One of the harder days for me. Yesterday I managed to get a Council place called Outreach, interested in me. I have been trying to get into a B/B through the HUB a place where homeless people can go and get help. It used to be, a drop in place, when they started. But they were so inundated with homeless people they stopped that malarky. Now you have to get up at the top of the morning and be there around 9 AM to get a place in the queue. Few people like about 5 or 6 gets appoinments, others have to come back another day. I have been there twice last year before I got an appoinment. This time as I am not very well to go there in the morning and spend my already reduced confidence on something which will not work in my favour; I phoned the HUB. And I think the staff there in the HUB is not that bad. So when I phoned them the last week this woman told me to try Outreach. A guy called Dave wanted to help me. So I had the appoinment at 11 AM. Dave was supposed to pick me up at 10.30 and away we go. But he was late and we ended up arranging for 2 PM to be there in the HUB.
Now HUB is a front end of the BCC which has got Government educated, funded and controlled staff. They have been audited by the Home Office for too much spending. They used to house around 80 people in a week in B/Bs, Hostels and church funded various places. But the audits said that is too much and make it 30 in a week. So I can see my chances of getting into a B/B is out. But I went ahead with the idea of Dave, that we have to go through that channel to see, by a smallest chance we get a place. So I got picked up by Dave and we went to the HUB. We had a chat before walked in. He explained all the trouble they go through manning the Outreach. The types of people who come there and about the druggies and alcoholics etc. And I am not any of them. Because the society cares about them more than people like me who are still trying to make something out of our lives with all the handicaps, we have to think about how to sort this out.
I remember back in 1989 I came out of the prison (for possession of controlled drugs) I didn't have a place to go. So I booked into a B/B in Hampton Road in Clifton. The Government paid £ 55 per week to the landlord. We get breakfast in the morning if we turned up before 9 AM. Cruel init. But after a week or so the landlord agreed to keep my breakfast for me on the side. And I can nuke it in the microwave to eat later. Sometimes there use to have as much as 3 days old meals waiting for me. It was a good breakfast. Couple of eggs, bacon slices and sausages, and tomatoes or baked beans with buttered toast. And mind that was prepared for us. Last year when I spent a stint in B/B it was so different. Restrictions galore. It is like a prison without the look of a prison. You have a curfew at 11 PM. No visitors. There is no landlord as such. There is a screw. He or she demands your perfect behaviour. The screw can come into your room any time. Once this guy opened my door without any knocking; and I went ballistic. After a while the screws thawed a bit towards me and I learnt the code for the front door and without trouble I could smoke in the room. And breakfast is not prepared. What you get is tea bags, milk and sugar. Coffee is there but it is the instant type. A crate of eggs and 2 types of cereals. And the BCC pays the company who runs the place £ 48 a day. £ 336 a week. That is 610% increase. And the treatment of the tenants/inmates have got worse. The humanity of the B/B has died, with the New Labour who is supposed to look after people who are vulnerable.
All right think about this. You go to the grocery shop and you ask in English " Could I have 50 gms of Fromage frais please?". And the question is what do French people call it in French language?
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Thursday, November 23, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
I am losing it
The pressure is on. I cannot have a drink without losing my thinking. Yesterday a good friend John came to Bristol after an absence of about 2 years. He used to live in Royate Hill. Then all of a sudden he decided to sell his property and move to North Wales. That was a very sad to see my man leave Bristol. Then he eventually settled down in Cornwall with his missus. And it was very nice for him to call around and the meeting, at midday, was emotional. So we had a fair amount of alcohol after he stashed his car near his bro's. I was quite drunk when I got to Dan's place, around 6 pm, where I spend most of the time. I thought I was it. I did not realise how stupid my thinking has gone to. I read an email from the Easton Community group and misunderstood it in a very funny way. Then I thought I will write a reply to it. Man or man I am so embarrassed when I saw the post this afternoon I nearly passed out. Well what can I do? Nothing as I believe what ever I done in the past was the right thing at the right time so that I am right here. Yeah sure it is very easy think logically all this shit but to apply it on the occasion without even realising it; is the aim.
