this could really do with WAP posting..
..an hour ago on a bus a very odd man got on, he lives by me, so I recoqnised him

he has a giant head of hair - sort of well.. like krusty the clowns. and giant circle glasses. i think he looks like an owl.

he would not make contact with anything, he opened the window using a tissue (AND ALL HIS STRENGH), rang the bell with his hand in his sleeve, and seemed to hover on the seat.

i want to make friends with him
( stevierar, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:24, Reply)

In Manchester
there's a guy in Market Street that stands with a guitar. He's not actually playing it, but he occasionaly hits it with his hands and every few minutes shouts out 'CUNT!' very loudly.
( chobb ,ø¤ºGREATº¤ø,¸¸,ø¤ºRAPISTº¤ø,¸¸,ø¤ºRECOMMENDEDº¤ø, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:22, Reply)

Oxford Circus
the godbothering biblebasher with the megaphone who spends all day carolling

are you a winner
are you a sinner
some of us have found jesus christ
others are lost without jesus christ

are you a winnnnnnnnner
are you a sinnnnnnnnnner

repeatedly. also saw it annoying happy people outside the sheryl crow concert at wembley...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:22, Reply)

20 years ago I worked part-time in a mental asylum.
4 years ago, I was admitted to a different mental asylum, temporarily.

In neither of these did I meet as many nutters as I did when I worked as assistant manager of the Kent Connection bar (now, I believe, the Boadicea) at Charing Cross station. There was an endless parade of them, in amongst the usual commuters and pinstriped cunts.

A chap I remember fondly was Karl, who stood around watching the world go by, and would occasionally bark out something random. Twice. "The British are coming, the British are coming" was a regular cry, although my personal favourite was "Stoke on Trent, Stoke on Trent" in a tone of surprised joy.

I won't bore you with the full list, but I do feel the need to mention "Mad Mary", the sympathetically titled scizophrenic lady who lived next door to the sweet shop in the early 70s when I was a child. She frequently had furious shouting arguments with her invisible companion while walking down the high street; but I remember her most from the day when I went past her house and she was sitting on the doorstep, with her black labrador facing out between her knees. While she wanked it.

I always went the long way round to the sweet shop after that.
( godstar, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:21, Reply)

i'm from banstead
we had our fair share thanks to the care in the community program relatively recently shutting down our sizeable mental home.
Lets see, from the top:
There was jesus man, walked around all the local town centres in a white suit, had very long hair and beard, didn't wear shoes, attracted and talked to pigons. Would preach to anyone who stopped to listen, was rumoured to hand out money if you asked, but no one *I* knew was mean enough to find out.
There was karate man, forever wandering the same route along a couple of busy roads, god knows where it started and finished. Wore a luminous orange tracksuit, occasionally performed a fairly impressive kung-fu move on the air in front of him. Only ever seen from cars, so no one knows what he's like.
There was the bag man, wandered up and down a stretch of the local main road with a bike wrapped in plasic bags, wore them on his feet and put one on his head when it rained. Had pockets stuffed with them. Big, big, silly hair. Rumoured to live in a small shack in the woods we saw him go into once or twice.
There was (the most popular of all) sorry-to-bother-you man. Tottered down sutton high street singing hymns, shouted "sorry to bother you" at everyone (and i mean everyone) he saw, repeatedly when people stopped anywhere near him. Only one line of his songs sticks with me, because it was the only one i didn't recognise from any hymn i know. The line was "it's fantastic to be a spastic". Once i was walking home, heard him singing, turned and saw he was a good 50 metres behind me, turned again less then 10 secconds later, he was still walking at his slow pace but about 3 paces behind me. Worrying.
Then theres water man. Must have been at least 60, he just wandered up and down sutton high street every day wearing the same white tank top and black shorts, carrying a barrel of water on his back almost as big as him, with a straw leading to his mouth. No one knows anyhing about him.
Oh, and of course the peculiar mumbling man, he'd stand behind you in a shop queue and mumble in a steady, rythmic way, twitching occasionally, and then wander off once you reached the front of the queue.
( Yeknom. Incontinence and Premature ejaculation? Easy come, easy go., Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:20, Reply)

Market Street Mincer
Not seen him for a while but he was/is a tall camp man who wears bad make-up, tight denim and minces up and down Market Street in Manchester all day, seen him?
(Fully Goyle what?, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:20, Reply)

In Weston super Mare
there's an old chap who wanders about everywhere wearing a very old and faded knee-length anorak, on the back of which he has written the words: 'Don't follow me, follow Jesus'.

