Monday, 20 December 2010

I'm still having to step over last years dead Christmas tree...

Castle Hill ll from Kevin Boniface on Vimeo.

I'm still having to step over last year's dead Christmas tree to get to the letter box at 87 Granby Park.

A woman with tight jeans and a furry hat with ear flaps mistook me for a colleague who'd recently featured in The Daily Examiner for doing the shopping for some of his elderly customers during the cold spell; she told me how much old Mr Mallinson had appreciated me getting his fags for him.

I handed over a parcel to a man in his fifties with some keys on his belt. It was obviously a Christmas present and so he said "Bloody Hell! Someone's got money to burn... I'm a miserable sod aren't I?" He laughed hysterically and then said "Thank you my man" to me three times in an west midlands accent and shut the door.

Just past the interior designer's house with the upvc porch and the fake leaded lights in a stylised tulip pattern, about ten yards down from where he parks his white Astra with the body kit and the white circular cardboard air freshener which dangles from the rear view mirror and has the word "air" die-cut out of it in helvetica bold, opposite the red brick inter-war semi called "UP EM HALL" with the 3-wheeler motorcycle on the drive, half buried in the pile of mucky snow across from the house with the six foot high inflatable Homer Simpson wearing a santa hat, I discovered I could find eternal peace of mind—from just £28.00 per annum*

*According to the promotional leaflet about insuring memorial stones and headstones I found there.

Sunday, 12 December 2010

On my way into work at 5.30am a young woman in a frock coat...


Kirkburton from Kevin Boniface on Vimeo.
On my way into work at 5.30am, a young woman in a frock coat shouted to me from across the street, “Postman Pat! My daughter hates you!”

When I nearly lost my footing on an icy pavement, the old man in the cardigan and the scarf said “It’s like a bottle for you, isn’t it lad? Mind how you go.”

I was on her doorstep when a woman came round the corner and said hello. She startled me and I jumped. “You’re like me with your nerves” she said.

I saw Rod Singleton in a bobble hat, chipping ice from his driveway with a spade. He says the weathermen are talking out of their fucking arses when they tell us it’s going to get warmer next week.

When I slipped on the path of his neighbour’s house, a man who looked a bit like he was from the 1970s told me “Normally he cleans his path; he’s a taxi driver. It’s shocking is that for his wife.”

At a house on Tunnel Road, an elderly man with a florid combover and one of those zip-up, rib-knit raglan cardigans with the suede elbow patches said, “I’ve lived here for forty year and never seen a single person come down here with a bit of salt. It’s disgusting!”

I was stood emptying a post box when a woman in a big black coat came round the corner and crashed her buggy into my ankles. She didn’t say anything or even look up, she just reversed a bit and went round me.

A tall, slim woman in her mid-forties with a dyed black bob, knee length boots, and skinny jeans was walking up Parkway past a large snow sculpture of a cock and some balls. Arms outstretched, face raised up towards the sky and eyes shut tight, she sang along to Lady Gaga on her mp3 player.

Tuesday, 7 December 2010

The man who shouts at the top of his voice at 05.30 in the morning...


Untitled from Kevin Boniface on Vimeo.

The man who shouts at the top of his voice at 05.30 in the morning from the Dale Street flats was screaming instead this morning.

An unusual silver/grey fibreglass box has been left on Park Road. It’s about a foot square and on the lid it says “This is it Martin” in black marker pen.

At the newsagent's, a customer was telling the Asian proprietress about some neighbours who'd made him a curry, “They had a two week holiday in Pakistan – or India, I can’t remember which, one or the other – and when they got back they invited me and the missus round for a curry and oh! It were bang-on! It really was superb!”
Outside, two school mums were talking as they picked their way around the torn mattress, the divan bed base and the purple vest top in the icy puddle; “You’re walking like a mong” said one. “I know!" said the other "I need a wee – desperately”.

A man with a leather jacket, blue tracksuit bottoms, black trainers, a bulbous nose, a grey moustache and a black baseball cap came out of The Caledonian Café and belched loudly. It smelt strongly of liver and onions.

A saw a rat run across Heaton Road.

The Skip Hire man always says "morning lad" to me but I'm pretty sure I'm older than he is.

I saw my abusive neighbour again today, he was telling a learner driver to "fuck off".
I need some waterproof socks.

Wednesday, 1 December 2010

A woman with unseasonably sheer tights was feeding pigeons


Gulls in snow from Kevin Boniface on Vimeo.

A woman with unseasonably sheer tights was feeding pigeons birdfood from a Jack Fulton Frozen Value carrier bag at 6am.

I passed a woman in the street who said it was "niptorious" today.

The three people walking in front of me in a heavy snow shower were in conversation:
The thin white girl with the scraped back pony tail and skinny jeans said "She's dead young. They'd better make sure she doesn't get fucking pregnant".
The other two said "I know!"
After a bit, the thin white girl suddenly said "I need a fucking car!"
The asian boy with the saggy jeans and the quilted jacket said "I can get you one for £135. It's alright; it's got a nice CD player... I can sort you out a USB if you want."
The thin white girl said "I don't care as long as it goes, I've got to be in fucking town for half-one"
The asian boy said "It should be £200 but I'll sort it for you for £135 if you definitely want it. Do you definitely want it?"
"Of course I fucking do! I've got to be in fucking town haven't I!"
"Ok" said the asian boy "I'll bring it you round later".
The thin black girl with the cerise pink dressing gown and the Ugg boots didn't say anything, she just walked along with her arms folded.

I suggested to a woman who was clearing her path in a blizzard that it must be a bit like painting the Forth bridge. She said she didn't know.

A skinny Irishman in his fifties with a roll-up, a greasy ducktail and a disobedient sheltie sang out to me as he walked past, "Postman, postman don't be slow, be like Elvis, go man go!" When he'd finished, he asked me whether I'd liked it and I said I had.

A young man in a hooded top and an Alfa Romeo 147 was struggling to get any traction in the snow on Mill Street. Fortunately two more young men in hooded tops came running over shouting "We'll give you a push, you cunt!" and they did, right to the top of the hill.
Just then, a middle aged woman in a fleece jacket and a Lodge's Pharmacy van with Celebrity Slim Weight Loss Programme written on it came around the corner at the bottom of Mill Street and also started to struggle up the hill. This time the two young men in hooded tops shouted to the thin white girl with the skinny jeans and the thin black girl with the cerise pink dressing gown who had appeared at the bottom of the street, "You two can push her!" and they walked away.