I was very good I think in making friends. I came to Bristol without knowing any one but within a couple of years I knew hundreds of the locals by their first names. After a few months of living here and there I moved into the Block back in 1981. It was a row of houses on St Michael's Park. We called it The Block. No 16 was a total punk house. Next door 17 was kind of mixed teenage house. No 18 was a another mixed house. Then the 19 was where I lived. It used to be a punk house but when I moved in most of the punks have left. No 20 is kind of straight and pretty house. This is the time of the Bristol Wild bunch time. Dug Out was the place to be.
The shop was making a lot of money and the bank manager was very happy. And the life was so great I refused a great job in London as an Estate agent. The locals enjoyed me and I got invited to a lot of parties. There was a regular woman in her late 20s who used to come into the shop with her son who was very polite. But he use to ask for chocolates every day after school. When she does not buy he wouldn't throw a fit. But he will go out with a puckered lip. So one day I told him I was as light skinned as himself when I was a kid; and ate a lot of chocolates and that is why I am dark skinned now. He stopped having a puckered lips after that.
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I was very good I think in making friends. I came to Bristol without knowing any one but within a couple of years I knew hundreds of the locals by their first names. After a few months of living here and there I moved into the Block back in 1981. It was a row of houses on St Michael's Park. We called it The Block. No 16 was a total punk house. Next door 17 was kind of mixed teenage house. No 18 was a another mixed house. Then the 19 was where I lived. It used to be a punk house but when I moved in most of the punks have left. No 20 is kind of straight and pretty house. This is the time of the Bristol Wild bunch time. Dug Out was the place to be.
The shop was making a lot of money and the bank manager was very happy. And the life was so great I refused a great job in London as an Estate agent. The locals enjoyed me and I got invited to a lot of parties. There was a regular woman in her late 20s who used to come into the shop with her son who was very polite. But he use to ask for chocolates every day after school. When she does not buy he wouldn't throw a fit. But he will go out with a puckered lip. So one day I told him I was as light skinned as himself when I was a kid; and ate a lot of chocolates and that is why I am dark skinned now. He stopped having a puckered lips after that.
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Thursday, November 02, 2006
Being Homeless and a bit of the past
This is very easy to write here after all these months or is it years. I know there are some people who visit this blog. So very soon I am going to put a comments spot on this.
I am home less. Yes no home no gas bills no electric bills no place to clean no rubbish bins to put out on every other Monday. Gosh it is getting complicated and all. We had a black box to put the recycling stuff and a big black bin to put rest of the rubbish in. Very neat and very easy. Now a household has a black box to put the cans and bottles and paper in. Then there are two brown boxes to put the cooked and uncooked food left-overs in. No plastic bags in them please. Nice neat very easy. But the complication comes when they say put the black bins out every other Monday. And the others every Monday. It does not look complicated to the ordinary, but when you live in a house every Sunday is not the same and every other Sunday is not the same. So sometimes if you forget to put the big black bin out you are fucked. Why? Because you have two weeks before it gets unloaded. And if you have too much like a bit of a black bag protruding they refuse to empty it. There you now got six weeks of rubbish. Yeah well get rid of them in the neighbor's init? Well thank you very much I do not have that problem now ha ha!
Living homeless is an art. I have done it many times. In 80' I was a partner in a grocery shop. No kidding. This Indian kiddie I knew in London bought a shop in Bristol in 1979 and he did not have a clue about groceries. He is good at money which I am not. But I understand the punters and how they behave. So he invited me to become a partner in the business. I hate documents, agreement signed etc. So on his word I started to give him a hand.
The place was the Spar shop in Abbotsford Road. It was a shed with a slanting flat roof and a smaller shed at the back for the store room and staff room. The toilet was an outhouse for toilet and storage. The shop opened on weekdays at eight in the morning and close at six in the evening with a lunch break at one to two. Half days on Wednesday and Saturdays nine to five with one to two lunch break. It was the good old days over in Cotham Hill. All the shops had the same hours. Spar shop was taking about £600 a week. I could not think how they made money out of the place. There were two part time staff. One woman around forty to fifty and a young teenager. The old lady could not handle my mate,Jef. His real name is Indrasingh Jethwa. But we anglacized his name to Jef. Any how she quit. And the teenager lasted another month and left. Now me and Jef to do the hours in the shop and get the cash and carry sorted. Then again there is a matter of vegetables, fresh every day. That means our day started at about 5 AM and go to the whole sale vege place in Brislington. Get the days fresh vege and down we go back to the shop. Down a cup of tea. Set up the shop. Then Jef goes away to the cash and carry place in Avonmouth. I won't see him for the next 5 hours or so.
