of electricity, attempt to wire their pre-paid meter through yours, thereby stealing the credit on your electricity supply meter. To rub salt into the wounds, the Power Rangers use your power to fuel SCOOOOTER!

Dawn Chorus
At the 4th hour of the morning, the Dawn Choristers begin their pilgrimage to Land of the Undead.

tags: [ class divide ] [ crime ] [ culture ] [ glossary ] [ rants ] [ south bank ]
post 51 on Saturday 26th January 2008 at 09:00

South Bank Ė Au Revoir!

Scarily like South BankTo those who don't know, I bought and moved into my house: 13 Oak Street, South Bank, Middlesbrough, in July 2004.

During that memorable summer, I can recall jubilantly sitting with my back against the bedroom wall (there was a time when you could sit on the floor, before water started seeping up), listening to next door's wind-chimes, and feeling very peaceful, exited, and also very grown up Ė for this was my first house! Oh the expectations, dreams, and plans I had for this place when I first moved here!

Since that time I have experienced full on disasters of Biblical proportion Ė lightening from the sky, famine, plague, flood, and pestilence.

A selection of such include:

Rats. Rats in the house. Rats outside of the house. Rats in the alley. Just rats!!

Mice in the toaster. Really. In the time it took me to pop a crumpet in the toaster, a crafty mouse had crept into my beautiful (£35) Morphy Richards four-slice, and was still nibbling away whilst I plunged down the handle, at the same time wondering why there was an unusual resistance in the plunge, and subsequently pondering the whiff of burning hair mingled with the smell of crumpet. Curiously, the mouse survived; although the toaster was relegated to the shelf.

Slugs. Many a morning I come downstairs to find a silver trail leading from the front door to wherever it is my invertebrate friends drag themselves to during the night. Also, in a strange yet amusing travesty, are sometimes seen feasting on the odd stray salted peanut in the kitchen. Amusingly, this only happens between the hours of 2:00am to 6:00am.

Flies. And bluebottles.

Draining Power. Dim-witted next-door neighbours - the "Power Rangers" - who wired their meter through our meter.

Cutting power. Resulting in our power being cut on Boxing Day.

The kitchen flooding. Came back from holiday to find the rats had chewed through the washing machine pipes resulting in a half a meter flood of the kitchen.

Lack of central heating. How anyone lives in a house like mine I'll never know.

Rising damp. A botanists dream, my house is probably home to innumerable species of fungi and mushroom.

Things got a little better when my brother moved in. Even though he now, too, was required to live with afore mentioned difficulties, at least I had somebody to share life's problems with; and, I'd like to verify at this stage, that Nick's a tough wee soul, and like the true Capricorn mountain goat, is hardy and not adverse to tough conditions.

Not to mention the crimes:
Breaking windows in the car three times
Smashing my front windows twice
Cutting my phone lines

And inconveniences:
Four Police men storming my house to gain access to the back alley

So you could hardly blame me for being very pleased that we'll be out of here in six weeks.

Watch out Guisborough! The South Bank intelligentsia are coming your way.

tags: [ 13 oak street ] [ crime ] [ domestics ] [ guisborough ] [ south bank ]