I have the makings of a tramp, apparently
I was working as a sound engineer in that there London and having a mooch around Notting Hill one afternoon. After a few pints, and a self telling off for not going before I had left, I found myself nipping into a public toilet.

I walked down the stairs and found a hobo convention! There were four or five of them who all turned to look at me as I entered. There was no going back without pissing myself, so I made my way to a urinal as one started on his, "I need a couple of quid to get home" speech. I put on my gruffest Glaswegian accent and said, "Fucksake, can ye no wait till I've had a pish."

To which the mendicant replied, "Oh, sorry, are you on the road your self."

GET TO FUCK. I thought I looked quite dapper.

Got out without giving any money away, but I did lose a couple of fags.
( Cheeses of Nazareth Where's Captain Kirk? www.whereiskirk.com, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 18:51, Reply)

strangest mugging?
I was once walking home late at night in Grimsby, and a man walked past me - in a smartish looking suit, I thought nothing of it at first, until he'd walked past and I heard somebody behind me running.
The same chap who'd just walked past me was now in front of me, waving a knife in my face.
'Give me all your money'
'I dont have any' A likely story, he probably thought.
Thing is, I really didn't - I had no electric in my flat, the meter was in debt from the last tenants, and the landlord had done sweet FA about it - i also had no food whatsoever. I was living on water, while waiting for the dole to get their act together and sort my claim out.
I told him this, and he put his knife away, embarrased and apologetic - he kept shaking my hand.
'sorry mate, sorry mate - i'm in the same circumstance.. im waiting for the dole too - but you've got it worse than i have'
and with that, he dug deep and gave me his change - more than a fiver and walked off!
(Davethefan began lurking again on or around, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 17:57, 6 replies)

Not quite a tramp, but...
Many years ago, the first Mrs Razors and I were in a pub in Hertford enjoying a quiet drink when an overly refreshed gent wandered over to our table, swaying and shouting.
What he was shouting was "I'm the best bastard in Hertford; you ask anyone. Best bastard in Hertford".
This went on for a few minutes until the landlord plucked up courage to ask him to leave.
Later, I related our adventures to a friend. "Oh, thats Eddie", he told me. "What he was really saying was 'I'm the best plasterer in Hertford'", which may have been true before he discovered a taste for Special Brew.
(Razors, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 17:43, Reply)

Realisation
Some years ago I was walking with a friend through Bath. A rather wild looking young man came up to us and seemed about to speak. I flinched and moved away.

Then in a gentle, sweet and desperately sad voice he said ... "Please don't be scared."

And you know, I was scared. Scared and, when he pointed it out, bloody ashamed. I gave him every penny I had on me, and I've never forgotten him.

Don't be scared. They're people.
(ubergeekian, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 17:20, 2 replies)

Tramp-a-like
Fair few years back I was sitting in a bus station minding my own business waiting for the bus home (and unknowingly linking 2 QOTW's) when a gentleman of the homeless persuasion sat down next to me and started chatting to me, I'm not the most social person but I didn't want to be rude so we spent about 15 minutes chatting about the weather and such while he sat there slugging away and a bottle of cheap cider.
the conversation lulled and he turned and said
"Do you want a swig this mate?"
I declined politely...
after a couple more minutes he said
"so... you found anywhere to sleep tonight?"
"sorry?" I replied
"Have you managed to find anywhere to kip tonight?"
and it sunk in that this bloke thought I was a tramp too!
now im not the most snappy dresser.... casual... maybe a bit scruffy.. yes I sport a lazy man's beard... but I wouldnt have said I was tramplike in any way.
Now I was a bit stuck... I couldnt say "Well yes actually I've managed to find a nice spot in my 3 bedroom semi"
So.... I lied.... in my best Bill Sykes voice I said "well mate... im hopeful"
Our eyes met and he gave me a slow nod and I felt we shared a moment together.

