Radio Man
Cheltenham's Radio Man always mystified me. A large seemingly respectable man who wore a tweed jacket and normally a mustard polo neck jumper. What set him apart was the small red radio that was almost permanently clutched to the side of his head. He used to meander on an extremely inefficient route across town. I would see him heading one way in the morning and then back the same way in the evening. Was never quite sure where he was coming from and where he was going to. An old girlfriend told me he would set up camp in what is known as the beer gardens; precious radio released from his loving grasp and placed on the ground for him to dance around.

He really looked normal apart from the radio. And the insane grin. A giveaway I guess.

He once scared the shit out of me and a mate in the local swimming pool. That wasn't nice being followed about by him (note above: he was a big man and obviously not sound of mind). My mate didn't believe me about the radio aspect of the man's life. The proof was later found in the changing rooms in the shape of 'naked' Radio Man.

I don't go back there much.
(Dr Benson Smoke, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:47, Reply)

Well...
Swansea only seems to let the tramps out when my friends are talking about how they couldnt eat another mouthfull of food...

Anyway, we got a singing man who seems to be surprisingly sober. He hangs a few of the streets, singing church songs and getting small crowds of people to join in...
And someone who walks around all day wearing a top hat....
(Pigmash, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:47, Reply)

Peter The Baildon Monk
His name is peter I think, I work on The Otley Road (near Green's) and we see him weekly, he waves if you salute him. He gets around I have seen him in Keighley and Bradford.

There was a fellow with white Hair, top-less, can of tennants who used to walk around he once told my mate he was David Ginola. He'll sometimes croon for you (dependant upon number of tennants had).

I only see day-time Baildon, and don't know it well, sorry!.
( Sam, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:43, Reply)

Oxford's tapdancer
Here's the story about the embarrassment caused a few years ago by one student's "exploitation" of the unique entertainer who's already made an appearance in one or two posts here.
(ionicus, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:41, Reply)

The Baildon Monk
Theres a guy in my villiage who goes around most of west yorkshire dressed like a monk with a brown robe and sandals. Apparently he's really rich and has a huge house. I see him everywhere I go. Erm, he's not really that crazy but all the kids make fun of him. He's a nice guy who dresses like a monk. Crap story really. I'll get my coat.

*Sam: Do you know the name of the other nutter. Mad something or other. Lived off west lane somewhere. Haven't seen him for years. Used to walk around mumbling. He talked to me once and it was very freaky! BTW I used to work at the New Inn just down the road!*
( bobzarkoff, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:37, Reply)

Southend on Sea
The poetry lady, in an electric wheelchair with a 'wonderfully crafted' banner over her head. Will aggressively try to get you to buy a grubby photocopy of some of her poetry. Don't approach her, look her in the eye or acknowledge her in any way or she will pursue you for the full length of the high street.
( moonspoon blowin' free, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:35, Reply)

Selwyn (Mr) Birmingham
Another Dole office tale:

I once gave a taxi spotter a 13 week 'back to work' interview (you had to it was dole law) and asked him about the kind of career he wanted......

He knew everything about taxi's, he new all the hackney cariage licence numbers in Birmingham, and Birmingham council knew, that he knew everything about taxi's and they were jealous and wouldn't grant him one. He had the knowledge!

He was the spit of Patick Moore and I felt like I had done psychotropic drugs, best days work I ever did.

I know too many nutters local and national.
( Sam, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:33, Reply)

i am
the local nutter, children point and laugh at me
(codec monkey, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:29, Reply)

Radio Joe
Walks around nuneton dancing and getting drunk, he sold his house and his belongings when his family left. so now he dances to his radio, half the time his headphones arn't plugged in anyway. (if u meet him, he realy likes fried chicken)
( betascoo8, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:29, Reply)

Dole Offices
I used to work in a dole office in Birmingham, we had a fellow in, one cool muthafucker, changed his name to John Bon-jovi. I used to have another 'client' who if I saw him in a local off licence would hide his cider and thank me for his Giro.

those were the days...
( Sam, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:24, Reply)

Oxford has an old man who tap dances along to tunes on his stereo.
He's really not vey good
( Hankster, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:21, Reply)

In Silsden, West Yorkshire
The man who lived opposite my Gran and Grandad used to paint his car with nescafe all Saturday Morning (he had a Morris Marina), then in the afternoon he would go shopping in the village wearing a kilt, string vest and lipstick. In later years he went for tweed. He had also tartan shopper on wheels. I am not sure what he was buying. Must have been good.
( Sam, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:17, Reply)

There's no one weird who lives near me

I'm sure there's a phrase like "not being able to spot the sucker....."
(Obi Wan Jonobi, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:14, Reply)

