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)

I really liked this post.
Especially the Baron's Court Beaming Drunk.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 15:50, closed)

''Passive-aggressive Waterloo East train beggar''
fucking hate it when this happens. irritating cunts actually make you feel bad for not giving any money. i really wonder how much these guys get by doing this all day every day. bet it adds up to a sizable salary every year. there's big money to be had in guilt tripping innocent comuters!
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 15:52, closed)

He's gone now
I think. I haven't seen him for a while and they have the barriers up now.
( gingerfreak Why? Why not., Mon 6 Jul 2009, 13:54, closed)

Waterloo Train Tramp
I have met this tramp: Bloody annoying and I noticed that he was wearing better jeans and trainers than me. Grrr.

They are even worse on the RER in Paris: violins and amplified guitars! Grr.
( The_Commander_of_Skips wears his sunglasses at night, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 16:46, closed)

yes, me and my girlfriend ran into this
on the train into barcelona. proper equipment and everything. and they have a lot more bottle over there too, actually standing in front of individual passengers for a few seconds, cup in hand, attempting to make eye-contact before moving on to the next passenger, as if we are all obliged to pay them for playing their shitty music while all everyone wants to do is chill out and relax.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 16:59, closed)

Click
For liquid dog terror
(Gertcha_cowson NAH MATE, Fri 3 Jul 2009, 17:25, closed)

I encountered the raspberry-blowing tramp
almost every day when I lived near London Bridge. Hard to not laugh, really...
( chart cat has an itch, Mon 6 Jul 2009, 5:45, closed)