Then my bus turned up and without a word I hopped on paid with a note and slunk to the back looking out of the window on the other side of the bus.... felt like a right bastard.
(Mr_Smythe, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 17:08, Reply)

When I was visiting San Francisco a few weeks ago
I was in line for the cable cars on Powell Street. A sizeable queue was forming, and I was at the back of it.
A lovely young homeless chap with the cutest dog was selling newspapers - the SF equivalent of the Big Issue I guess. Most people were downright ignoring him, and the couple behind me were tutting and muttering. I looked at the homeless guy - no evidence of drug use or alcohol abuse so I asked him his story.

He had HIV, lost his job because of it, he had lost his boyfriend to AIDs and could no longer afford his house payments so he shifted to the streets. He was paying for his own medication and was going through counselling and doing what he could to get back into "real life" as he called it.
I promptly handed him $10.....and the couple behind me who had overheard his story did the same thing.
Meanwhile, there was chinese whispers going down the line and everyone was turning around to give the guy money - a dollar here, $5 there....I think the guy made off with around $100 and he came back to me and thanked me for giving him the chance to tell his story!
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 16:59, 2 replies)

Tramp-o-gram
During my time as a travelling salesman I was paired up with a succession of evil bastards. One of them was a fella named Harry. Unfortunately this was prior to the Harry Potter thing, so I didn’t have the opportunity to rip the piss out of him all day about this. Instead I nicknamed him Krishna. He thought I was being effectionate and matey – I wasn’t. I hated the prick.

One time we’d just finished lunch in some Toby Carvery somewhere or other in South Wales. Krishna spent the meal talking with his mouthful about how fucking marvellous he was – his favorite subject. As he was technically my superior I nodded, silently stabbing a fork into my leg to stop myself from delivering a haymaker straight round his smug, cuntish, inbred face.

Eventually, we left the restaurant. Krishna went to get the car and I hung about, happily releasing a succession of stinky, silent farts (gravy dinners have this weird effect on my guts, its a bit like lobbing a light match onto a bonfire doused in kerosene). While I'm happily trumping away, breathing in the vapours (nothing quite as satisfying as the smell of your own farts), a tramp ambled up to me. I smelt him first - even above the noxious gasses I was emitting like a badly conditioned moped; the tramp gave off the sort of vapor trail you see in the Yogi Bear cartoons – only this bloke was emitting the pungent smell of stale piss and cheap booze, not the contents of a lovely pic-er-nic basket. The tramp stood next to me. I made a mistake then, I nodded at him as if to say: awight. He then started telling me his life story. He was friendly enough, I suppose.

Then I hit on an idea. I asked this tramp to do me a favour. As a little sweetner I passed over a tenner. As I couldn’t tell Krishna how much of a cunt he was to his face (politics of the workplace and all that bollocks), I hired this affable vagrant to do it for me. Not a bad deal for him; tell a random stranger he’s a cunt – ten quid. Fuck me, if I could get that sort of employment contract sorted I’d be earning a couple of grand a week with hardly any effort.

I nodded to my new mate as Krishna drove up in the company Lexus. My new best mate winked at me, scratched at his haggered old chin, and ambled off towards where Krishna was pulling in. The look of horror on Krishna’s face was worth the tenner alone. I smiled inwardly and waited. God, I wanted this cunt I was partnered with to know he was a cunt so much. I’d been waiting a long, long time to let him know. And now I was about to tell him via the rather peculiar medium of tramp. It was the perfect fucking crime.

The tramp rapped loudly on the windscreen. I steadied myself, staring intently at Krishna, just waiting to see how he’d react to some random abuse (he was a bit of a wet blanket underneath the brash exterior, I anticipated he’d cry or piss himself, or – hopefully – both). The tramp rapped on the window again and said: “That bloke over there says you’re a cunt!”

...bugger...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 16:59, 3 replies)

Here's your fucking ear!
Back in the 80s I would often spend my lunch hour sharing some Special Brew with the dossers of Leicester Square. Once one came fresh from court and gleefully told her tale: she'd be scrapping with another lady of the road and it had got rough - her injured opponent had reached to her head and shrieked 'where's my ear'. She related, with pride, that she'd spat it out and crowed 'here's your fuckin ear'.
(enile, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 16:41, Reply)

Primark
Oh god, all I can think about is tramps now.