Reading's Elvis
quality chap, yes elgonzorelli he's the dude in the elvis t-shirt, he is the one who hangs around friar street. He's actually very friendly, just really fucking loves elvis

just don't step on his blue suede shoes

thankyouverymuch. uh-huh-huh.
(he who walks, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:10, Reply)

Southfields nutter
I've been accosted by this bearded weirdo who seems harmless but does tend to scream obscenities at you if you ignore him. Just last night coming out of Threshers with a crate of cans, he screams "have a nice evening" which I thought was nice till he followed it by "Are listening to my fucking music" and then started dancing about in a way I can only describe as a marionette being operated by an epilectic. Thought was going to twat some poor girl but upon seeing her calmed down. I sped off before he remembered me.
( juliogeordio, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:05, Reply)

Peterborough - bush shelter nutter
There's Nobby who's lived in a local bus-shelter for about ten years (think of an anorexic Hagrid after a particularly long bout of explosive diahorrea). He smells so bad that the bus company gave him the bus shelter to live in and built a replacement bus-stop a few yards down the road so that bus-users could queue in fresh air. Nobby's bus shelter is packed full of duvets, sleeping bags, carrier bags, suitcases and myriad other item-conveying articles (no shopping baskets or trolleys though).
.
Every Christmas Day the local residents pop around to give him Christmas dinner; Xmas Pud, crackers, the lot. He's often seen wandering around the town centre with a tinselly paper hat on well after Boxing Day. The local council & police force are so sick of trying to force him to move on that they just ignore him now.
.
The local paper once convinced him to have a wash, shave off his massive, matted beard and get a half-decent haircut (I pity the poor bastard who got lumbered with cropping that lice infested matted rat's nest of a hairstyle) and then dressed him in Pringle stuff and made up a story about him playing in the Open Golf Tournament at St Andrews (cue big fuck off front-page photo of Nobby swinging a 4 iron, his empty four-packs of Tennant's Extra & 20,000 carrier bags conveniently cropped out of the shot) .
.
I've seen him wander around town collecting cigarette butts and yowling like a Tasmanian Devil at the top of his voice at anyone who walks within 20 feet of him.
(bez_lightyear, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:04, Reply)

Madness abroad...
Firstly, and I apologise if this has already been mentioned, the mad lady on the central reservation in O'Connell street, Dublin.
She thoroughly entranced our rugby team when we went on tour there, wearing a faded purple velvet jacket and dancing like a ballet dancer to the patriotic irish music blasting from the tourist shops.

According to a friend of mine she's there in all seasons and is a bit of a hero to the locals.

Back in Bolton we have just had a spate of *Drunk Tramp Busking";
Ingredients:
1 Drunk tramp
1 guitar with a few strings
a handful of queen lyrics;
"we will we will rock you"
"all we need is radio *mumble mumble mumble*"
"blood on his plaice, stupid face" (or words to that effect)

For at least an hour (from the beginning to the end of my lunch) he will sit, shouting out random words from queen songs. Repeatedly. In no order. The better bits were his occasional improvised verses. Bless the effort though!

And finally, in a little suburb of Toulouse (France) called Purpan, a lady in her late 40s stands on one of the main roundabouts orchestrating the traffic as if it were the philharmonic. You can see the joy on her face, and if you smile or wave, she happily waves back. Nice to know madness has no linguistic boundaries.


To be perfectly honest, I'm actually quite jealous of the mad ladies, they must be so contained in their own worlds. I aspire to be like that. Think I'm going to have to go out and buy a big purple velvet jacket!
(Imp of destruction, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 16:01, Reply)

Big Ron - Winchester
Matazone - Ron, Winchester. He sits outside our office in Winchester (Jewry Street) in his pushchair smoking cigars. Ron Rocks! Do u remember the shouty woman? She was great, but has straightened out now. Sadly.
(darfbozo, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 15:57, Reply)

Wood Green...
KQ, are you saying there are non-crazies in Wood Green?
(DayvidBerdo, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 15:50, Reply)

I have a few more...
Theres a local guy who I really cant remember his name but a load of .Hes not crazy or anything (hes aparrently a really nice bloke) its just that he wears a dress and a big blond wig and always wears stilleto shoes. Now you think "well theres nothing really wrong with that" but he doesnt shave or wear fake boobs or anything, he has nice big sideburns. Its like he just woke up and desides to wear his wifes stuff to pick up the shopping.

