Happy New Year and the Phantom Gardener of old Beeston Town.

I know I’ve not posted for a while, I’m sure you’re all bereft. But I’ve entered final year Masters hell and only have thoughts of essays (yeaugh). However, some thoughts are better expressed than left to simmer so as my silence doesn’t mean that all has been quiet in my neck of the woods, I’ll update you. I’ve got new neighbours, who so far are behaving themselves. Demolition seems to have ground to a halt, which is disappointing and also having ripple like impacts on the occupied houses. (See update further down)

Fly tipping is increasing as is anti social behaviour. I’ll give you a recent lovely example. About 6 weeks (maybe 8 weeks) ago I heard fish wife like shrieking out in the street. As I may have previously mentioned I’m not adverse to people enjoying themselves within reason just don’t be inconsiderate and disgusting. A number of 'young ladies' were charging about the street, obviously under the influence and enjoying each other’s company. Now why they couldn’t do this inside is beyond me, but there you are I’m not pissed off my tits on cheap alcohol in the middle of my street on a Friday night, what would I know?

I had a weekend of studying ahead and wanted to be in bed at a reasonable time so I could get cracking on Saturday. As I went to bed I looked out of my bedroom window to see one of them dropping her leggings/tracksuit bottoms, whatever they were, in the middle of the street and screaming. They could barely stand so they obviously couldn’t make it all the way inside to alleviate their bladder discomfort. Pissing, or worse in the street is apparently hilarious, judging by their harpy like cackling, so I went down stairs opened my front door and said, “Alright ladies? Do you think it’s about time to turn the volume down now?”

“Of course!” they replied and promptly pulled up their knickers and popped back inside . . . . .

No they bloody well didn’t. “Aaaargggeeehhhhhhhhwwwaarrrrggghhh it’s FFFFFFrrriiiiiiiiiiddaaaaayyyy........foookin Friday   . . . . arrgh” and repeat at volume in your best pissed fat slag voice. So I asked again, nicely.

I’m not a confrontational person so I also explained that I’d asked them nicely and what they decided to do next would inform whether I made an official call or not. And off I popped back inside.

Things were quiet for 5 or 10 minutes, so I looked back out of my window to see one of the Cheltenham Ladies College Graduates copping a bare bottomed squat just by my gate and another thrusting her pasty arm through my gate to knock over my rose bushes. So I called the police.

Little shits. They’ve been quiet since then.

  

As well as an insight into the intellectual pursuits of teenagers on cider, curious things are afoot in my front yard. I’ve lived here for years and never had anyone interfere with my foliage before, so I was very upset when not long after the last community group meeting I woke up to find some of my plant pots smashed and kicked over, beer bottles broken on the ground and plants ripped up. Obviously this was the work of a drunken arsehole, so I swept it up and put it down to experience.

Not long after that, there was a repeat performance. More plants ripped up, pots moved and disturbed and pushed over. And again, shortly after that incident I left my house one morning to find my doorway blocked by all of my plant pots piled up against my front door. As I’m sure you can imagine my sides were just splitting with good natured humour. Oh what amusing scamps these little visitors were, I hope they don’t accidentally fall down my cellar well and hurt themselves, or accidentally pick up one of the cat turds I have to regularly remove from my greenery . . .sigh. I did report it to the police, but realistically I don’t expect them to prioritise the phantom gardener of old Beeston town, who has returned again, this time to create a pyramid of plant pots on my doorstep.

Anyway, I suspect the Mensa members from the street peeing incident might have something to do with the less creative activity in my front yard, given that I caught them red-handed and bare arsed interfering with my shrubbery.

And since I started this post just before New Year and am finishing it half way through January I am happy to say that the demolition is off and running again. Right opposite me in fact! I managed to film a bit, so if I can manage to embed a video I will show you the last moments of a back to back terrace. I was very impressed with the demolition guys, and now desperately want a digger. It was quite brutal and a bit like watching Godzilla destroy a building; there’s something quite anthropomorphic about diggers and how they move, I think it’s the teeth on the bucket (or whatever it’s called). If someone could Photoshop some googly eyes on the digger I'd appreciate it.

Going . . . .

 . . . .going . . . .

 . . . going . . 

GONE!!!!!!!! Apologies for the weird reflections on the windows, I filmed these from inside as it was very dusty and cold outside

Anyway that’s it for now.

Community Meeting Update - Sept 2011

Pessimistic know it all gets proved wrong.