When I was a young lad, I wondered into the local Primark. there, inside a clothes rack, was a homeless man drinking a Costa coffee. he said "Hello" and pulled the clothes back around himself.
(beetlejuice Go and boil your bottoms you sons of silly persons, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 16:40, 2 replies)

Manchester Bus Stop Kung Fu Master
When I am waiting to get the bus back to Fallowfield from the city centre and decline to give you money, please do not try to roundhouse kick me in the head only to fail to get your foot above waist height and to fall flat on your arse.

Please, because I can’t laugh that hard ever again. I felt like I didn’t breathe for about 15 minutes solid. You nearly killed me.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 16:34, 1 reply)

Whatsit just reminded me
Whilst in Amsterdam, stumbling around in a haze and chatting shit with my friends, we noticed something wasn't quite right.

It took us all rather too long to realise that a, presumably, homeless guy was walking along next to us rapping away about us and the surrounding area. He was actually really good (well to us it sounded good for some reason) and we were bopping along to his phat rhymes for a good 5 minutes.

Once he finished he asked if he could have some money for the bars he just laid down. We agreed to give him all of our collective Euros if he'd do it again, but for the camera we had with us. He obliged us magnificently, hand gestures and everything to the camera and finally bowed with his finally.

He's definately my favorite bo and, earned a cool 34 Euros for 10 minutes work! My mate still has the video kicking around somewhere, I will endevour to find it for you viewing pleasure
(Is this a good idea? ... Yes this is definitely a good idea, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 16:34, Reply)

El Duderino (If you are not into the whole brevity thing)
This won’t involve Miami Actress or any acts of gross indecency, but it did happen on the same trip.

Key West, 2001. I met ‘The Dude’

And really, he was. He was the absolute dead ringer for Lebowski. He looked like Jeff Bridges, he sounded like Jeff Bridges. He was a fucking rock star.

I sat on Duval Street and got as high as a fucking kite and as drunk as a lord with him and his hobo friends. The man who made hats out of palm leaves and looked like he was carved out of mahogany, the man who made a living giving out cards for the strip club (and yes, of course I went, and met the nicest stripper ever, when $40 fell out of my pocket, she called me over and gave it back) and the man who hustled tourists over the pool table at The Drunken Parrot (or whatever similar name that place had). I supplied the booze, they supplied the dope.

The Dude didn’t even get pissed off with me when I stupidly asked him if he had ever seen The Big Lebowski (‘Man, do I look like I own a video player? Where would I even plug it in?’)

And, one of the most bizarrely smile inducing things that has ever happened to me – I was sat on the edge of the wall, looking over the water at Mallory Square (I think that’s it’s name? Anyone know any better? My memory does not serve me well sometimes) watching the famous Key West sunset while cats tightrope walked at the show nearby and American students got drunk on frozen margaritas from Fat Tuesdays, when I heard ‘Scarpe! Dude! Good to see you man’ being yelled at me.

From the water.

As The Dude went sailing past in a bath tub with an outboard motor attached to the back, waving at me like a mad man.

Dude, I salute you, you were fucking awesome. May your bath float on forever.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 16:31, 1 reply)

One Head
Just remembered another encounter with a tramp.

If you live round where I do, you will know the Airyhall Tramp. Everyone knows the Airyhall Tramp. Banned from all local shops and known for talking to himself in Oxfam. Unfortunately he has disappeared from our lives for the time being. Probably because he is dead. But we shall see.

Some say he used to be a rich scientist, whose wife left him and he went insane. But no-one knows for sure. To give you an example of the kind of guy he was, my friend once saw him pissing on a grave so shouted at him to stop. The dirty bugger did up his flies, turned round, and chased my mate brandishing a broken glass bottle. Luckily he was pissed, so didn't keep up for long.

But I remember one time, when I was wee, and I was walking to the shops with my mum. He stopped dead in front of us. Taken aback, we too stopped. He looked me square in the eye, and said "You've only got on head. So make sure you don't lose it."

