When I lived near the sea
I was sitting in the dark with my girlfriend one night, lights off and movie on, window open, when we heard a knock and a grisly voice barking "LET ME IN!" We Jumped out of our skin, to see an old lady leaning in through the window out of the dark (we had a basement flat at the time), she looked gnarly and was quite angry so I didn't open the door to her, instead I went to the window to talk to her. She was clearly a 'Care in the community' type and homeless so I tried to calm her down. She thought our flat was some drop-in centre for the homeless because someone had told her "find the flat with a bike outside" all she kept saying was "don't muck me about let me IN", that's when I noticed she had a newspaper wrapped around her waist as a kind of nappy, no shoes or trousers or anything. She was quite polite after I explained we weren't a shelter but she strolled off shouting abuse at the top of her voice. I offered her a blanket and some food (through the window) but her fecal covered paper seemed enough for her, she barely registered I was even there. Sad.
( SauronWibble I'll hold it, you lick it..., Mon 1 Oct 2012, 14:51, 2 replies)

Not wishing to be judgemental,
but anyone who wears socks and sandals wants shooting, fucking paedos. White socks are the worst.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Mon 1 Oct 2012, 12:17, 6 replies)

Taking it to the limit
I was once accosted by a neo-nazi, trying to sign me up for the cause. Two things set him apart from the usual tattooed fuckwit with a lower IQ than the animal at the other end of the lead: first, he seemed unusually articulate, and second, he was an albino.

Really, an albino White Supremacist. Now that's white - I guess he looked down on blue-eyed blonde Aryans as "just not trying hard enough".
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 1 Oct 2012, 11:49, 1 reply)

The Pause
My dad had a mate that would come around for barbeques and other social events. A pretty normal, everyday guy, apart from one thing: in the middle of a conversation, he would sometimes stop in the middle of a sentence, and just... pause. He'd carry on looking at you, as if engaged in conversation, but not saying anything. The pause would grow longer and longer, becoming really uncomfortable; maybe a minute or even two. Then he'd suddenly continue as if nothing had happened, picking up where he'd left off.

I hope it was nice where he went.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 1 Oct 2012, 10:07, 15 replies)

I once had the good fortune to know an ampersand
He was quite a character
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Mon 1 Oct 2012, 1:39, 14 replies)

local eccentric
She goes by the unfortunate moniker of "Batty Betty" and has been barred from most of the local supermarkets & shops in town. She would follow innocent shoppers around and hurl abuse at them also frequently reducing poor checkout workers to tears. In the shop where I used to work the store manager tried to justify an attempt to remove her by saying "I'm the store manager" to which she replied "no, I'm the store manager" to which he replied "no, I'm the store manager" etc etc repeat till fade until they both gave up and she continued to tell me that she didn't want me round her house (something I was quite happy to oblige in fact since I had no idea where that was anyway.) Until the authorities finally took her licence away she drove a sportscar and was frequently spotted driving up the A5 at 20mph with a massive queue of traffic behind her. She also used to hide in bushes on the country lanes near the town and jump out flicking V signs at passing motorists. Legend has it that this continued until one day the Polish lorry driver who was on the receiving end of this display took offence...
(beeble, Sun 30 Sep 2012, 22:09, 1 reply)

The bombs in my dreams
When I was in hospital many years ago now, I was on a men's ward, and it was horrible, especially as I was only a pale skinny lad of 17.

I'll spare the horror stories, and single out the weirdest bloke on the ward. He was a short guy with a huge pot belly, legs and arms covered in great big 50p sized red patches, a strange triangular head with bug eyes, and about as much connection with reality as Micheal Gove.

He'd take to wandering about the ward in the nude and pissing openly onto the floor. The nurses coped with him very well, I have the utmost admiration for nurses and when I hear or read of them being slagged off I want to punch the slagger offer in the face. And then send them to A and E to wait 16 hours for treatment.

Back on track... this man, whose name I cannot remember, didn't know the time of day, or even year. I once overheard a doctor asking him a series of questions, he thought it was 1978 at first, then 1980, and so on (it was 1986).

The freakiest moment was when he came up to me in the TV room and glared up at me with his bug eyes and whispered, "Is it true about the bombs in my dreams?"

