I know, I know. I’ve been threatening this for quite a while now…
Trampspotting is being officially retired.
Get over it.
Basically, as I’ve been too busy doing things I actually enjoy (sex, video games, eating food and sleeping late) and others that I don’t (working), I’ve come to the conclusion that I just can’t be bothered with it anymore. I know, you’re very upset.
Perhaps you should ask a homeless person to comfort you.
Right. Piss off.
Watching the Karate Kid trilogy in its entirety can mess you up. I’ve only managed it once and it took me and my friends to the edge of insanity. I’m not entirely sure it’s the sort of thing that could drive one to homelessness, but I certainly believe in the possibility.
On the day I traveled home to London to indulge in just such an activity, a thinly veiled plot to sneak away from my ex-wife to visit a woman I was more attracted to, I found myself stood outside King’s Cross, waiting for the aforementioned woman to show up and join me on the adventure of a lifetime with Mr Miyagi and Daniel Russo. Good times.
Whilst I was waiting for her bus to wend its way through the traffic, I stood by the main entrance, smoking a cigarette. Of course, this was back in the good old days of 2006, before the smoking ban. A large homeless man had been making his way from person to person, asking for change. When he got to me, he noted that I was smoking and asked for a cigarette. Of course, I obliged. I’m a defiant smoker in a non-smoking world and thought I’d share my meager wealth with this poor unfortunate. Once he’d rolled a cigarette and lit it, he asked if I could spare fifty pence.
I reached into my pocket and felt each coin’s shape and size individually, so as not to rattle them in my pocket. I found a fifty pence piece and handed it over, which seemed to please him. Then he remarked:
“I haven’t always been homeless…”
Well, to be fair, I hadn’t made the assumption that he had been.
“I used to be a chartered accountant…”
Really? His face suggested that whether or not he’d ever been a chartered accountant, he’d certainly been a drunk and a tramp for quite some time. Ruddy skin, red with the alcohol induced burst blood vessels of a seasoned pro.
“Really?”
“Yer. I used to be really good with numbers. It’s amazing what a little bit of bad luck and a bad investment can do to you. Lemme shake yer hand. Not many people bother to give me money. I really appreciate it, mate”.
He shook my hand with his grubby paw for what seemed like an eternity. It looked like he would have grabbed me in a filthy embrace if I’d given him a pound. Thank God I’m a tight-arse.
He held the coin between thumb and forefinger and waved it at me, thanking me again, only much much louder this time.
“You’re a good man!”
He stumbled backwards slightly and found his footing, then shambled off into the night.
Of all of the Karate Kid trilogy, the third is the worst.
OK, OK, I’ve been holding out on you. It’s a double post bonanza day on Top Tramps today! You must be stoked, as they say in surfing. I think. I don’t really know where I’m going with this one at all.
Here’s tramp 6 - THE COLLECTOR!
I wasn’t being entirely truthful when I said that my trip up to London had been a bust. I was, in fact, lying. Get me, I’m really cool. I saw The Collector at about 6 in the morning, talking to a young lad that looked like a tramp-in-training, at a bus stop. As you can see, the quality of the picture isn’t great, because it was taken whilst walking. I was still awake from a night of debauched excess and was by no means capable of conducting either a photoshoot or an interview. As my friends and I passed them by, the elder remarked “If I’d known, I would have posed”.
Collectors are, to some extent, the acceptable face of homelessness. Some see them more as eccentrics than tramps. They generally have either large washing bags full of bags, cans or other assorted rubbish, or tramp treasure, as I’ve referred to it as in the past. When not carrying large bags, collectors may have a shopping trolley, which could either be the sort of pull along affair depicted above, or the good old fashioned supermarket trolley, also known as a Student Saloon, as they’re invariably found abandoned in the street after four students have climbed in and made impact with a wall, in an attempt to recreate the high-brow antics of Jackass. Shut up, we’ve all done it. It’s fun.
I’ve talked before about the draw of tramp treasure. It seems that this particular strain of homeless person feel that, even though they are destitute and down on their luck, they still have a civic duty to either clean up or collect. In my time, I’ve stumbled across homeless people’s makeshift homes (what? I used to hang around on wasteland from time to time!) and seen that many of them not only remove rubbish from our streets, but also take it ‘home’ with them and keep it. This could be in some way related to disposophobia, or compulsive hoarding, which seems to be an off-shoot from obsessive compulsive disorder.
Famous hoarders include Edmund Trebus, a poor soul whose plight was recorded in the often heartbreaking A Life of Grime, and the Collyer brothers of New York. These people scavenge through what we throw away and hoard it, fearful of throwing anything away. It could be that they feel what they find may be of some use to themselves or someone else at some point, or perhaps just fear waste. Either way, the obsessive collection of refuse doesn’t seem to be limited to those that have a home to store it in. Whilst neither of these examples were homeless, they certainly bore a resemblance to the iconic image of homelessness - bearded, lonely and fiercely defensive of their property.