At the time I thought this to be hilarious, yet now I realise he had given me some sound advice. I will forever be in debt to the Airyhall Tramp...
(beetlejuice Go and boil your bottoms you sons of silly persons, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 16:28, 2 replies)

You're not supposed to call them 'homeless people' any more.
The correct term is 'Involuntary Street Performers.'
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 16:25, 2 replies)

Just this
If you ever find yourself on Leidseplein in Amsterdam and a rather skinny looking fella asks you if you would like to buy some postcards... Please do buy some and/or give generously.

Because Jacques is a lovely, friendly chap who just happened to have had a lot of bad luck in his life. I guarantee you he doesn't spend the money he makes on drugs or booze, but on food, shelter and HIV medication.

Thanks, that is all. Sorry it's not funny, or even a story, but i thought it was important enough to break the rules. Though perhaps i will tell you the story of "smelly Melly" later.
(Whatsit, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 16:08, Reply)

A Better Class...
Picture the scene: it was Rockness 2009, and there I was sat with Dave and Russ in Chris' Mate. (I should probably explain that Chris' mate was what we christened our tent, in honour of the mobile phone we found on the bus to said festival. The only identifying features were 2 texts: one from mum saying how proud she was, one to a man called Chris. Hence Chris' Mate. I should also point out there was a video of the phone's owner fapping in the video gallery...)

But I digress...

There we were sat, in Chris' Mate, lighting our barbeque using some smuggled in lighter fluid. Cue the fireman coming over and telling us to move our (now burning hot) barbeque to one of the designated cooking areas. We enquired where this was. He hadn't a bloody clue. So we moved the fire next to the fence, which was apparently good enough for him.

It was then that we noticed the tent. I say tent, what it really was was a couple of bin bags tied to the fence in a rudimentay bivouac-like fashion. And it was held together with chopsticks. Looking over towards a group of casual stoners, we discovered the dwelling's owner: a tramp of questionable origins, wearing a hat saying "Shit happens" and open-toed sandals revealling the blackest toes ever seen on a white man.

We later got chatting to said tramp, and what a nice fella he was too. His voice lilted with a West Country accent, and, as it turned out, he was touring the festivals of the United Kingdom. As he always did. Apparently.

So we gave him a lorne sausage, and continued merrily conversing as he tried to sell his 'tent' to passing piss-heads. He offered to include a free puncture repair kit (a bin bag) and would take anything he was offered. The reason for him selling his cushie abode, apparently, was that the aforementioned stoners had decided to let him stay in their tent for the remainder of the festival.

As we left to see the first band of the day, no-one had taken him up on his offer. However, he had errected a sign which read "Tent for Sale" and had a mobile number on it.

We never saw him again, but in his own words, he was "a better class of tramp". And do you know what? He really was...

P.S. If you're really that keen, here's a pic of the grubby chap himself: picasaweb.google.co.uk/herculesmoments/Rockness2009#5352686576181407698
P.P.S. Pop...
(beetlejuice Go and boil your bottoms you sons of silly persons, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 16:05, Reply)

The District Line Buskers
There's a couple of buskers that get on the district line at Gunnersbury/Turnham green, playing guitar and singing nice songs in their hoarse but tuneful voices. They're busking for cash to stay in a hostel every night. They brighten my day after a few mindless hours in the office. Sometimes you'll see tourists beaming at each other, nodding in time to the music, but as most people on the tube are commuters, the lovely buskers hardly ever get a reaction. I try to give them a couple of quid if I have it, and they're always nice and polite. The last time I saw one and gave him money, he said "thank god, I thought everyone hated me!" I reassured him that it was lovely, and I hoped to see him soon.

However, the man who stands at the bottom of the steps at the back of the RFH, who threatens to rape everyone within earshot, is not a nice tramp. Not a nice tramp at all.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 15:50, 1 reply)

The homeless mans poor dead pet
I don't think it was really his pet but the chap was obviously homeless, had a love of animals and I think he had some kind of mental health issue.