I have yet to ask him in what direction Jesus might be travelling...
( b3th Not shit. Not mod., Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:19, Reply)

Purple Acky
There was an urban legend around Wigan, St Helens and Liverpool a few years ago about a huge black man who tried to interfere with young boys. We were all warned that if we were bad, "Purple Acky would get us!" I found out a few month ago that he's real!!!! He was arrested in 2002 for trying to fondle a boy!
(Fully Goyle what?, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:19, Reply)

Chuffty Man
In my town in Devon, while we walked to school, every day we would pass the chuffty man. He was an old man with some sort of growth on his forehead (we thought he was an actual dick head). He couldn't talk properly but would always try and warn us of the "sea creatures" that were trying to get him. I havent seen him in 5 years, maybe the sea creatures finally had thier way with him.
(JK5150, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:14, Reply)

Banbury...
where I misspent my youth, is blessed with the presence of a man who walks the same route around town every day, holding a 2 foot wooden cross in front of him, "blessing" the town... There was also a black guy who covered himself in flour, and would tell anyone who'd listen he was white really...
(tomptytom, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:08, Reply)

Mr Smiley
Every day on the way to college (Ridge Danyers in Marple, Stockport), A guy we nicknamed Mr Smiley got on the bus. He had this constant fixed absofuckinglutely insincere smile and used to sit there going "ohdearohdearohdear" in a whispery high pitched voice.

He occasionally mimicked the sound of the brakes on the bus, going "Ffffsssshhhh" every time they applied.

I miss him.
( Mike Fishcake teamfishcake.co.uk - better than your mum's face, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:05, Reply)

Patriotic Insanity
Yesterday there was a woman at the end of my street frantically waving an American flag on a stick, until she was red in the face. By the time I circled round and came back, she had completely disappeared. I suppose I should've checked the trees, where she might have been catching up with the other nutters.

(from Dallas, TX, USA - don't worry, she's far from the UK)
( sparky, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:05, Reply)

oh and then there's that other guy.
The post about "Cosmic Bob" reminded me of a busker in Canterbury called Shaun.

Well. i say busker. you can see him outside clarks every day, LITERALLY bashing on a keyboard, whilst it's playing demo music, waving one hand in the air.

nutty. yes.

you know the best bit?
he wears mickey mouse slippers.

you know what's even BETTER?
he's completely fucking sane. and with the money he earned from acting like a complete froot-loop, he went on a three-week holiday to the cayman islands.

bastard.
(melancholica, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:04, Reply)

crazy suzanne.
I live in whitstable - well known for it's extensive london tourist population, and absolute fucking flying nutjobs.

So i'm sitting in my local, enjoying a pint. *minding my own business*. and a woman known to many as "Crazy Suzanne" comes up and starts talking at me.
She tells me that a man who drinks here is the father of her unborn child, and wants nothing to do with it, and she seems very upset. I sympathise and ask how far gone she is.

"23 months."

.....
fucking idiot.
(melancholica, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 14:01, Reply)

When I was at uni in Preston in 1996 / 97
I used to regularly see a guy outside HMV on the high street who was quite often (ok, always) pissed as fuckety fuck, who would quite often "dance" (a kind of waving shuffle type thing) and sing "Ice Ice Baby". And I'm talking about the full version here, verses and all.

"All right stop" (hand pushed out)
"Collaborate and listen!" (waving hand about)
"Ice is back with a brand new invention"

and then continue shaking his hand about in time to the music.

Special.
( Mike Fishcake teamfishcake.co.uk - better than your mum's face, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:53, Reply)

Cosmic Bob
'Ning all....

Oxford B3tans, especially those who lived here 10 years ago or so, will doubtless remember the whiffy shuffling fraud who went under the moniker "Cosmic Bob".

He would oft be seen 'juggling' fruit on St. Giles or Little Clarendon St, although what this juggling turned out to be was simply an inept shuffling of tangerines from hand to hand, occasionally throwing and catching one, accompanied by the mantra "Spare any change, beautiful person".
Do you know what? The bloody well did too! Stacks of it! He could often be seen after a hard day's citrus-shuffling, in Georgina's Cafe, counting out 20 to 30 quid at a time, giggling to himself.

We got to know where he would be, and avoided him like the smelly old perv he was after he started using his position of minor local celebrity to leer down local girls' tops and invite them to be his 'special magical friends with beautiful auras', or some other cosmic tosh.
Wanker.