I think I said "No", but I can't remember cos I legged it from the scary man. In retrospect I think he was probably an alien.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Sun 30 Sep 2012, 18:02, 4 replies)

Beardy Lady
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8pxYtWCZ1o8

Never seen her personally.... but she has quite an internet following if Google is anything to go by.

search results
(the_icks has the sweet essence of giraffe, Sun 30 Sep 2012, 9:07, 4 replies)

Alan Jones.
Let's be honest. Who'd want to meet him?
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Sun 30 Sep 2012, 8:15, 3 replies)

The Boss*
or, to be precise, a chap who looked like a short, fire damaged Bruce Springsteen used to wander the stands of Rochdale bus station listening to said vocalist on his walkman. Occasionally he would throw weird poses at meaningful moments in the songs, and lucky random passengers would also be regaled with garbled lines from songs belted out at full volume by this pint-sized nutter. He did this for years in all weather, nobody knew who he was or where he lived, presumably he either carked it or hopefully made it into some form of treatment.

*not
( uncle bastard is twanging a dan moi, Sun 30 Sep 2012, 8:00, 3 replies)

Alcoholics Grave
Just thought of another one, this may fall under the 'eccentricity' tag.
I went to college in South Shields, doing 4yrs of a cadetship for the Merchant Navy.
Near to the local takeaway ('Rads', although he may have got the third letter wrong!) was a small elevated public garden, with a few park benches. One night on the way to the takeaway, with a few mates, we came across an old guy lying in the garden. This was a cold winters night, and obviously something wasn't quite right, so we went to the old guys assistance. He was soaking wet (in hindsight, this was probably piss), cold, and we could not bring him round. This was when we noticed the empty bottles of cheap sherry and strong lager.
We called the emergency services for an ambulance, unknowing that a cop car would also turn up. I still can't believe what the cops done, they kicked this guy up the arse, really roughly man-handled him, throwing him to the ground and picking him back up. They finally told him if he didn't move away from the spot ,he'd be arrested. We were told to go on our way.
Recounting this story to the college security guards, we were told that this happens all the time. The old boy alcoholics would get their giro and blow the lot on brain melting brews, and retreat to this small garden where they would ease themselves into sweet oblivion. It was not uncommon for some of these old boys to pass into the next life on one of these cold nights.
As I said at the beginning, a tale of eccentricity. But also a tale of villainy, possibly evilness, considering the actions of the cops. Bastards!!
(cargoeng, Sat 29 Sep 2012, 22:06, Reply)

Mad Mags
I grew up in a small, shitty north-east Scottish town, bad enough as that was, also had to put up with 'Glasgow Mags'. To the untrained eye this was a deranged transvestite, but believe me it was a woman, just a very poor excuse for one.
I was in primary school during the Falklands War, one of my pals father was killed across there. Not long after the end of the conflict I was down the high street with mother doing the 'big shop', when who but Glasgow Mags puts in an appearance, but this was a bad one. My pals mother had been confronted by this harridan, screaming in her face that her husband had been having an affair with her, he had promised her all sorts, including cash, therefore she was entitled to pensions, benefits, etc. My pals poor mother had to put up with this, before finally escaping, but the lasting memory is of all the fuckwits that just stood around gawping, as if this was their normal Saturday afternoon entertainment.
(cargoeng, Sat 29 Sep 2012, 21:45, 7 replies)

Mr Screwfit Lightbulb
Here in Leatherhead, we have quite a few 'characters', the one that stands out to me is one that me and my boss refer to as Mr Screwfit.

We were once replacing some lights in the showroom, when he walked in and started telling us the merits of screwfit lightbulbs over the bayonet fitted variety.. for about 30 minutes.

Now over the years, if we know he is in the area of the showroom, one of us will stand at the doorway, and with expert timing, shout to the other person in the showroom "no, I think you will find that screwfitting lightbulbs are the best".. then quickly piss off as Mr Screwfit takes a red anorack wearing, shopping trolley pulling detour into the showroom for a rant.

We have been doing this for years, and it never gets boring!

We also had another one, who seemed to have some sort of ocd like ritual in that he would enter the shop at the exact same time every week, do a lap, then exit without as much as a word.. you could set your watch by him!
(the_icks has the sweet essence of giraffe, Sat 29 Sep 2012, 21:30, 3 replies)

The real James Bond
On November 16th 1914 Edward Arnold Chapman was born in County Durham. Deciding that a future in heavy industry was not for him he enlisted in the Coldstream Guards and was posted to London.

Discovering a taste for the bright lights and misbehavior that the delights of the 1930's in Soho could offer a young man he deserted the Army and became a bank robber and safe cracker.

After being caught breaking a safe he was arrested but was granted bail. He absconded to Jersey so as to evade British Justice. He was arrested but as he had broken the law in Jersey he was sentenced to prison on the island upon completion of his sentence he would be returned to Britain to face trial for bank robbery.