The latest community meeting has come and gone, and for the most part it was great. One of the best turnouts we’ve had, so no need for me to stomp off in a self righteous sulk. We’ve also had notice that demolition will begin in a couple of weeks so I’ve taken a few pictures to start charting progress. Also giant house spiders have started invading my house, but that’s not really relevant I just wanted to share.

aaaarrrrrrrgggghhhhh . . 

The meeting was very interesting, some new faces and some familiar ones. People are very concerned about the state of the neighbourhood, and I don’t blame them. Emotions were running high, a bit of a cliché for a community meeting, but watching your street become increasingly neglected with what seems like no hope of anything being done to ease the situation can lead to hot heads and frayed tempers.

However we had representatives from the police, Leeds City Council and housing associations so all in all there were nearly 20 people present. Some were a little disruptive, but I fully appreciate that they felt frustrated at how things have been delayed. Though I don’t want to invalidate anyone’s anxieties, and I agree that the community meeting is a good place to raise your issues, share your problems and express your frustration, criminal activity has to be formally reported to the police for it to be tackled. I also appreciate that regular foot patrols reassure residents, but unless the cops actually happen upon someone doing something criminal as they walk by, then they’re mostly just a PR exercise. My eyesight’s pretty shoddy, but even I can see a high visibility vest mooching up the street towards me, and I suspect that your average neighbourhood scrote can do the same.

preparing for demolition

Crime needs to be formally reported, if you’re seeing it and not reporting it you are not helping to resolve it. I also understand that fear of retaliation stops people, but I’ve filmed people nicking metal railings, stood up in court to give evidence, given statements to the police, kept noise diaries, rung the police and gone into the street to challenge antisocial and criminal behaviour; I’m not brave, quite the opposite, but when pushed I can stand up for myself, sort of, and I’ve yet to be threatened with any retaliation.

Residents it seems have also been doing some good stuff, tidying up the streets which are quite frankly looking like shit at the moment. It’s not gone unnoticed and people are very grateful.  Also someone’s dumped some lovely asbestos in one of the bin yards, which has hopefully been removed by now. Also alarmingly enough, there is asbestos in some of the houses that are going to be demolished, so let’s hope the HASMAT suits are broken out for that portion of the demolition.

what the streets near me might have looked like when they were built

It’s also been highlighted that it is unlikely that a developer will want to buy or develop the land, as it’s not been fully cleared and some of the properties will remain. But for me demolition is still the sensible thing to do, derelict property is not acceptable on a large scale as anything other than a short term situation.

Well that’s it for now, I’ve added some images here and on the pictures page, and I’ll keep adding as the demolition progresses, so if you’re interested keep your eyes peeled.

Half of my street is being prepared for demolition

just waiting for the wrecking ball . . .

Sinclair C5 Man

It’s been pretty quiet here for the last few weeks. No movement on the demolition as yet so I’ll just have to wait until more news is forthcoming. So with no relevant news on the horizon I’ll delve back in time to retrieve a few memories of a rather odd neighbour we had in London. Yes another one, we really were blessed.

I’ve related tales of Wayne & Waynetta, Ricky and Bianca and the O’Learys so now we come to Sinclair C5 Man.

Whereas we shared actual walls with our other three nightmare neighbours Sinclair C5 Man lived over the road . . . . with his mum. He was a man with many talents, most of them were a little bit odd to say the least.

We first noticed his presence because; well quite frankly he was hard to miss. I think the first time I saw him he was wobbling around the street on a unicycle. Nothing says “I’m a socially awkward attention seeking tw*t” like riding a unicycle in front of your own house by yourself when you’re over 30. I mean fair enough if you’re a dreadlocked hippy in a home knit jumper juggling fireworks in Covent Garden, then oh yeah you’re most likely not that socially awkward, but the rest of the statement probably still holds true.

Over the next few months we saw him on many other forms of transport: bikes, cars, vans and the unicycle. He also had a dog (which he didn’t use for transport) and most importantly a big crush on one of my housemates and yes he had a Sinclair C5 too, hence the nickname. As nicknames go it wasn’t overly original but it was to the point and accurate. For anyone who isn’t familiar with this remarkable form of transport it’s one that is synonymous, at least for most Brits over 35, with the triumph of ego over reality.

Wheeee look at me on my C5!    No thanks Clive, you look like a tw*t!