The poor chap was walking through St Annes Square in Manchester, in obvious distress crying for someone to help him. All he got was ignorance and avoidance. He needed help for the poor little animal clutched to his chest, wrapped in a little blanket. This annoyed me, in fact it made me a little angry so I went to assist. All he wanted was for someone to help him and take the poor little creature to a vet, so I calmed him down and offered my services.

I took the little bundle from him, and promised that I'd take care of it and get the wee little beast the attention that it needed. Placated, the man thanked me for taking the time to help and went on his way.

The dead rat went in the bin once he was out of sight.
( SpikeyPickle wishes he was mabazaritchie, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 15:48, 2 replies)

Walking to work
I was ambling through central London one morning unintentionally following in the path a young couple. From our right appeared a scruffy young individual with a grubby sleeping bag slung over his shoulder.

He strode purposefully up to the couple in front, proffered a dirty hand and said "would you like some spare change?"

The couple looked at each other, confused. Then with a big shit-eating grin he said "Well, I like to be different". The couple didn't know what to do and walked away looking very embarrased.

Got a few giggles from other commuters and earned him a few quid. Brightened my morning up no end.
(toomanydecibels has bleeding ears on, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 15:44, Reply)

I get offered drinks
The first time a tramp offered me a drink was as a first year student at Durham University. I was going back to Yorkshire for the weekend to visit Mummy and Daddy and was wearing my new wool coat and suede boots full of stories about the lectures I'd attended and socialising at the Union Society.

As I pass the bus station a kindly voice asks, "Here love, would you like a drink?" Holding out a can of cheap cider is a concerned looking tramp.

"Um no. I'm quite alright thank you" I say as politely as I can, for the life of me unable to work out why the tramp felt sorry for me.

I've been offered drinks several times since and now laugh it off with good humour (being less of a spoiled little rich girl these days). Clearly I have the look of an alcoholic and they're befriending me for when I inevitably join their ranks.
(Evana, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 15:32, Reply)

Tramp bingo
In the sprawling operatic narrative of our lives, tramps are the equivalent of tragi-comic walk-on parts akin to the gravediggers in Hamlet, or the surreal little characters who crop up for just a couple of lines in Dickens novels. There for just a vaudevillian flash, either silent or noisy; leaving such a deep impression that if the tramp were a performer playing a role it would be like powerful surrealist art. Waiting for Godot: quod erat demonstrandum.

If life were a theatre, they would all have their own official routines like real-life clowns have official faces in the Clowns International egg museum. Some of the tramps I’ve known could be billed with their professional stage names like the following:

London Bridge compulsive raspberry-blower`
With his little knitted hat, thick glasses and his duffle coat, this fellow frequents the station and surrounding areas all the year round; sometimes getting on trains and going for miles and miles on packed services of commuters – the silence of which is irregularly but persistently shattered by his staccato, ear-splitting fart noises. Trapped on there for upwards of an hour with this seemingly tireless soloist, rigid commuters adopt frantic eye-swivelling (presumably to try and establish that this is actually happening, they’re not going insane, and the other passengers can hear him too). Weeping attacks of the giggles are not uncommon from fellow travellers as well, but are usually strangely strangled-sounding, as we all know that noise is verboten on commuter trains.

Baron’s Court beaming drunk
This guy is the happiest guy in the world. When you come out of the tube station after a long hard day he’s always there with his shiny, happy face and his Big Issues, and suddenly everything seems a little bit better. ‘Thank you, tramp,’ you say to yourself as you walk home, ‘you always make me feel good about myself.’ Once we had a nice moment after I gave him a quid; I needed to pick up some wine for dinner on the way from the tube, so we shared a little trip to the off-licence together. He had no doubts about the best £1/maximum-alcohol optimum ratio, made his purchase decisively, and then helped me pick a good wine. ‘This one,’ he said, pointing to a cheeky-looking merlot, ‘made my sick go black’ (£2.99 from Londis), ‘whilst THIS one,’ he said, peering at a dusty bottle of Lambrusco, ‘gave me the shits’ (£1.89 from all good stockists). Then he laughed uproariously and my day was well and truly made.

