So here I am, back on the cobbles. After being on a radio circuit for over 30 years. I'm back to my roots, working the streets.
It feels strange, like starting a new job. I find it relaxing.
It's like working in a place for years, where someone is nagging you, and then they die. You can't make up your mind whether you are happy the nagging has stopped or sorry that they are dead.

It's a rainy Monday. I have to take my radio equipment back to the big S sometime over the next couple of days.
I only hope that I can get it back without seeing any of the heavies that I met in the boardroom at head office.
This is going to take some planning.
Luckily for me the Control Room and the Board Room are in different parts of the city. The control room is situated in a room over a Chinese fish and chip shop.
The girls who work in the control room hate it. When they go home, they smell of rancid chip oil.

I sat on the rank wondering what to do about returning the radio, when a black stretched limo, with the windows blacked out, cruised by on the other side of the road. As it went past, it slowed. I looked in my side mirror to see the brake lights light up, then the indicator. He was coming back.
The traffic was heavy so it was difficult for the driver to turn it around.
He was about to complete the manoeuvre when a council dustcart pulled in front of him.
The limo was now straddling the road. He couldn't reverse because of the traffic trying to get past behind him or forward because of the dustcart. The limo driver blew his horn at the dustcart, big mistake. The cleansing operatives were telling the limo man what he could do with his black car and his horn.
Such language and on the public highway!
Limo man got out of his car, second mistake.
I got out of my cab to watch.
It was my old friend from the boardroom, mountain man. He stood at the side of the car, shouting obscenities back at the bin men.

I don't know if you have been lucky enough to have had dealings with the bin men, but if you have then you will know that the worse thing you can do is blow your horn behind the lorry to get out of the way or, get into an argument with the bin men about moving the lorry. The mountain man had obviously not had the benefit of my experience.
The thought crossed my mind that the mountain man had just come from a boxing ring because he had his hands bandaged. Then I remembered his last bout with the BBQ. The bin men now in belligerent mood, were gathered around him with much gesticulation going on. I don't know how the situation escalated or who threw the first punch, but in a flash all hell let loose. Bins and bin men were flying through the air.
Then the driver of the bin lorry got out of his cab. This was a huge man, not only in height but in girth. He strolled to the mass of fighting bodies. He waited his moment, until the amount decreased. Then threw his enormous bulk onto the mountain man. I could hear the crack of the bones from where I was.
It was the sort of sound that made you think "Oooohhh, that's going to hurt". The mountain man rolled on his side holding his ribs and the fighting stopped.
As the bin men were getting back to their bins, the back door of the limo opened. A figure stepped out that I recognized. He wore a black suit and an S brand on his forehead. As he got out of the car he shouted at the bin men " You Bastards ", [mistake 3].
The bin men, who had just picked up their bins where they had left off, heard this slur upon their parenthood. They started back towards the limo, bins in hand. S&M saw them coming and started to run. One of the men who must have been a cricket player took a bottle from the bin he was carrying and launched it at S&M. What a shot.
On reaching the car they opened the remaining doors, boot and bonnet and emptied the contents of a weeks restaurant waste bins into the car.
I was just thinking that bolognaise sauce was going to be a bugger to get out of that upholstery, when, I felt a tap on my shoulder. " Are you free, driver? ", it was a nice lady who wanted to go to Clifton. Luckily I was on the right side of the traffic jam to get away. As I left I could see the bin men returning to their work with a smile on their faces.

I knew that S&M and his minder would be out of action for a while, so this would be a good time for me to get the radio equipment back to the control room.
I arrived at the door next to the Chinese chip shop and pressed the buzzer 3 times.
That was the signal that a driver wanted access to the control room. I heard the door lock release and I pushed the door open. In front of me, directly inside the door, was a steep flight of stairs to the control room. It was difficult getting up these stairs because the Chinese chip shop used the stairs to store 5-gallon drums of oil. So many, in fact, that there was one every other step, all the way up.
As I entered the room, or bunker, as the girls called it, I was greeted with a smile. I have known some of these girls for years. Some of then have been with the big S almost as long as I had. I was chatting with Sadie and Tara, two of the girls, when I noticed a couple of new people sitting at the control console. I asked Sadie who they were. She told me that they were not quite sure. One of them had been delivered to them from the back of a continental container lorry. He didn't speak much English but kept repeating Social security and asylum."I thought" Yes mate, you're in the right place, this is the asylum”.
The other person carried a full laminated copy of the Transgender Right to Work Act in his handbag, and according to Tara was a sandwich short of a picnic. These I was told were new operators.
We were having a laugh about old times and drivers gone by, when the door opened and there stood my nightmare, one of S&M’s henchmen. "So there you are , we have been looking for you ". Fame at last. "Well here I am" I replied.
Luckily the man in the doorway and I were separated by an 8ft long control console.
"Come and get me." I was hoping he was alone.
He moved towards one end of the control table and I went to the other. This went on for a couple of minutes, much to the amusement of our friend from the container lorry.
He must have thought this was some funny English custom, because he wanted to join in, so he started to run around the table with us. Great fun.
When we reached the point in the festivities where I was at the door and my pursuer was the other side of the table, I gave him a wave and said, "Sorry I can't play anymore" and slipped out of the door, put the catch down and took the key with me. At the top of the stairs, I accidentally knocked over a drum of oil. The top of the drum had not been secured and the oil started to pour out. Ooops!!
I ran down the stairs and out into the street, slamming the door shut behind me.
As I reached the pavement, I could hear the crash as the door at the top of the stairs was being broken down. Seconds later a scream and the sound of a body falling down a long flight of wooden stairs hitting and being hit by oil drums.
The whole ensemble was rounded off with the mass bands of body and drums crashing into the street door. I wish I could have seen it.
The only thing I could see of the action was gallons of oil oozing from under the door into the street.

I started to stroll back to my cab, that was parked a few streets away. The rain had stopped and the sun was shining. As I walked along, I had time to reflect on events and chuckled to myself.
Taking the radio back was an act that gave me freedom. A severing of the cord that involved me in the dealings of the big S.
But would S&M feel that he needed more things to be severed?

©M.W. Maddock.2001