Clive Sinclaire’s vision was to create something that was cheap and energy efficient, however it looked like a dust buster on wheels and was about as safe and practical as running blindfold round the M25 at rush hour. We already had motorbikes, scooters (for the Mods & Rockers amongst us so we could be energy efficient and cool) and pushbikes. The C5 was a master class in misjudging your market.


If you are in any doubt as to just how unsuitable they would be as a form of transport, here’s an advert from Hoover offering to service it for you. Reassuring isn’t it, we sell vacuum cleaner bags and fix your road worthy vehicles. C5 Man used to whirr around the streets in his Sinclair C5 in a rather sinister fashion eyeballing our house as he glided by.

A less than reassuring advert for C5 Servicing.

Most of Sinclair C5 Man’s appearances near our house coincided with the object of his affection’s proximity to our front door. We think his appearances were most likely attempts to demonstrate his love and worthiness as a suitor, on one occasion he even loomed over her when she was snogging her boyfriend on our front doorstep, not a very welcome or appropriate interruption. On another he leapt out of a skip to greet her as she walked home from a late night visiting her Gran across London, a heart attack is obviously the manly way to say “I fancy you!”. Imagine that ladies, it’s like a fairy tale isn’t it. I mentioned the dog because he also used to encourage his dog to leave deposits outside our house, not on the pavement which would have been disgusting enough, but actually on the doorstep.

You’re probably asking yourselves how she managed to resist such romantic overtures as random late night skip attacks, dog sh*t deposits and regular displays of random vehicular prowess, well she must have been made of stern stuff because she did. I should also point out that if I remember correctly this was the same housemate who engaged in regular conversation with a rheumy eyed old chap as he sat on a wall on our route home from Clapham Junction Station, until we pointed out to her that we avoided him because he had his flies unzipped and his knob out; though that could have been another housemate to be fair.

Dirty old man!

As an aside C5 Man wasn’t differently abled for those of you who are thinking I’m being mean to someone who seems so obviously unable to relate to other humans. Sinclair C5 Man was just a massively inappropriate prick with no idea of how to talk to women and all the passionate subtlety of a brick through a window, I suspect he would have been the boy at school who punched you in the head before he asked you out on a date. Mostly however even though his overtures were odd, irritating and a bit disgusting they didn’t start to get really alarming until after the object of his affection moved out.

Quite a while after she moved out my new housemates and I had friends round for dinner and were sitting in our living room having a nice chat when we noticed a red dot of light focussed on the forehead of one of our guests, the red dot then slowly moved round and settled on the forehead of every woman in eye line of the bay window in the front room. This was unnerving to say the least and it was obvious that the light was coming from C5 Man’s house and was some kind of laser pointer mimicking a sniper.

We went over to knock on the door, but there was no answer, so we called the police and they had a nice little chat with him about threatening behaviour and harassment laws and that was mostly that. This incident left us feeling anxious and not at all comfortable in our own house for a few days, knowing that someone was observing you and picturing training imaginary gun sights on your forehead isn't a nice thought.

After that we were rather less tolerant of his juvenile displays of machismo and challenged him if we saw him and his mutt approaching our front door and more importantly we threatened to tell his mum.

Rickaaaayyyyy!

So it looks like I’m focussing on noise for the next few posts; mainly because it’s too depressing to post about how Leeds City Council still hasn’t managed to clear all of the rubbish from their neglected bin yards yet. I mean it’s not like they have any influence over the refuse collection department is it . . . . . . oh.

Anyhow.

I lived next door to some of the more persistently annoying neighbours when I lived in London in my twenties. I shared a three bed roomed terraced house with two other splendid ladies on a quiet street in Battersea.

On both sides of our rented house the houses were converted into one bed flats, so we had two sets of neighbours on both sides, three lots of them were entertaining to say the least. Today I’ll concentrate on Ricky and Bianca. Not their real names.

Ricky and Bianca lived in one of the upstairs flats that flanked our house. Their living room bordered onto the main bedroom upstairs in our place. Ricky was a 40 plus year old black guy who thought he was a real gangsta – a real gangsta who drove a Lada and bought his trainers from ASDA that is.

Bianca wouldn’t say boo to a goose if you saw her in the street but when Ricky was resident in-between his many absences; she was a seriously forceful character. Reading between the lines, and not being able to avoid the eardrum ripping arguments that would occur, it seemed that Ricky was not the greatest boyfriend ever and to be honest he may not have even been her boyfriend, he could have been her deadbeat brother for all we knew.

Bianca seemingly had a regular job and possibly worked normal hours etc.