Oh and this guy who I think musta got arrested or something cause I havent seen him for a while. This apparently homeles man used to beg in shifts all about H'pool. At a certain time he'd be outside the war memorial. Hed go up to certain people and say the same thing-"Im really sorry, Im not asking for anything, im not begging or wanting to cause you any troubles but could ya please please give us 20 quid"
( Blobcat Less Jaffacakes this year, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 15:38, Reply)

The shouty Jamaican in Wood Green
Wood Green, North London. There's a elderly Jamaican guy with a full grey beard who either stands outside Safeways, shouting, or wanders around inside Safeways, shouting. He doesn't seem to be shouting at anyone, he just does it to the open air.
I'm also not sure what he's shouting, it could well be patois, but it's not English. He doesn't sound particularly angry, just mildly frantic.
( KQ, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 15:36, Reply)

Insane Neighbour
Brighton again. Was living in Queens Park Road opposite a complete and totally full-on loon.

He would have a different slogan written on his front door everyday. These would range from football scores to cryptic messages about Father Christmas/Jesus/Satan e.t.c.

Crowning moment came when he decided to eject most of his worldy possessions from his house in a fit of spazzy rage. Framed pictures flying across the road, glass smashing all over the place said nut-case screaming his head off the entire time. He went back inside and we could hear the sound of complicated destruction for hours.
(Speculum, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 15:33, Reply)

She recently died....oh well
Psycho Saally everyone called her, in Hartlepool. She was this rather old lady who seemed normal until she suddenly moves her arms like shes on a fruit machine, or starts talking/yelling to objects. One day in the town center she was having an argument with the floor when some git I know says "oi! stop yelling at my floor tile!" She proceeded to hit him with her hand bag.

And what Tom said about the neighbour talking to their dog, I talk to my cats all the time. They are siamiese who can talk (not words but alternative meaows, like in a wingy voice) they are just like kids, except they are furrier, have tails and more demanding.
( Blobcat Less Jaffacakes this year, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 15:22, Reply)

Bruce Springsteen
Anyone who ever stood in the queue at Rochdale cinema in the early nineties will remember it was the cheapest cinema bar none. £1 for any film. They will probably also remember Bruce Springsteen.
He was a youngish lad who would habitually entertain the queue by impersonating The Boss. He would mumble vaguely familiar lyrics in a style not dissimilar to the great man himself. Later, he started sporting a hanky in his back pocket and singing to a crap Walkman.
Things turned nasty one night when some twat started pelting him with change. Even though a couple of two pees zinged off his head, he performed gainfully on. A true pro.

They shut the cinema a few years ago, and the new multiplex is out of town. I think I saw him outside a few pubs in Rochdale once or twice. Possibly broadening his repertoire.
( Smallbrainfield, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 15:21, Reply)

Celebrity nutter
I went to see Julian Cope live last night. He was wearing the type of hat that old women wear to do the gardening, mirror shades and full beard. Will that do?

Luckily, he is the type of nutter I pay money to see. Years ago, a mate of mine was working in a pub in Bristol, and Mr Cope wandered in wearing a fluorescent yellow leotard.
(fried gold, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 15:18, Reply)

cross the road
There is man who lives in a mental institution in nottingham (near the arboretum) who loves to cross the road. he will literally cross a 200m stretch of road 20ish times. Signposts will be incorporated into the fun, he will walk round them a couple of times. He always looks deliriously happy, maybe because of drugs used to suppress his obvious mental frailty. There are thousands of mentals in notts. Howabout the chap, known as the mullet, chicken master or the vampire who hangs round bars on his own every night of the week on his own talking to nobody. he is a scary chap and will run if he thinks you are trying to communicate with him in anyway. Who is this bloke, does anyone know?
(donald_semblance, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 15:11, Reply)

Southfields Man
I know who you mean Razor.

I dont think he is mad, I think he just loves scaring the hell out of people (he's laughing at our fear secretly)

He also cycles to his spot with a huge Animal (from the muppets) face backpack - probably that he can scare people from behind as well!
(madam fifi, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 15:05, Reply)

Manchester again
A man (not necessarily mad, but sad all the same). Gets on the 216 bus every morning into Manchester, and 'pretends' to go to work (when really he sits in the internet cafe all day!) Has a big red face, bad tash and fat neck, and wears really old charity shop style suits that are about 3 sizes too small for him!

Amazed to see he's acquired a girlfriend recenlty!
(finbarr, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 14:56, Reply)

The sarong-wearing shuffler
There's a guy who cuts about Glasgow, v. tanned, always wears a sarong, an orange puffa jacket, a bandana and dessie boots and has the most enourmous set of earphones ever - he walks along, sometimes dancing to whatever he's listening to v. loudly......I'll have some o' what he's had!
Mad as arseholes!
(Foxy McClumpha, Fri 17 Sep 2004, 14:55, Reply)