We set up a new time table. We open the shop at 9 AM and close at 10 PM. No bloody lunch breaks and no more Wednesday half days and Saturday different times. We are open every day except Christmas day, 9 to 10. Killing hours but it is easy for the punters to remember init?
That is how I came to be living in Bristol. It is a cool city. Compared to other places I been it is friendly. I remember one night about 8; I decided to go out and asked one of the customers to direct me to a good pub. This guy took me to Highbury Vaults. It used to be run by a guy called Pony tail Paul and his girl frien Dot. Nice juke box and the people were friendly. At 10.30 - remember the closing time - I started guzzlying my pint of Guinness and my mate told me not to worry about it. Then Paul came behind the bar and asked me how many bottles. I said 4 without even knowing what the hell is about. After about half hour when most of the people has gone we were taken upstatirs to the living space. The party on.
Email me!
I am home less. Yes no home no gas bills no electric bills no place to clean no rubbish bins to put out on every other Monday. Gosh it is getting complicated and all. We had a black box to put the recycling stuff and a big black bin to put rest of the rubbish in. Very neat and very easy. Now a household has a black box to put the cans and bottles and paper in. Then there are two brown boxes to put the cooked and uncooked food left-overs in. No plastic bags in them please. Nice neat very easy. But the complication comes when they say put the black bins out every other Monday. And the others every Monday. It does not look complicated to the ordinary, but when you live in a house every Sunday is not the same and every other Sunday is not the same. So sometimes if you forget to put the big black bin out you are fucked. Why? Because you have two weeks before it gets unloaded. And if you have too much like a bit of a black bag protruding they refuse to empty it. There you now got six weeks of rubbish. Yeah well get rid of them in the neighbor's init? Well thank you very much I do not have that problem now ha ha!
Living homeless is an art. I have done it many times. In 80' I was a partner in a grocery shop. No kidding. This Indian kiddie I knew in London bought a shop in Bristol in 1979 and he did not have a clue about groceries. He is good at money which I am not. But I understand the punters and how they behave. So he invited me to become a partner in the business. I hate documents, agreement signed etc. So on his word I started to give him a hand.
The place was the Spar shop in Abbotsford Road. It was a shed with a slanting flat roof and a smaller shed at the back for the store room and staff room. The toilet was an outhouse for toilet and storage. The shop opened on weekdays at eight in the morning and close at six in the evening with a lunch break at one to two. Half days on Wednesday and Saturdays nine to five with one to two lunch break. It was the good old days over in Cotham Hill. All the shops had the same hours. Spar shop was taking about £600 a week. I could not think how they made money out of the place. There were two part time staff. One woman around forty to fifty and a young teenager. The old lady could not handle my mate,Jef. His real name is Indrasingh Jethwa. But we anglacized his name to Jef. Any how she quit. And the teenager lasted another month and left. Now me and Jef to do the hours in the shop and get the cash and carry sorted. Then again there is a matter of vegetables, fresh every day. That means our day started at about 5 AM and go to the whole sale vege place in Brislington. Get the days fresh vege and down we go back to the shop. Down a cup of tea. Set up the shop. Then Jef goes away to the cash and carry place in Avonmouth. I won't see him for the next 5 hours or so.
We set up a new time table. We open the shop at 9 AM and close at 10 PM. No bloody lunch breaks and no more Wednesday half days and Saturday different times. We are open every day except Christmas day, 9 to 10. Killing hours but it is easy for the punters to remember init?
That is how I came to be living in Bristol. It is a cool city. Compared to other places I been it is friendly. I remember one night about 8; I decided to go out and asked one of the customers to direct me to a good pub. This guy took me to Highbury Vaults. It used to be run by a guy called Pony tail Paul and his girl frien Dot. Nice juke box and the people were friendly. At 10.30 - remember the closing time - I started guzzlying my pint of Guinness and my mate told me not to worry about it. Then Paul came behind the bar and asked me how many bottles. I said 4 without even knowing what the hell is about. After about half hour when most of the people has gone we were taken upstatirs to the living space. The party on.
Email me!
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