Ricky had a duvet in the back seat of his Lada.

There are two incidents that I can remember reasonably well. One was on one of the few visits my mum made to London.

I love my mum, but it was always interesting when she visited Fancy London. Bravely refusing to bow down to London peer pressure on the Tube by avoiding eye contact with complete strangers lest they be a serial killer or a religious maniac like any seasoned London traveller would, my mum’s right in there with full eye contact and a big smile and questions like “What’s that smell?” and “Why are there no bins at Kings Cross?” (The answer in case you’re wondering is that there are no bins in London so the IRA and latterly Al Qaeda can’t put bombs in them. Reassuring isn’t it.)

Anyway back to Ricky and Bianca. My Mum arrived in Battersea and we settled down for some tea, a natter and some lovely booze but as Ricky made one of his sporadic and unwelcome visits to next door and the fun started. We had to endure a hellish night of thumping music, screaming, shouting and the usual bangs and crashes that went on until the early hours, however we did eventually get to sleep.

The next morning we got up; wrung out from lack of sleep and nerves jangling I went to open the front door to find the most bizarre scene outside the house. The first thing to greet my weary eyes was a pair of (ugly) platform boots tossed haphazardly on our doorstep. As I ventured a little further into the street I saw that Bianca had been a busy girl during the night’s festivities.

Strewn across the road and draped over hedges and front yard walls were just about all of Ricky’s possessions. These included CDs, clothes (George at ASDA no doubt), foot wear and I’m pretty sure a telly – all topped off by a bleary eyed Ricky peering sheepishly from under a duvet on the back seat of his Lada.

I didn’t need my mum to see that first thing so I resignedly shut the door on the apocalyptic scene outside and went back to get the kettle on. Tea makes everything better.

By the time mum and I had caffeined up and set off on whatever cultural/retail activity we had planned for that day the street had been mostly cleared, not by a shamefaced Ricky I hasten to add, but by some kids with a shopping trolley. I like a young entrepreneur, and we had a number of them in Battersea.

The second memorable incident was another extraordinary public display of discord. I have no idea what led to the surreal tableau that was witnessed by residents and guests of our happy little home that evening, but it was glorious.

After hearing yet another Ricky and Bianca row spilling out into the street we peered out to see Bianca enthusiastically attacking Ricky’s beloved Lada with a large (and possibly rusty) hand saw and Ricky in turn defending his battered yet treasured car by tentatively hooking a golf club over Bianca’s saw every time she started in on the Lada’s bonnet, or he could have been aiming for her head.

I can’t remember how it resolved itself, I have a vague memory that she was screaming for help and we obliged by calling the police who trooped down and intervened.  Then we went back to whatever we were doing; waiting for the next enthralling episode to unfurl no doubt.

It sounds like we didn’t care but to be honest when it’s a regular occurrence you begin to lose any sense of moral outrage about domestic abuse and just start inwardly screaming “Leave him! Stop letting him in! Let me get some sleep!”

I look back on these incidents with sort of hazy fondness and a sense of detachment now, but at the time it was desperate. As I write this I can remember the diaries I kept for the Peabody Trust (the Housing Association that managed the bordering flats) and the disappointment I felt when their intervention turned out to be about as effective Nick Clegg/Viagra for pandas/a chocolate teapot.

Another testament to the dreadful impact noisy neighbours can have. Well at least I’ve got a few funny anecdotes out of it, lucky me eh?

Picking over a carcass.

A general rant. Enjoy.

So how have thing been over the last few weeks in general: a few sleepless nights due to odd car behaviour in the street (more on that later), unsecure abandoned buildings, rubbish filled bin yards and the commencement of demolition. All good stuff.

Linked to this is the thought in my head, “am I the only person who calls the police and reports stuff?”

I’m sure I’m not, as I get regular updates from our Neighbourhood Watch co-ordinator and these tell me that other people have been arrested and stopped mid crime due to calls from residents. Both reassuring and disturbing in equal measures.

I’m never sure when you stop being a concerned member of the community and become an irritating loon because you report things to the police or the local authority because you ‘think’ you’ve seen or heard something.

I suspect I fall somewhere between the two.

Legitimate calls or emails to the police or the neighbourhood watch coordinator I’ve made over the last few months have been made up of:

•  reporting the stealing of bin yard metal work (left there by the council because NOBODY would think of nicking fixtures and fittings from abandoned buildings!);
• reporting a witnessed vandalism/attempted breaking on an abandoned property on my street;
•  reporting a suspected act of vandalism/attempted break in on one of the streets along from me (heard but didn’t see breaking glass and general smashing late at night) and last but not least
•  people rummaging through rubbish bins and tipping the contents out on to the ground of the bin yards on 3 separate occasions.