Wimbledon garden shears toenail-clipper
Name says it all. A mute performer. I saw him sit on the doorstep of a suburban home using a pair of massive garden shears to trim his toenails. He was concentrating so hard his face was totally blank, and only registered a tiny flicker of triumph as he sent a sizeable, black, horny clipping pinging off of the houseowner’s car parked on the driveway.

Stepney Green determined tits-leerer
He’s going to get his leer, if it’s the last thing he does. You could be standing waiting for someone, calmly reading your book, when this guy could come along, walking like Frankenstein on his way to the village, with so much hair coming out of his nose it looks like an olive-green moustache. First, in a broad Manc accent, he starts out subtle; ‘what’s that you’re reading [leer down cleavage]?’ Foiled by book now blocking his view, he then gets cunning; ‘an insect just fell down your top [point, leer at re-exposed cleavage].’ In response to ‘please don’t look at my breasts,’ his excuse is, ‘but they’re really great [leer].’

Resentful Charing Cross Big-Issuer
Another mute. I couldn’t afford a magazine with the change in my purse, so I gave him a 20p instead. He looked at me as though I had just space-docked with a mangy dog and loved it so much I cried. I should have asked for my 20p back, but instead I just went back to queuing up for my Big Mac, fiver in hand.

Passive-aggressive Waterloo East train beggar
(All delivered at the top of his voice in a monotone with no change of inflection at all) ‘HELLO I AM HOMELESS AND I NEED A PLACE TO STAY TONIGHT SO PLEASE GIVE ME WHAT CHANGE YOU CAN SPARE’. Pause. ‘I HAVE ASKED YOU REALLY NICELY AND POLITELY.’ Longer pause. ‘IF YOU DON’T HELP ME I’LL BE OUT ON THE STREETS IN THE COLD.’ Pause. ‘IT’S GOING TO BE VERY COLD OUT THERE TONIGHT.’ Really long pause. ‘WELL – NONE OF YOU SEEM TO CARE.’ Silence. ‘DOES ANYBODY CARE?’ A commuter needs to get off at the next stop and starts shuffling for his things. ‘I HOPE YOU’RE ALL HAPPY THAT I’LL BE OUT SUFFERING ON THE PAVEMENT. I HOPE IT RUNS YOUR DAY.’ He opens the door to the next carriage, walks through and says exactly the same thing. Then on to the next carriage, and so on.

Brighton dog-frightener
Walking along as a family, many moons ago, with our dog – a red setter called Sam – on a lead. We were looking in at the pretty Brighton shop windows in the sun, when *out of nowhere* this purple-faced tramp lurches forward and makes a grab at Sam roaring ‘NICE DOGGIE!’ Sam, literally, crapped himself and ran to hide behind mum, wrapping the lead around her legs and making her topple over with a mouth shaped like a surprised ‘o’, narrowly missing a sizeable puddle of liquid dog terror on the pavement. The tramp continued lurching down the street roaring at passers by and himself things like ‘NICE SUN!’ and ‘SHINY CAR!’ I remember he looked like a sea captain, because of his knitted jumper and wellies.


This could be like a spotters-guide type exercise, so send me a virtual high-five if you’ve ever come across these chaps yourself. Anyone with the full set wins a prize.
(Wheezy Luv-ah is pootling about on, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 15:22, 7 replies)

The memoirs of a urine-stained derelict.
In Cambridge in the 1990s I remember a mange-ridden washed-up derelict who closely resembled Brian Blessed, but with matted hair.
The student populous referred to him as "Uncle Nobby", he was regularly seen pushing a shopping cart (the type favoured by old ladies) filled with rags and roadkill.
His activities included.

1. Urinating publicly, the more public the better. I once saw him unzip and pull out his dirt-encrusted phallus and micturate like a racehorse in a crowd of commuters at a bus stop.

2. He was once seen rifling through a bin, pulled out something without form and covered in flies, and proceeded to devour it hungrily much to the open disgust of passing members of the public.

