Interactive version of Oliver's Poetry Garret
The Last Word Is Dead
Thursday, 29 June 2006, Blog 19
Leamington to London Marylebone train, Thame Parkway. I have been in personal crisis management mode all weekend, after a series of disasters. It has been really tough but I feel progress is being made. Peace has broken out in the Leamington Garret. Thank God! (I lit a votive candle overlooked by Our Lady in the nearby church, which may or may not have helped).
Whatever, John and I are now on far better terms than we were at this time last week. We went out for some drinks on Monday night and I really enjoyed his company. It was a great night!
I have not been as fortunate with my car, The Last Word (In Luxury). On Monday morning, my colleague and I went over to the place where it had been taken without my permission - on the orders of Warwickshire Police.
The gentleman at the customer service desk informed me that over the weekend the fees had soared to around £230 plus VAT. And that did not include the 60 quid to scrap it. My response was to say that this was, in my view, daylight robbery and to demand to see the manager.
The boss was not available and instead I had to talk with his assistant, a near seven foot tall man mountain. I persuaded him to sit down and politely explained that I did not feel my car should have been impounded in the first place.
He said he would try to reduce the bills but returned a few minutes later, and angrily shut the door and started to make threatening noises. It seemed that the man on the desk had complained about my daylight robbery remark. 'If you have insulted the staff, you will have to pay in full,' he grunted.
I told him not to be so silly and, eventually, negotiated the release and destruction of The Last Word for just under 200 quid. Still, a rip-off, in my considered opinion, but not as bad as it might have been. It was rather sad removing the radio and furry dice. I have had fun with The Last Word. It was a nice little car - and did not deserve a sudden death in ghastly circumstances.
Since then, I have written a five-page letter to John Burbeck, Chief Constable of Warwickshire Police, demanding to have my money reimbursed and asking for an apology for the behaviour of his officers, and an investigation into who trashed The Last Word in the first place.
I have included three witness statements which prove, in my opinion, that John Burbeck's officers have been telling porky pies. I intend to take this one all the way. (I Fought The Law. . . poem and Blog in the future!)
Financially it is a disaster. I have lost £200 and, far worse, my car. I have been three thousand pounds overdrawn at the bank this week and simply cannot afford to buy a new vehicle. I wonder if I will get much joy out of John Burbeck and Warwickshire Police. Indeed I have had to reorganise my life so that I can cycle everywhere.
It means going via the Leamington Garret on Monday morning and Thursday afternoons to drop off or pick up my stuff, and then leaving my working materials and suit in my little room at the Day-Job during the week.
It has been hot and cycling has been a killer. I need to get a lot fitter and faster on the bike. If I cycle until the end of October before buying a new old banger (an oxymoron if ever there was one!), then I should be able to pay off my debts (and lose weight and get into shape).
This week, I have made strides in that direction. I should get £80 back from the road tax, and around £50 from the (useless) insurance. The insurance company is not paying me a penny because I had a third party, fire and theft policy, and the person who smashed into The Last Word raced off.
But it has not been a bad week. I have been laughing in the face of adversity, and some good things have happened.
I received another lovely letter from my cousin Laura (hello, Laura!), and also had a good night out with the marvellous people in my department. We had a very jolly time together down at the Jug and Jug last night. I have not been in Lewes since last Friday. The trip up to Loch Ness was fun, although somewhat marred by my holy trinity of crises (accommodation, car, debts). I particularly enjoyed the journey up on the Caledonian Sleeper. In the very comfortable lounge car, we had a fabulous meal (delicious haggis washed down by loads of gins and tonic). Everyone was in a good mood.
The journey back was also very good, although they seemed a bit short of food in the lounge car. I got quite drunk on red wine and gin. During the weekend, there were ups and downs but on the whole it was a successful. We got our tents up OK, and I stayed at the campsite while the Fat Boy Slim performance was taking place. I did not mind. I have to confess I am not a great fan of rave music, and you could hear it perfectly well (pretty loudly) two fields away.
The highlight for me came the next day - Sunday - when it was really hot and we went down to Loch Ness again. It was incredibly beautiful. We walked round part of the Loch along the beach, the sun hot on our faces. I even paddled. As the sun was setting, the glorious news came through on my mobile telephone that England had beaten Ecuador to go through to the Quarter Finals of the World Cup. A marvellous moment!
I had felt slightly annoyed at the campsite to see so many Scots wearing Brazil and Germany shirts. They are happy to work in England and listen to English DJs. They cherry-pick what they want from England and slag off the rest.
7.11pm London Victoria - Brighton train, Battersea The woman sitting opposite me is one of the most irritating and ugly I have encountered - even on this line. A beggar has also come round, standing next to me and droning: 'I am currently homeless and sleeping rough and trying to raise eight pounds to sleep somewhere tonight. The eight pounds also includes a hot meal.'
I would give him the eight quid if I thought he was genuine. I know it would go on drugs, which is the last thing this brain-damaged dude needs right now.
One thing that troubles me is that I have not written a poem this week. In fact there are a lot of things I have not done. I think I shall knock up something about the demise of The Last Word. I did try to pen one about Rock Ness (the Fat Boy Slim gig), but my effort was, as my Beloved pointed out, rubbish.
I was not inspired - because I did not actually go into the gig.
High Noon.
Flashback to Sunday, 14 May, 2006
9.16am. Lewes Garret. Great excitement as my Beloved has been to the paper shop and brought back the Mail on Sunday with a front page splash headlined: 'Archbishop sacked gay man'. I knew what the story was referring to because I had worked with the chap concerned, a really lovely man called Stephen Noon, and for the cleric, Cormac Murphy-O'Connor, who, I believe, was instrumental in sacking him.
Like so many others who worked at that place, Stephen was shabbily treated. I feel so strongly about it, I have just banged off an email to him:
Hi Stephen,
I have just been shown a copy of the Mail on Sunday. I was vaguely aware of this having happened.
You were a wonderful appointment and did a great job for CMOC and I think it is good that someone has had the guts to bring this - one of the many injustices inflicted on the laity working for that organisation - into the public domain. My thoughts are with you.
Best wishes, Oliver
1.16pm. Overcast but brightening up on the skyline. Received a pleasant email back form Stephen saying that he had appreciated that I had taken the time to write.
Leafing through the pages of the Mail of Sunday, I found another story about one of my previous, in my view, terrible employers - CNN Television.
The headline read: £1/4m payout for CNN girl in night shift row. Elena Cosentino, who I remember from my appalling year working for CNN's World Business This Morning shows, was, like me, kept permanently on nights by the management and suffered the medical consequences. Now an employment tribunal has ruled CNN must pay her £246,799.
Good for her! I walked out in 1999 after, in my view, being mistreated by some of the bosses and a particularly bitchy producer (and the presenters) working there (one of the female anchors actually kicked me for a laugh one morning).
Being freelance, I did not receive a bean from them when I left. I have forgiven but not forgotten the way they behaved.
Midnight. Bed, Lewes Garret. Don't know where the evening has gone - very fast, considering I am as sober as a judge. I went for a long walk around Lewes. Very quiet and beautiful tonight. Before we quit this town, I shall take a series of Lewes photographs.
It is the very least this great town deserves.
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