Sorry, wanker in a pointy hat, and that's the best bit of him really. The wizard's hat he wore to simultaneously identify himself and alert savvy locals to his presence.
The fraudulent twat disappeared about 10 years ago, presumably when eirther the locals had wised up to him or he had news of a dead relative and came home to claim his inheritance. Who knows. Whichever, his talent for parting people from cash will be sorely missed, but his mouldy clementines and silly hat, and 'unwashed wanker' odour definitely will not.
Oxford is such a place as could reasonably accommodate dozens of such local fruitcakes, shufflers and mumblers, but one is enough for now. In the next installment, I'll introduce you to 'The Leaper', a suburban favourite for, oooh, years....

Ta-ta, and apologies for length!
(doctor sideburns, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:51, Reply)

And finally...
Not completely on topic, but worth telling all the same:

My Great-Grandparents live in a nursing home and have got some interesting tales to tell... for example, the time that a woman whipped out her tit for Grandad to examine at breakfast over the orange juice, accompanied by a triumphant "what do you think about that?", the woman who was forced to cut short a conversation by the staff as she'd 'lost her skirt', the woman who wet herself, then mopped it up with her cardigan, the numerous inmates that try to climb into each other's beds at night and last, but not least, the one that constantly tries to pick the lock in the conservatory, believing that the 'Japs' have him trapped in a POW camp.

Let me never get old.
(DuckieMonster, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:47, Reply)

Roaring man
Another guy I used to see on the bus to uni. About 30 years old, a largeish man, and clearly mentally challenged.

He'd get on and sit or stand quietly, then all of a sudden, he'd let out a long deafening roar! If you didn't know to expect it it'd scare you to death!

Then he'd just sit rocking his head side to side while making low grizzling noises to himself. Not at all scary.
( notshiny, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:45, Reply)

Vinnie
A couple of years ago, we had someone move into our house who at first seemed normal but was patently mad.

He was into Classical music and Charlotte Church and used to play CD's at ridiculous volumes at all hours of the day and night. He also claimed he was in a brass band, and had a big fuck off Tuba, though it was obvious he couldn't play it and would have got a better sound out of a big fuck off Tuna.

In three months he lived with us, he never once washed any of his clothes and only had three changes of clothes. Whenever he used the bathroom, he come out and still stink, but the bathroom used to be covered in water, the floor, walls and ceiling would all be soaking, it would seem the water went everywhere except on him.

He also had an obsession with Wheelie bins, and he was always dragging ours into our lounge and sitting on it, or opening it and jumping up and down in it. He also used to go out in the middle of the night and pinch other peoples bins and bring them in the house as well.

Then there was his early evening routine of going and lying in the middle of the road in his underpants swearing at passers by.

He lived on a diet consisting entirely of Mint Viennetas, and always used to leave the empty wrappers and bowls in the middle of the living room floor.

Turns out there was a reason for all this, one of my housemates caught him taking some tablets and asked what they were for, only to meet gat the reply "I say that they're for stress, but my doctor says they're for schizophrenia." We still got him evicted though.
(Mischeivious_Delinquent_Squirrel, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:45, Reply)

Oxford
The city of the dreaming spires is blessed with an unusually tallented bunch, who have formed a band.

The duo can generally be found sat in Cornmarket, complete with guitar and harmonica, singing and playing something by Bob Dylan (and quite often they're all playing the same tune...) I have seen them venture as far north as Broad Street, where they played as a Trio with a man and his triangle.

My boyfriend swears blind that he's heard them yelling to the skies one sunny afternoon that they 'Hate Those English Bastards!"


There's also the woman who I see quite often in the Magdalen Bridge area wearing a headscarf, an anorak, a expression of abject terror and a pair of fluffy blue slippers.
(DuckieMonster, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:43, Reply)

Salisbury
Once had a chap, way back in my childhood, who cycled around the city, waving his arms and singing 'Please release me, let me gooooo!' at the top of his voice.

He was arrested as a danger to traffic, but got released again on the condition that he wore a reflective jacket, cycle helmet and lights, and that he kept at least one hand ont he handle bars at all times.

There were also a group of itinerants that set up a house under the bridge in the cental car park. Beds, fridge the lot.
(DuckieMonster, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:38, Reply)

He ain't heavy, he's a nutter.....
Gloucester houses a wonderful collection of loons, fruitcakes and fucknuts. My personal favourite was Mad Sonya, a 60 year old screaming irish bint, who would regularly walk up to phone boxes, violently expell anyone already using the phone and scream random abuse at the unfortunate on the other end of the line. She also smelt quite wonderfully of piss and cheap cough medicine.