I think I should have called the police over a couple of other things, but had no real information to give them other than; “I’ve seen a weird man driving around our streets at night with no headlights on. He wasHeHe was stopping and starting his car and changing parking spots regularly, so generally behaving in a suspicious way.”

Perhaps he was just socially inept, people sometimes are you know, but I don’t think ignorance of your inconsiderate behaviour is a good enough defence for behaving like a thoughtless knob.

Added to this there are people standing in abandoned bin yards at night for no good reason, people driving up and down the street in-between the bin yards at night with their headlights off (different car this time) and people gunning their car engines to reach maximum warp at all times of the day and night (it’s hardly Silverstone in South Leeds – no one needs to go above 20 mph in a residential area). 

However because the street lighting is poor on our street and no one lives opposite me anymore, (I don’t even get ambient light from their houses, woe is me) I can’t see clearly enough to make a note of useful information such as make, model or the number plate of repeat offenders without going and standing directly in front or behind these cars with a pad and pen. Not likely to happen!

I suspect they are fly tipping or at the very least assessing their options for fly tipping, though the bin yard opposite me stays relatively free of trash since I called to have it cleared last year (LCC very quick to respond to this by the way). 

I suspect this in some way due to my ostentatious curtain twitching and arms crossed front-door-step stance that I take-up whenever I see anyone suspicious lurking unnecessarily near my house  - I’m really am only three curlers, a house-coat and a hairnet away from becoming Hilda Ogden.

But this does highlight for me the general anxiety I feel now when at home. Every noise, car engine, smash, bang and alarm has me leaping up to have a look. I Shhhhhhhh people on the phone and wake in the night and so I can nervously twitch my curtains (not a euphemism by the way) every time I hear an unusual sound.

I watched a telly programme the other week about an elephant carcass in Africa, killed by poachers I believe, and the predators, scavengers and organisms that picked over its flesh and bones. In a matter of days it was a deflated elephant skin suit except for a writhing, bubbling mass of maggots. The larger predators had quickly arrived and taken the softer easier targets (I was particularly impressed with the first hyena’s choice of entry point! That must have been what Local Authorities felt like when the budget cuts were announced! See link to video on YouTube below) and finally the insects and other small things rapidly consuming what was left of poor old Dumbo. 

I thought at the time; welcome to my world where my street is a dying pachyderm; a monument to prehistoric housing and bad investment. The neighbourhood is quite literally being picked clean by predators and scavengers. Except unlike poor predated Dumbo from the telly, my community isn’t dead and its constituent parts are not being redistributed to nourish the flora and fauna of South Leeds. The remaining residents have to watch whilst this attack spreads like an infection. This diseased area will not be picked clean quickly; it’s being left to rot.

I’m not sure I know where the blame lies, everyone seems to be holding up their hands and saying ‘don’t look at me. We’re doing the best we can’. But they don’t live here so let’s hope the Big Society works and we can reclaim our streets

 Poor old Dumbo’s sticky end meets what can only be described as a ‘sticky end’.

Woo woo, that’s the sound of the police.

Ok so it’s not like I’ve lived anywhere that’s been totally devoid of crime, however since regeneration began I’ve noticed a marked upturn in blatant criminal activity around my street.

In a two week period I’ve called the police out twice because of smashing glass and attacks on the empty properties, last night being one of them. It seems we are easy pickings for any passing scumbag. I can only assume this will get worse the longer the derelict properties remain poorly secured.

We’ve had reports from the neighbourhood watch coordinator about more empty properties being raided for fixtures and fittings. Which raises the question, why have these properties not been cleared properly in the first place?

But perhaps that’s for another post.

To add to the criminal activity in sunny south Leeds I have also reported people for steeling railings and sifting through and tipping rubbish out. To be fair to them the police have been quick to respond, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about living in a street that’s so obviously neglected.

This doesn’t take into account the anti-social behaviour that has often characterised my time in South Leeds, not mine I hasten to add. But again, I’ll leave this to another post; I just wanted to have a quick rant about the down side of regeneration. 

Brilliant last minute update. Came home from the pub last night to see a police van and an ambulance disappearing down the street. Woo Woo indeed . . . . . .