It was about this time the Germans invaded the Channel Islands and Chapman (ever the quick thinker) wrote a letter to the German officials volunteering to spy for the Germans if they released him. They agreed and he spent 6 months being trained. He was parachuted into Norfolk. He landed and immediately phoned the Police from a callbox and telling the officer he was a German Spy and wished to speak to someone from British Intelligence. The officer responded by telling him to go home and sleep it off.

After convincing the officer he was collected by British Intelligence and thoroughly debriefed. He then offered to return to Germany and spy for the British as a Double Agent.

He returned and continued to accept spying missions from the Germans while continuing to fool them into believing he had carried out his mission. He was such a trusted member of the German Intelligence service that they awarded him the Iron Cross.

All the time he was working as a Triple Agent.


The codename assigned to him by British Intelligence?

Agent Zigzag (on account no one ever really new which side he was on.)

Rogue? Yup. Villain? Yup. Eccentric? Yup. Brave as fuck? Yup.


www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQrJvOFjadI


That's a great documentary about him. When you watch the video you cannot help but be utterly charmed by him. Glass of champagne in one hand and sitting on his boat in Monaco.

He to me is the very epitome of the real James Bond. He went onto become a great friend of Terence Young who directed several Bond films.


Apologies for the very tenuous link to rogues and villains but i thought it rather good.
(kickstandrich last had sex with your mum/sister/wife/daughter on, Sat 29 Sep 2012, 20:00, Reply)

my name is jacob dyer and i live in bristol. it is fantastic. i sound like barnaby bear. i like barnaby bear. one time he went to france. i went to france. but some kid burnt my neck. i didnt like it.

( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Sat 29 Sep 2012, 14:44, 13 replies)

Jimmy
I used to work in a camping shop in town, very dull and quiet little place where nothing of worth ever really happened. I'd been there a few weeks and was chatting with a co-worker one afternoon when this little old chap with a gargantuan cider nose shuffled in. He walked up to me at the counter, stood looking at me and just stared and smiled.

"Hello, can I help?" I smiled back.

Nothing.

"I....are you ok?" I asked, a bit perturbed. At this point I hear the other girl I was working giggling a bit. "He wants you to give him something", she said. "Like what?" "A leaflet, anything" she explained.

Mildly confused, I gave him one of our sale leaflets, he grinned like a kid at Christmas, nodded, and walked out the shop. I asked my co-worker what the fuck just happened, and she simply said "that's Jimmy".

Jimmy is an old alcoholic who wanders around Kidderminster collecting bits of crap from shops. He's mute, but thoroughly cheerful, and would come into the shop almost weekly to collect a bit of paper, an elastic band, whatever. One day we gave him some size cubes and he was over the moon. Sometimes he'd show us what he'd got from the other places, I'll never forget the day he showed us a Guinness t-shirt he'd been given from one of the pubs, he just looked so proud of it. Christ knows what the inside of his house must have looked like. He was utterly harmless and always really happy and friendly and everyone who worked in the town knew and loved him.

One day he disappeared, and we read in the paper that a bunch of kids had beaten him up while he was wandering around town and landed him in hospital. It was heartbreaking and we were really worried about him for ages. Then one day I was walking past the local Wetherspoons and I saw him in there, with what I assume was his carer, pint in hand looking as happy as ever. He never did come back in the shop but I can only assume that hospitalisation led to some proper care for the chap.
( SugarSpunSister Yeah, whatever, Sat 29 Sep 2012, 13:33, 6 replies)

Religious loonies
I seem to attract them for some reason. Especially young Earth creationists. Foaming zealots to a man, and I find them highly irritating. I decided one day to see how mad one of them was. The answer, as can be predicted, was batshit insane. Our conversation had taken a turn to a point when I asked "If the Universe is only 6000 years old, how can light from galaxies 13 billion light years away have reached us?". His response was that "Maybe light used to travel faster".

Oh dear.
(The Luggage is haunted..., Sat 29 Sep 2012, 12:39, 2 replies)

Skegness beach nutter
Holidayed in Lincolnshire, day on the beach, just as we were packing up to leave a random bloke comes up and starts telling us to be 'at one with the rocks' and 'get a brazier and some choooons'. He then wandered off shouting at random bits of rubbish on the ground, before stripping down to his shorts and boots to walk *away* from the sea and back into town.
The Asian family nearby us thought him hilarious.
(localboy purveyor of pisspoor puns, Sat 29 Sep 2012, 12:20, Reply)

My father has a hareem.
He has a lady he goes to tea with.

He has a lady he has intellectual conversations with.

He has a lady he goes on holiday with.

He has a lady he sleeps with.