Singing Ken was also popular. He appeared to be copying the Rab C Nesbitt school of fashion, and could always be found on a Saturday outside Icelands, leaning on a trolley bashing out the old favourite "He ain't heavy, he's my brother..." whilst young children and the like payed him for his unique entertainment by throwing him goodies. Like empty cans. And stones. All of which were greeted with a cheery "Fuck off you jobless bastards." Dead now though.
(daverule Poobumwobblebottynobnobsex, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:35, Reply)

In Dronfield, near Sheffield
There is a white haired nutter, looks a bit like an umpalumpa, except for the hair. He wanders around giving his opinion on everything. And every sentance starts with "in my brain".

He will also cough violently and randomly in your face. Very odd.
( Mastic, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:34, Reply)

Not exactly Wimbledon
This is bending the rules slightly...

When we were young 'uns my best friend's dad worked at the local psychiatric hospital. It was a private hospital and extremely well funded to the point that doctors and their families had access to some awesome facilities; swimming pool, tennis court, sauna and the like. Myself and my friend (we'll call him Terry but that's not his name just incase his Dad gets into trouble) would regularly pop down after school for a game of tennis.
One early evening we were playing away pretending to be Agassi and Ivanisevic when this little old lady with gray hair appeared out of nowhere on the other side of the high wire fence that surrounded the tennis court. Terry tried a few words of conversation ("hello", "are you lost?" etc.) but when they were greeted with the trademark mong reply of "Nnnnnggghhh" we just ignored her as best we could and carried on playing. This became more and more difficult as she started shaking the wire fence and going "Nnnngghhhh" more and more loudly. At first we were quite frightened but at the end of the day she was a little old lady and there was a wire fence between us. And so her "Nnnngggghh"'s were soon countered with such witty responses as "Yeah, that's right 30-Love, me to serve" and "What do you mean, foot fault? I was taught by Wade". Much hilarity ensued until the game finished and she was still there "Nnnngh"-ing away. We left the court and she walked over to us and gestured at Terry to hand his racket over. At this point part of me suddenly expected her to take to the courts and produce a dazzling game. 15 years of psychiatric poking and prodding forgotten in ten minutes as she was finally able to communicate with her silky baseline skills. But no, she took the racket, hitched up her dress and proceeded to frig her bare old-lady bush with the handle of Terry's racket. Terry grabbed the racket then quickly dropped it, never ever wanting to touch it again, and we hightailed it out of there.

We didn't play tennis again after that, the running joke being:

"Game of tennis?"

"Not if your mum's gonna be there again".
(R. Jimlad twitter.com/sirmarkymark, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:34, Reply)

Buggrit, millennium hand and shrimp.
The Kilted Ninja is the best person to ask about nutters on trains, (usually to Southend) but every stop on the Southend Vic-Liverpool Street line has a few basket cases...

Anyone who knows the area will tell you that really we're FAR too close to Runwell Hospital, a local mental institution. Every single person that works on the High St will be able to regale you with stories of day-release encounters. People walk into shops and ask the salesperson if they have shoelaces. Quite often they recieve the reply "no, this is a cafe/record shop/bank". The nutter doesn't mean for sale. He means in the shoes of the person he's addressing. If they do, he will ensure they are correctly fastened before going on his way. If not, he will look as though you had just pissed on his barbecue and walk out.

There is also a woman known as the Weather Lady, quite simply because she will wander up and down the High St all day shouting "WINDY TODAY!" or "GOING TO RAIN TOMORROW!" at the passers-by. Fortunately she's massively easy to spot, and aforementioned passers-by have been known to dive into shops they have no interest in just to avoid her.

The Actress is clearly eminently well-trained for the theatre, but sadly, being a faded prima-donna she elects to travel to every charity shop in town (and that's a good few) and loudly and lavishly dissect the contents of her donation sack, regardless of the winces of the other customers and the clear disinterest of the sales assistant. She may not, in fact, be a nutter, but she'll do.

There is a man in Chelmsford High St who walks in a large square all day, screaming at anyone (children, businessmen, mothers with prams) who gets in his way.