Whether it be civic-minded community spirit, or obsession, these tramps actually make our towns and cities a better place to live. Now, I know that sounds odd, but think about it. They do as good, if not a better job, of keeping the streets clean than most council-employed street sweepers. I’ve seen a lot of street sweepers down here in Brighton and most of them appear to be fucked-up old ravers that couldn’t find much else to do. Drugs will do that to you.
That, or make you wander the streets at 6 in the morning, looking for tramps.
Never one to allow myself to be completely written off, I’ve come back from the wilderness with an actual news story about homeless people and the goings on around the YMCA. I’ve made mention of the YMCA many times now, with reference to the many homeless folk that seek refuge there. It’s not a nice place.
Just around the corner from the YMCA, there’s an alley (not Tramp Alley), where you can often spot hapless hard drugs users gathering in the phone box and angrily harassing their dealers down the phone. It’s heart breaking stuff, I’ll tell you. I’d never really put much thought into it, as I generally prefer to give my hard-earned to the Big Issue seller that hangs about by Waterstone’s. The one that stands around in this alleyway always looks like he wants to punch me. And rightly so. I mean, I know I write this blog and witter on about my good intentions towards the homeless, but I’ll readily admit that even I don’t contribute as much to the Big Issue as I probably should. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve bought it without reading it and just left it on a desk at work. Moreover, I’ve lost count of the times I’ve turned a blind eye to comedy Big Issue sellers shouting in my face. The guy at Waterstone’s tends to push his wares with the following slogan:
“Here’s a little shoe, here’s a bigger shoe, here’s the Big Issue!” whilst pointing at his battered old footwear.
I’m rambling.
I’ve not really paid much attention to the graffiti up the alleyway until recently. I’d never noticed the “Drugs 4 Sale” advert, for want of a better word. Dodging through the tramps and smack heads that often lurk underneath it requires a lot of skill and timing, so there’s little time to stop and see the sights. However, I saw it a week or so ago and stopped to take a picture. There it is, above this paragraph.
Being a cynical old bastard, I’d always assumed that there was some sort of dodgy dealings going on within the walls of the YMCA. It’s highly unlikely that everyone in there is going to be a squeaky clean, reformed character. I’ve known a number of people over the years that have either been homeless or battled with addiction to hard drugs and they don’t change easily. My assumptions appear to have been correct.
The day after I snapped the picture above, I was walking to work in the morning and, as always, took the shortcut down Tramp Alley and saw two hugely-bearded homeless fellows being questioned by the Police (see below). The Police were being somewhat aggressive towards these fine old gents and I thought, hey, I might be some sort of witness here, if this all kicks off and a Burt-Reynolds-style brawl occurs. Fortunately, there was no violence and no one got a a chair broken over their back while a woman in a tube-top jiggled and shrieked. Hang on. I’m not sure whether that’s fortunate or not anymore. Either way, here’s the interrogation in process:
Once I’d taken the picture, I realised I was about to be late for work and hurried on my way, dismissing what I’d seen forgetfully and concerning myself more with another unsatisfying day of doing a job I dislike intensely. I’d had my headphones on as I’d passed and hadn’t heard any of what had passed between the four of them.
An hour or so later, whilst out on a break, I noted that there was not only a Police car parked outside the YMCA, but also a CCTV van. Now, those CCTV vans, right. They bug me. How can they expect to capture anything of note on film when there’s a bright yellow van with huge cameras mounted on the top sat dead in the middle of the street? The van even has a “Smile, you’re on CCTV!” sign on the side. It’s basically a tool of paranoia, intended to make people act according to the law. Who would be fool enough to bend one of the Queen’s laws with that staring at them?
As soon as I’d seen them, I thought “someone in the YMCA is getting busted today”. I’d initially thought that the two old tramps that I’d previously seen being questioned had been busted for getting violent, mere moments after I’d arrived in the office. What a crushing disappointment. Though, to be fair, I’ve seen some of the women that hang around outside that place and the last thing you’d want to see any of them do is jiggle and shriek. I’ve heard them shriek in a drunken stupor and I can say honestly that I know what inspired the myth of the banshee.
After a few minutes, a couple of coppers came out of the YMCA, with a young man in handcuffs, who was bundled, quite savagely, into the back of the CCTV van. Seconds later, a WPC came striding manfully (or should I say butchly?) with two huge brown paper sacks that could well have contained a large amount of drugs. A further few seconds after that, a final rozzer exited the building carrying a large toolbox.
I can only assume that the YMCA’s resident dealer is now facing a drugs-related stretch in some prison or another. It’s been a couple of weeks since this happened and since then, there have been more tramps in Tramp Alley, sitting around drinking cheap super-strength alcohol and getting lairy. It must be spring.
Bearing in mind that it’s now spring and the skys are getting bluer, the sun is getting warmer and the streets are filling back up, I’m glad to announce that Tramp Spotting is now back, in full effect.
Go forth and spot.