3. He would regularly masturbate in public, although he limited this activity to the hours following the closure of the local hostelries. Regularly on leaving the Kings Street Run and walking across Christ's Pieces, I would be treated to the site of Nobby, completely sated, with his spent Phallus lying across his leg oozing the remains of his fetid ejaculate.

4. He occasionally attempted clumsy coitus with female vagrants on the childrens' play park next to the zionist church on East Road. One summer I noted as i passed him rhythmically jiggling up and down on top of a semi-comatose female tramp, like a slightly macabre adult version of Burt and Mary Poppins.

5. Standing outside Sainsburys in the days before the big issue sellers monopolised it, and shouting obscenities randomly at passers by. Many a time I was greeted by him with a stentorian cry of "Fuckwanker!" as I went in to buy a wispa bar and a can of fanta.
(Vic Flange, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 15:18, 3 replies)

One
of the most beautiful things I have ever seen was a tramp fishing a pair of sneakers out of the Regent's Canal between Camden Lock and Regents Park, as somewhere out of sight, a budding musician played Moon River on the clarinet... And there used to be a bloke in Camden's Harry Ramp warehouse Arlington House who would entertain passers-by in Inverness Street with selections from the musicals, but mainly 'Evita'.
(Wong Fei-Hung - now with added flickr.com (see profile), Fri 3 Jul 2009, 14:50, Reply)

Brenda
Growing up in Guildford, everybody knew about Tommy the Tramp mentioned below by Browser - he was infamous for his foot puppet shows outside Burger King. Socky and Socky 2 made Punch and Judy look like amateurs.

Tommy disappeared one day and soon rumours spread around the town that he had died after falling into the River Wey in a drunken daze.
However, with the sad departure of Tommy the Tramp came a new and exciting character to the soap opera that is Guildford Town centre

Brenda the Bearded Lady of Guildford. No one knows if she is homeless but she can be seen regularly in burger king, on the bench at the top of the high street or perched somewhere in the Friary Centre. With her long whispy beard, leopard print coat, large carrier bags and outrageous eye make up with purple lipstick, she truly is the talk of the town.

Behold

www.myspace.com/bearded_lady_of_guildford
(Eggstrovert isnt patronising you...honest..., Fri 3 Jul 2009, 14:42, 5 replies)

Good ol' Pete
Back in the summer of 2004 me and a few crazy friends went out for a heavy drinking session in Peterborough. Starting in a bit of a rough O'Neills we had all resigned ourselves to the fact that the night was going to contain brief nudity, copious amounts of vodka consumption, projectile vomiting and scenes of mild peril, we had however not taken into account my friend Alan.

Now Alan is a ‘special kinda guy’ (I have mentioned his antics in a previous post) and when drunk has a tendency to befriend anyone in a 100 mile radius, whether they are interested or not. This particular trait of his made an appearance on this fateful night.

Whilst loitering around a cash point Alan caught sight of a homeless man snuggled down in a sleeping bag, looking pretty darn content. Al’s reaction to the man was a mixture of awe and glee and he grabbed my arm and exclaimed ‘Look-it, a man in a sleeping bag' – like he had never seen a homeless person before. The poor guy then made a fatal error by making eye contact with Alan, he was in. Al staggered over and introduced himself and then started questioning the guy at a speed and intensity that would have made Columbo proud.

Turns out the homeless mans name was Pete and he had been living on the streets for a couple of years after losing everything in a divorce and a mega breakdown he had at work. We all immediately felt really guilty and because Al had been probing Pete about his past this had clearly brought up old memories and Pete looked quite tearful. It was then Alan had a brilliant idea, Pete was coming out with us. After a few minutes of drunken slurring and shouts of ‘come oooooon’ we had convinced Pete to join our rabble. He found a friend to leave his stuff with and wandered off into the night with us.

We asked him where he wanted to eat and he said he fancied a Maccy D’s so we grabbed a bit of wall space outside and filled him full of burgers whilst getting ‘fuck off’ vibes from the staff. We wandered around to a few different pubs and brought Pete drinks and then attempting to get him into a nightclub, this failed - they wouldn’t let him in because he was wearing trainers. I think he found the whole night quite entertaining, as did we, and at about 2ish we dropped him back near the cash point and filled his hands with money before gallivanting off into the night cheering ‘Pete, Pete, Pete’.

