*Contains adult themes and material which some people may find offensive*
Date: Friday 6th December 2019
Location: Castleford
Specifically: Barbados ... ah is it bollox, still in bloody Castleford.
So this is Castleford is it!? F***ing hell - well you can take it back again. I admit I arrived just as the light was fading so maybe the place did not look its best but two things stood out. The takeaway outlets and the layout of the buildings.
I have never seen so many take-out places in my life or at least not since I lived at Moss Side in Manchester, home of race riots, prostitution, low income families, thievery, twok-ing galore and general thuggery! oh yes and it was also one of the haunts of the notorious Sheffield criminal Charles Peace who did his bit towards putting Sheffield on the map by doing a lot of thieving especially in and around the Whalley Range area of Manchester, bumping off members of the constabulary then scarpering back over no mans land (aka the Snake Pass) back to Sheffield and harassing his mates wife. Why is he in Wikipedia? Why is he glorified in popular culture? Far as I can see he was a waste of space - not to mention a rank ugly c**t.
Where was I? Ah yes carry oots, fast food outlets, take-aways. All over the bloody place. Whatever the commonest cause of death in Castleford you can bet your last fag end it wont be starvation (but it might be gout, heart disease or some killer version of the squits).
And so... to the ‘buildings’. There is no question that whoever was given the plan of the layout for Castleford town centre got them mixed up with those of the recycling centres. I mean have you seen their recycling centres? Fabulous, well organised, run by people who care about
Charles Peace:
Thief, murderer and ugly c**t!
what they're doing. Everything is easy to find, the containers, skips, lorries and recycling related equipment are all laid out in a neat and orderly fashion.
If only they could have done the same with the town. Sadly no, the result? the layout of buildings in Castleford look like they originated out of a bargain bin from a builders version of the Poundshop then thrown down in disgust by the petulant son of a giant who really wanted a lego set instead. It looks, quite frankly - shit.
Saturday Morning
Great start to the day. Woke on the alarm at 6.00 a.m set snooze for 10 mins and got out of bed at 10.00 a.m! Huzzah!!! Bloody good job I’m right outside the venue or I would be stuffed (which would at least be a very seasonal position to be in!).
Looked out the window to have a look at Castleford during the day!! Yes!!! Brilliant! looks just as bloody hideous as it does at night - no writing for me then, at least not about Castleford!! To be fair I did find some parts of it OK - the way out for example and the fact that nothing lasts for
Castleford Xmas Decorations
all in er... a straight line.
ever so one day it will collapse in on itself and disappear into a black hole.
Lets check the pitch and go get a bacon sandwich eh!! Surprise number one - Aby-Lucy has arrived!, Annnnnnd here I go with my first (please let it be my last!) dropped clanger of the day. I can’t calculate how many times my sense of humour has gotten me into trouble and here I go heading straight for another one, like a sailing vessel with a fatally damaged engine heading inexorably for the rapids and nose diving over the falls at the end.
I can see Aby through the window near the entrance door. Just as I’m about to go in I notice a sign on the door ‘PULL’. I make the association pretty lady - pull. Any sane person would have left it at that but not me - I have to announce the connection to Aby the moment I’m through the door. I say it as an observation, but overlook the simple fact that since I am (shall we say) somewhat older than Aby (who looks about 15) the comment comes across as more ‘pervy’ than humorous. If Aby was offended it didn't show but that was before Stuart who, lets just say, is not overburdened with tact and diplomacy, sticks his oar in (probably the one I needed to get myself out of the shit before making the ‘Pull‘ comment about Aby).
“Hey you've got a woman already!”
Well done Stuart now I look like a perv AND a philanderer.
Stuart is a wonderful man actually, too kind and generous for his own good and a real gentleman but he would probably sit on your face and fart with all the force of a thunderclap than admit there was any truth in it. He’s here today as both a trader and a helper (his ‘salary’ is a free double pitch for the weekend).
Stuart tells me the cafe is next door so without further ado (bloody hate that expression) I nip in and order a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich!!! Guy behind the counter looks a bit puzzled and doesn't move. I look back at him wondering if he expects me to do a party trick or a tea dance. Turns out it's neither “you sure its not the Cafe next door you want!?” It is then I become aware of my surroundings, rows and rows of spirits, bottles of wine, beers galore, drinking paraphernalia mugs, mats, shot glasses? Clearly very well stocked premises but not ones in which I am likely to obtain sustenance made from moist fresh bread or piggy meat. “Did you think you were somewhere else” says an assistant. “Yes” I reply, thinking that this might be a good time to get struck by lightning, fall over a balcony or drop into a disused mine shaft. I make my excuses and leave.
In the cafe, which it turns out is next door but one to the entrance to Queens Mill, I order tea and a bacon sandwich. I should have asked for a take out but, no matter, there was plenty of time until the start of trading! Few minutes later bacon sandwich arrives. I look at it and wonder if I am dreaming or having some sort of drug induced flashback.
I blink my bleary eyes a few times, shouldn’t have sat up half the night writing, look at it again and I face the dreadful reality that what my eyes perceived the first time round is all too horribly real - my bacon sandwich - MY bacon sandwich has been garnished with a bloody salad. Eh!!!! A bloody salad. What the fuck!? Who in the world would dare to approach someones table, especially in a place like Castleford, and hand them a bacon sandwich with A BLOODY SALAD!!!!!!
So I call the waitress over and say “excuse me but do you see what you've done here? This thing on my plate is a bacon sandwich is it not!? Yet it seems to be accompanied by some limp green leaves, chunky bits and the dog end of something purple that appears to have been hacked off an injured body part which, if I’m not mistaken, is collectively referred to as ‘a salad‘?
As if to add to my humiliation there is also, quite unashamedly, staring me in the face, a twee little dish of something I believe scientists refer to as ‘a culture’ but which I refer to as cat puke otherwise known as ‘coleslaw’. I give her a pitying look of the kind used for potty training an infant.
She looks from me, to the salad and back again, as if she is unsure where I’m going with this. I beat her to it and say”do you see where I’m going with this? “No” she says and gives the salad another quick once over to make sure she hasn't missed anything.
“This is a salad, we do not serve this sort of thing up North with bacon sandwiches. Bacon sandwiches are the staple diet of huge hairy arsed men who work on building sites, morning commuters on their way to work who take three days to complete ‘The Sun’ crossword , beefy construction workers in steamy transport cafes and of course traders like myself who require some basic, yet nourishing sustenance to set us up for the day (or at least until lunchtime).
You must now take this small adventure into the land of horrors and return with a bacon sandwich served on a bun/breadcake/barm cake. It will bear no sign whatsoever of salad, coleslaw or pithy little slices of bread cut into foolish, poncy little triangles since we are in a cafe and not at the Queens garden party. “Capeesh!?“
More later when I‘ve had breakfast!
Comments