OK, so, this weekend, I went up to London. Had I not been stricken with food poisoning two nights before, then had to construct a flat pack bed in order to be able to lay down and recover, I might have been more up for a good trampspotting sesh. If I hadn’t spent so long buying DVDs the morning of the trip, I might have got to London quicker, not only allowing time to trampspot, but also allowing longer to hang out with an old friend I’d not seen properly for nearly 10 years. If I hadn’t have foolishly eaten Brown Stew Mutton at Mr Jerk, I might not have spent so long vomiting in the toilet cubicle of a moving train and making myself look like the very homeless I had come to spot.
Upon my walk around London, I spotted a few homeless people. Of course I did, it was London. However, I was in neither the mood nor the capable state needed to stop and record them.
You see, the thing is… I’m bored of writing about tramps. I had hoped that this would be more of a contribution based site and none of you fuckers send me anything. NONE of you. I’m almost inclined to ban all your IPs and write loads of new stuff, knowing full well that none of you lazy bastards will be able to see it.
What I’m saying is: “Trampspotting will be closing down soon”.
BYE.
Hello, faithful Tramp Spotters.
As you’ve probably noticed, content is still pretty thin on the ground on this blog. It’s not my fault.
However! I am going up to London to Tramp Spot at the end of the month and intend to bring you some quality tramps on my return. Oh yes.
Go forth and spot (and send me your findings).
There’s now a Tramp Spotting section on the ithinkmybrainisfull forums. Hoo-rah.
The alleyway that runs alongside the YMCA, where the doorway dweller used to sleep, has recently been filling up with tramp debris.
Here’s some of the more choice items I’ve seen, discarded in the alley:
A pair of reasonably wearable trainers! In fashionable tramp-brown, no less. Why on Earth do people discard a pair of trainers when they’re out and about? Perhaps this was a case of spontaneous combustion. A tramp was walking through the alley then… WOOF! Up in flames! Stranger things have happened.
Another pair of shoes! What is wrong with the world?
An almost full bottle of cheap wine! This is basically the tramp version of the Generation Game we’re seeing here. I wonder if there’ll be a fondue set any time soon…
As you can probably tell, I’ve not had many note-worthy tramp encounters recently. It’s very disappointing. I’m going to have to solely rely on the submissions of others until I’ve got something more interesting to report. So, basically, I’m blaming you for my lack of content. You bastards.
So, tramp spotters, if you can rightly call yourself that, get your arses, cameras and tramp-lures in gear and get spotting. This site won’t write itself!
MC Hammer is going to help the homeless in 2008. Respect.
Tramps have been a bit thin on the ground recently, so I’m just going to do a quick update of submissions. One of which I’ve had lying around for ages and forgot all about. It’s OK, I’ve remembered it now. It’s a short one, from Rosie Posie, of b3ta:
“My favourite tramp ever was sitting on the tube wearing teensy shorts, string vest and blazer, and if that wasn’t good enough, he then produced out of his pocket an electric razor and started shaving. On the tube.” - Rosie Posie
Fabulous! Despite the fact that the man is dressed like a village idiot, he still takes the time to have a shave and make himself look good for his public. You’ve got to respect that.
The next is also from a b3ta person, Newington:
“This was in broad streetlight, in the midst of a Christmas shopping crowd in town. A homeless man was sitting on the ground with a blanket and an empty coffee cup for pennies and no dignity or humanity. I put my hand in my pocket as I approached and realised that in order to get to his cup, I’d have to walk a whole two metres or so across the flow of the crowd, so I smiled apologetically and carried on. Just after I passed, a drunk man launched himself at the homeless man, belted him twice and half slurred, half shouted: “Get out my country. You’re ruining us.”
It’s possible the drunk man was something non-ruinous, a doctor or a teacher or a captain of industry in his sober hours, but I doubt it.
I went back and gave the homeless man a handful of change and touched my hat with Guardian-editorial guilt. I wish I could give him real change. More than anything, I wish people weren’t twats.” - Newington
Heart-rending tales.
And finally, from Tramp master, Mitch:
“Howdy Bud,
Managed to get a shot of another free roaming soul, poor shot I know but he’s more nimble than me. This fine gent does the bins, not all day because he’s got it sorted. I’ve often seen him on the early shift scouting round the pub/club doorways for half full alcopop bottles, dropped taxi money and half eaten burgers. As with most of the wanderers I see he’s a good lad who makes a positive impact on the city of Hull by clearing up in a womble like fashion. He’s like the Ray Mears of the city, wheeling his bike round as he forages for gems like half burgers.
T’other day our lass saw him scoop half a bottle of water out of a bin, his face lit up with delight, made me think, a diet of burgers and ale might well be 100 miles from what he’d pick. His bike seems to be more of a walking aid than anything else because. I’ve never seen him actually sat on the saddle. Handy for his carriers too, harvesting half empty glass bottles must be heavy work.
As with all the tramps I’ve reported so far, he’s polite, quiet and goes a long way towards making the city a better place.”
As ever, Mitch has provided a lovely photograph to accompany this piece. He’s like a proper journalist.
I’ve been incredibly lax with this side of the site for a while now, but its a new year and I intend on putting a little bit more effort in and getting some proper Tramp Spotting done. Promise.