I make no apologies for length, as i find girth is a much fairer criteria.
(underachiever, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:33, Reply)

Geoff
He's acctually a bit of a legend around the Bridgwater area (insert "who isn't a nutter in Bridgwater" quip here).
Basically this guy thinks he's driving a truck, and can be seen running around the streets in said imaginary lorry. he used to wear a T-shirt that ahd the word'GAY' emblazened across it and when he saw a real truck would revert from his driving stance to a mince and limp wrist pose. fucking hilarious.
I knew someone who claimed that they had pretended to steal his truck and push into the docks. He went mental (even more mental).
apparently he's got a bother who thinks he's a helicopter and habitually jumps off of the town bridge. I've not been around for a while so they might be completely rehabilitated by now. The poetic irony of Geoff acctually becoming a real truck driver would be fantastic.
( darth munki is flipping livid, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:31, Reply)

Oh, yeah.....
remembered another one. When I lived in Tunbridge Wells, there were a few nutters known to shop staff in the town. One of these was named "Cotton Bud", by a mate who worked in another shop. Cotton Bud had the body of an adult, but, strangley, the head and face of a baby. He used to walk around town really fast and push people out of the way. He once tried to start on said mate, by nearly pushing him over, then swearing and threatening him. If he wasn't doing this, he was being chased by the shopping centre security, as he was banned from said centre for nicking stuff. I remember something about an old bloke in Tunny Wells wandering round with a bag of chips, shouting "getaway, it's a bomb!", but I've a feeling that was a mate talking gobshite!
( D3xt3r Don't take any guff from these fucking swine...., Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:29, Reply)

town full of schizo's.
The town I was born and raised in had a peculiar set of circumstances which made it alot cheaper for the other huge Ontario towns (toronto, ottawa, etc) to send their mentally insane here and put them on medication rather then keep them in a hospital or anywhere they can be observed or otherwise get treatment, so we had/have numerous big city schizo's, paranoids, delusionals, etc, roaming the streets. Let's see...there was one schizophrenic who was apparently a nudist, and at random moments when he was outside he'd get the urge to take off his clothes, and would do so until the coppers made him dress and go back to his apartment. Oh, and when he's in his apartment, he opens all the windows and stands infront of them stark naked and watch all the people down on the street mumbling to himself. He wouldn't touch himself or anything, he just seemed to prefer his birthday suit. There was another fellow who was short and fat, with black greasy hair going to a full face beard thing, and insisted on being called Ringo...umm...a big fat bald guy with a gigantic white biker beard who'd wear brown slacks with brown suspenders, and a soiled white undershirt, who'd push around a shopping cart often full of scavenged junk. He had the worlds most ugliest set of teeth, and would whistle very poorly and off-key, usually saying "you're a bad boy/girl, aren't you?" to people who'd make the mistake of meeting eyes with him. Everybody called him Santa. By far the towns favourite is some woman known just as the nazi lady. She looks rather emaciated, always wearing surplus hospital garments, often accompanied by pink rubber kitchen gloves, with very unkempt hair. She has a rather twitchy walk, and is always muttering to herself, usually about how the nazi's are trying to take over. If one ever says anything to her in german she totally flips out and usually runs to this spot beside a greek restaurant where a building was knocked down several years ago and is now just a patch of gravel, then does what appears to be praying to the white stone side of the greek restaurant. Sometimes she wails on post boxes, once she beat on the side of the bank of montreal building with a hockey stick screaming about them being in league with the germans. By far the most unusual personal experience so far with her has been me with a buddy and a friend of his, walking downtown. Up ahead was a little parkette between businesses, and as we approached suddenly the nazi lady lept out as if hiding behind the wall waiting for us to approach. She proceeded to hurl a holy bible at us, which hit the friends friend square in the chest and fell to the sidewalk, at which point the nazi lady pointed at him and screamed (almost cackled) "Let's see you get married now!!!" then dashed back into the parkette and made her escape through a connecting parking lot. Oh, how I wish I could be making this up.
(Cloven, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:29, Reply)

on my bus to work
there is a woman who talks to herself about dvd players.

not once, mind you, EVERY FUCKING DAY!

theres also a mental deficient* bloke called 'tigerman', who thinks he's in vietnam. especially funny when you tell him that 'charlie's coming over to say hi'...

*read 'retarded'

edit: actually, theres a whole fucking crowd of em round harlow, theres one woman who goes completely psycho if people whistle, another lass (about 18) who, despite being fat, and with a face like a bag of spanners, seems to think that every man is attracted to her, and says to every guy she passes 'you want me, wanna fuck?'

theres also a cripple who does donuts in his electric wheelchair, althugh we attribute this to being pissed, rather than being a spacker

oh yeah, and theres the legendary 'dancing jubb'. think of the dancing baby, but older, with big headphones, and downs. hes a nice enough guy, but has a habit of dancing if people throw pennys at him
( lo, the Greebo Warrior - Est. 2002, Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:27, Reply)

There's
an old bloke in Brighton, who I see on the Western Road. He seems to have a penchant for busses, and likes to direct/talk/shout at them whilst standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms around. Ahhh, bless!
( D3xt3r Don't take any guff from these fucking swine...., Thu 16 Sep 2004, 13:21, Reply)