He's thoroughly enjoying his third batchelorhood, and having broken his arse last year drunkenly falling out of a bunkbed at a YMCA while travelling the country, or doing jumps on sledges with his grandchildren the previous Christmas - the docs couldn't establish which - at 75 is most definitely making up for the sobriety of his youth.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Sat 29 Sep 2012, 12:12, 4 replies)

Piece of shit.
A few years back I got robbed at syringe point for a bit of hash I'd just scored. The cunt is now in jail for murder. Last year whilst robbing a local smack dealer he dropped an LCD telly on the guys head and whilst searching for the gear he had his hand up both of the dealer's girlfriend's holes. I hope to God they throw away the key for this cunt.
(trip2themoon, Sat 29 Sep 2012, 10:24, 8 replies)

The Wizard for Fnchley and friends.
There is a relevant pea in this post.

Back when I was a kiddy in schoolywool there used to be some strange homeless characters around where I lived: There was the "Phantom lLue Sniffer" A guy that used to walk around with a manic look in his eyes and his noes almost constantly embedded in a brown paper bag he unsuccessfully kept hidden in his jacket.

Or the "Nazi Dog Lady" who had a tendency to sit on trains, yell racist abuse at anyone and had a dog that stunk so bad that within one train stop it managed to empty the entire carriage.

But the taker of the nuttiest crackpot has to lie with the "Wizard of Finchley" This strange bloke that would walk up to people and start telling them his crackpot theories, like how there is a Camlot Way road near Trent Park which (obviously) means that that the park is the site of Camelot. Or how there are 3 churches in Whetstone with the same name and if you join them up on a map they create, wait for it, a Triangle! If you managed to endure enough of his theories he would then try to enroll you in his coven of witches and wizards before telling you about prozac changed his life.

Ahh the good old days.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Sat 29 Sep 2012, 9:41, Reply)

Back when I worked at the hospital I had to visit someone in the Cardiology department
There was an old chap sitting in the waiting room, accompanied by an HCA.
"Excuse me" he said, ever so politely, as I walked past him. I turned to respond and his face contorted into a mask of absolute terror; he screamed at top volume as if all the demons of hell were cutting his arse off & dipping it in vinegar.
I was fairly taken aback, as I'm sure you can imagine. As I tried (in vain) to placate him, the HCA smiled, told me not to worry and whispered something in the man's ear which silenced him instantly
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Sat 29 Sep 2012, 9:20, 6 replies)

Dermot
is a guy I met while in engineering school. He has spent a lot of years welding and building things, and probably has more practical engineering knowledge than all of the professors there combined. Unfortunately he became frustrated with the classes and stopped, but I kept in contact with him.

He stands a few inches taller than I am and is built like Sean Connery in his prime. A former professional boxer, his nose is slightly crooked and he moves with amazing speed and grace and is perhaps the strongest man I've met. He's also one of the calmest, most easygoing people I know- I have never seen him get angry, and would not want to be there when he does.

He tells stories on himself in his lilting Irish accent of his days as a boxer when he used to go everywhere wearing nothing more than boxing shorts with his head shaved except for two small patches on his forehead which he varnished into a pair of horns.

One day he and a friend were in France and went to the Rodin museum. They had gotten a couple of bottles of cheap wine and taken them back into the garden where they necked them in the sunlight before going into the museum itself.

There in the museum he saw a life size marble statue of a nude woman lying down and was instantly captivated. Her curves were smooth and flowing in flawless white, and he lay down with her and began kissing her and caressing her. She was so beautiful that he couldn't resist making love to her right then and there.

The sight of a large muscular mostly naked man with horns getting intimate with a statue was enough to clear out the museum, including the guards.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Sat 29 Sep 2012, 7:54, 2 replies)

Pearoast: The Mad Artist
had a girlfriend who was also something of an artist. I've never seen her work, but he used to tell me that she was quite the talented painter.

One day she had finished a painting and asked him to help her frame it. He immediately agreed and told her to go get some wood for him to build it out of. "But don't get crap wood like pine. You want this frame to be nice. Ask the guys there if they have morning wood."

She returned a half hour later and started beating him.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Sat 29 Sep 2012, 7:37, Reply)

One of Mom's friends
was a woman named Toni (full name Antoinetta), who was married to a local doctor and used to play golf with my parents on a regular basis. There were four doctors' wives who used to go out during the week to play together, all of whom I knew, but Toni was the most memorable. To wit:

-she had sliced her shot into the rough and was searching for it when Peggy took her own shot from the fairway and didn't do well. Peggy muttered, "Ah, piss on it." Toni heard her and called out, "Great idea! That would be a water hazard and only a one stroke penalty!"