It was a really strange night and we had a fun time (from what I remember) but sadly none of us ever saw Pete again. I hope he is okay wherever he is.
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent "You is talking loco and I like it!", Fri 3 Jul 2009, 14:23, 4 replies)

Tramp fun - a compilation
I was out in town once when I saw, what looked like, a couple doing the Can-can down the street. As they got closer I realised they were singing "New York, New York" and high kicking along to it. As they got closer still I realised it was my sister and a local tramp. When I asked her what she was doing she said "He knows all the words!"

I went on a long weekend stag do in Prague, there was this street where all the tramps would sleep. They lay in a line equaly spaced out looking like a row of pungent fish fingers in sleeping bags. Tramp hurdling became a popular on-the-way-home sport. None of the tramps batted an eyelid so I guess it was quite common for them to be jumped over by brits abroad.

I lived in Newbury for a bit. The tramps there are in a league of their own. One of my mates saw two of them bumming... in a church graveyard... in full view of the pub over the road.... on a Friday night.

I now live in Bournemouth and we have a whole new level of tramp there:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=b13vsbLgwrs&NR=1
(ralphseviltwin, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 14:20, Reply)

The best tramp sign I have ever seen
Read simply:

"Need money for drugs and booze"

I like honesty, so he got all my change
(Is this a good idea? ... Yes this is definitely a good idea, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 14:19, 4 replies)

London and Liverpool Tramps
After moving away from wgc to London for 2 years then on to Liverpool which I’ve been here for 2 years also, I’ve seen a wide assortment of tramps/hobos/homeless etc...but the scariest one I’ve come across was the other week when I was walking to Tesco, I walk through a car park right next to the Nation nightclub (home of Cream) and went past a bit of railing and happened to look through the fence to see a white beared man lying on the floor asleep or possibly dead.
Normally if I see someone in trouble I try to help out but I was scared to say anything and by the time I had decided to see if he was ok I was at the end of the road at the shop. So I decided to finish quickly and head back to see if he was still there and if so, get the man who ran the car park to help me.
I get outside the shop and lo and behold, said tramp is not only alive, but begging a fag off of someone! I was relieved to say the least and headed off home, taking a shortcut only to find that when I came out by my flat he was right behind me and I got scared! Idiot.

On a sidenote, being from a small town I’d never seen a hooker either, until I lived in London, then you seem to trip over one on every corner! When I moved to Liverpool, my boyfriend took me down ‘hooker street’ and there was loads! I felt like a country bumpkin.
I used to live on a dodgy street and I actually walked past a hooker looking for work, there are signs stating that kerb crawling isn’t allowed and hookers ‘operate’ in the area but I didn’t expect to walk right past one!
(Soaps Roller derbying your way since, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 14:16, 2 replies)

Synconicity?
I've just finished reading Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere. the book is full of tramps!
(Herr Doktor Lemminge Is bored, so cheer me up!, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 14:10, 3 replies)

The old rich shuffling man
Until a few years ago, there wandered a tramp in the Edgware/Canons Park area. He used to shuffle about, hunched over, wearing little other than some underwear and some shoes. He used to carry around a plastic bag containing all sorts of eratic and esoteric items.

Many have said his story was thus:
This man used to be a very wealthy banking type, and had a large house and a loving family. His wife and children went out in the car together while he was at work. Unfortunately, the car was involved in a collision and his family were killed.

The loss of his entire family drove this man to ruin. He lost his mind to a broken heart, wandering the streets in pauper's clothes, muttering to himself. Some say he carried on living in the giant house, alone in his suffering. Others say he lost his house. Regardless, after a long period of walking the streets, he succumbed to cancer. No longer are his glassed-over eyes staring at the same point on the horizon while he walks the local area.

Does anybody know who I'm talking about? I really want to find out who he was and what his story was.
(tarbin tarbis, tarbit, tarbamus, tarbimus, tarbant, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 14:06, Reply)