Thursday, 26 August 2010

I found this note on the street on the way into work...

I found this note in the street on my way into work. It's the third I've found bearing this message in the last six months.

John was back at work after a week off. I asked whether he'd had a good time and he told me his dog had eaten his Yorkshire pudding in a café in Grassington.

Two separate cars stopped to ask me for directions to the Spiritualist Church.

At County Foods, I handed my paperwork over to the receptionist and she filled in her signature while talking on the phone; "I've got this guy on hold, he's ringing from a café in Batley. He's on about black puddings..."
Suddenly, a large dog jumped up from behind the desk and began barking at me, its front paws on the sill of the service hatch. The receptionist dragged it back down by its collar as a tall man in a suit leant in through an adjoining door and gave her a quizzical look.
"Don't ask", she said to him.
"Is it a guard dog?" said the man.
"It's guarding me from the likes of you, Alan" said the receptionist.

At the newsagent's, the chubby assistant with the heavy foundation and the glittery bits on her face was telling her colleague about her unfaithful boyfriend as she served me. "He said she looked better from a distance than close to but he still knobbed her didn't he? He's got a picture of it on his phone!"

Friday, 13 August 2010

At the newsagent's, Christine was on the till...

Lockwood from Kevin Boniface on Vimeo.

At the newsagent's, Christine was on the till. She nodded at the pile of Examiners on the counter and said “There’s a new murder every day isn’t there? It’s like a new craze or something.”
“A craze?” I said.
“Yeh, you know, like a new craze from America, like skateboarding.”
“Yes” I said.
“Do you remember that craze for blokes hanging themselves not so long back?” said Christine.
“Yes, a bit back, about six months, a year back. Between me and my ex-husband we knew half a dozen blokes who hung themselves in the space of about three months.”
“Two of them were on our paper-rounds.” said Christine.
“Blimey! I wonder what brought that on?”
“I don’t know. Do you remember him who built our steps? He was one, hung himself.”
“Really? That’s terrible” I said.
“I know, and the thing is everyone’s always going on about them steps; the top one’s too short. People are always tripping over it and then they come in here and say ‘Whoever did them steps wants shooting!' What am I supposed to say to that now?”

Tuesday, 10 August 2010

5.30am. A man with a baby in a pram was rapping hard on the shutters of the newsagent's...

Milford Street from Kevin Boniface on Vimeo.

5.30am. A man with a baby in a pram was rapping hard on the shutters of the newsagent's shop. A hundred yards further down the road I passed a drunk goth eating a bag of Skips.

Later on, I saw a woman with a pot on her leg walking up South Lane. She said she wasn't going to the hairdressers now because they were going to squeeze her in on Tuesday instead. She said she was off up to Julie's because she's got a seat outside.

D-MON K!D, $L!T K!D and EV!L BO¥ have all written their names on the pouch box at Winchester Bank.

A man with two black eyes was walking up Manchester Road.

I found a dead prawn in the footwell of my van.

Thursday, 5 August 2010

Vincent, my neighbour, caught me as I was leaving for work...

Pigeon and roadworks from Kevin Boniface on Vimeo.

Vincent, my neighbour, caught me as I was leaving for work,
“Er, Kevin, I’ve got something to show you”.

He dashed inside, wiping his hands on his pinny as he went. When he returned he stood on his step, hiding something behind his back.
“Do you cook a lot of chicken?” he asked.
“Not really, occasionally” I said.
“Well, I’ve got just the thing” said Vincent and, with a slight flourish, he produced one of those shallow tin trays that chickens come in when you buy them from a supermarket.
“Marks and Spencer”, he said, “It came free with the chicken”.
"Thanks" I said.

The Millgate office box was jammed full of junk mail and takeaway flyers with obscenities scrawled all over them in blue biro. Someone had also tried to set fire to them by feeding matches through the slot. I mentioned it to the girl who works behind the counter, she said “I know! I caught her doing it, it was Mrs Armitage from Dunston Road.”

A young man in a track suit was cutting his own hair with a pair of blue plastic handled scissors as he walked down Cross Lane. He had no mirror and was feeling the hair at his temples with his left hand as he snipped with his right.

On the landing, Saj said the Yardies had been threatening him again so during a quiet spell he nipped over the road to the gun shop to buy a bullet proof vest.
He returned without one; “They were four hundred quid so I didn’t bother.”

Tuesday, 3 August 2010

I could see a figure lying face down on the pavement...

Southgate from Kevin Boniface on Vimeo.

06.30 a.m.: I could see a figure lying face-down on the pavement up ahead. I got a bit closer and I saw his right arm move. He rolled briefly onto his side and back onto his front, where he lay still again. He was wearing new, clean clothes: plaid shirt, dark blue denim jeans and expensive-looking trainers. As I passed, I asked whether he was OK. 
He rolled onto his side again. He was young, mid-twenties, dark curly hair. 
'I’m just bored,' he said.
'Oh, as long as your ok?' I said.
'Have you got a spare cig?'
'Ok.' He rolled back onto his front.

I carried on up the road and into the park where a man of about sixty years old – Adidas trainers and shorts – was picking up the dog shit left by his border terrier and putting it into a little plastic bag.