-she lost her ball in a pond and went wading in after it. Mom said, "Toni, what the hell are you doing?" Toni replied, "It's okay, these shoes are water proof!"

I kinda miss those loony old biddies...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Sat 29 Sep 2012, 7:33, Reply)

Crazy Charlie
is a friend of mine in Richmond. I met him through the Mad Artist/Foul Ole Ron.

Charlie is in his fifties now, a slightly built guy with a short grizzled pelt on his head and rectangular black framed glasses, numerous tattoos and missing most of his right index finger. He's a talented artist with metal, when he works in it.

He's also a convicted felon who spent eight years in prison for burglary when the house he entered wasn't as empty as he thought and the Army soldier there took exception to his presence and things got violent. Between having spent his childhood as the son of a highly decorated colonel who whipped his ass for any infraction, teenage and twenties years getting munted on a variety of illicit substances and spending a chunk of time behind bars, his world view is seriously out of kilter.

And yet he's not mean, he's a loyal friend who will help out in any way he can, and is pretty trustworthy overall. He has a large dog he adopted who has a sweet temperament, which says volumes about him as a person as mean people have mean dogs.

Still, he's about 37 degrees from sane.

One of his obsessive habits is to go bin diving, especially for brass or old tools. Over the years he has carted home enough stuff to completely fill a lorry, much of it actually of some value. He sorted through his tools one day and found that he had about 2000 metal files, a couple hundred pairs of pliers, an equal number of hammers, screwdrivers and other assorted tools, a couple of acetylene torches and various large power tools.

He told me that one night as he was walking home from somewhere down a back alley in Richmond he spotted an axe that someone had thrown out, so he picked it up to take home. He was dressed in his usual battered leather jacket, old black jeans with a couple of bandannas tied to the belt loops, a studded leather belt and heavy work boots as he slouched along with his iPod on.

He was walking along the street when a guy suddenly pointed behind him with an expression of dread. Charlie pulled out his earphones just in time to hear a cop screaming at him to drop the axe. He did so and turned to find two cops with guns drawn aiming at his chest.

They let him go with a warning, and as he told me this story he sounded hurt and bewildered that the cops harassed him. He genuinely didn't understand why they would have reacted this way.

I didn't have the heart to point him toward a mirror.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Sat 29 Sep 2012, 7:24, Reply)

I had the misfortune to find myself on an underground carriage with some guy with a microphone
From what I could work out he rated himself as a bit of a comedian, and we were on the "happy carriage," which he reminded everyone of at every stop as people got on. What pissed me off about on him was the fact anybody who wanted to ignore him he would target and make out they were being miserable, thus drawing the attention of the rest of the carriage to them. In short, not fun, just being a cunt. Some people are shy, why freak them out?

I remember seeing him as Kate and Will's wedding with his microphone in the crowds in Trafalgar Square thinking he was being funny being loud with anti-monarchy rants; which didn't go down very well with the crowds around him. Some bloke finally told him to fuck off or he would knock his lights out or something, which the guy wisely heeded.

Just wish that guy had been on the tube carriage I had been on.
( Jahled Three shades of black, Fri 28 Sep 2012, 20:24, 3 replies)

The Fucking Kennedy Lady
I live in the suburbs of Boston, MA in the US. From 1984 to 1997 I took the subway to and from work, and 2-3 times a week on my trip home I would encounter the woman I called "The Fucking Kennedy Lady".

She was a thin, elderly, woman always dressed in once-elegant, but now worn and mended, clothes. Clean. No smell, even on a hot summer day when the air conditioning had broken down. She did have one little quirk.

As the train left the station, she would start a little diatribe in a conversational tone of voice:

"I told that fucking Bobby Kennedy. I told him. Don't you touch me fucking Bobby Kennedy. Get away from me fucking Bobby Kennedy."

After a few minutes of this, her false teeth would start to emerge from her mouth and she would begin wrestling them back into place with both hands. It was a mighty struggle for her, but she always managed to subdue them and return to her rant. As the train approached the next station, she would fall silent, starting up again when the train left the station. She didn't flail. She didn't yell. She just ranted about Bobby Kennedy and wrestled with her teeth while remaining inside the space where she was seated.

No matter how crowded the train was, people would move away from her when she started up and the person sitting next to her would vacate their seat. Result!

I would take the free seat and enjoy the comfort of open space in front of me, reading a book while my personal commuter repellant worked to maintain the vacant area for me in the crowded train.
(Wahoo, Fri 28 Sep 2012, 19:49, 3 replies)