Just in the past couple of days, three recurring themes have. . . . .recurred. It's about time I blogged them out of my system I thought at the times, so I biro'd some temporary tatoos on the back of my hand to remind me to write.

THE CONE CON
It could be any motorway in the land, but in this case it's the A406 North Circular near Staples Corner in Neasden. Time; 12.20am. Situation; One lane (of 2) coned off for a good 2 miles. Fuming traffic backed-up to the M40 at the Hangar Lane gyratory, including YT. Yet there appeared to be nothing doing, roadworks wise. Just long stretches of cones, one vacant lane and the jam.

After one mile two guys in lumi yellow works jackets with ONYX proudly emblazened on the back came into view. They were stooped, picking litter from the traffic grime, weed & rat-infested central reservation and into bin liners. As I passed I was so wound up I wound down & shouted " F..KING SCAM" at them.

Then another mile of cones, yaaaawn.

The scam that I refer to, ladies and gents, is that Onyx will now charge either the Highways Agency or Brent Council I should say a good £10,000 for that night's work by two skivvies on £7.50 an hour. I have a friend who used to work for a minor roadworks contractor and he always talks about these huge rip-off charges being levied for minimal or ghost jobs. And about how the invoices were never challenged, no matter how OTT they were. Odd that huh?

Yet this is small spuds compared to our motorways where variations on a theme are being pulled on a grand scale. I've seen 5 miles of cones, again closing off one perfectly driveable lane. Roadworks signs of men opening umbrellas are everywhere, yet no roadworks. This is the Phantom Roadworks scam. All done in the wee small hours, when no one's about to notice. (SO THEY THINK!)

After a good two miles one comes across a truck with flashing ambers on top in the closed lane. Ahh haa you think, at last, its the roadworks.
As you pass, take a closer look -it's the flatbed cones truck with one pair of hands sticking out the back, disgorging more cones onto the tarmac.

So one lane of the motorway is coned-off for five miles to make way for roadworks which comprise precisely one cone truck putting out cones. And taking them back up again after a few hours.

It's roadworks Jim, but not as we know them.

The cost to the taxpayer, through the charged Highways Agency? At least a good £20,000 whack for the nights work.

Its all backhanders under tandoori tables.

The country is one big trough with a large pack of snouts in it, making bent fortunes for themselves.
It's a taxpayers' money-laundering scam of which there are countless. Look at Stagecoach, Jarvis, Railtrack (as was), Rover, Millenium Dome etc etc. Bled dry of massive government subsidy by their executives.

Privatisation was/is just another word for more jobs for the boys via the Tax Revenue trough.

HAMPSTEAD HEATH- A DOGGIES OUTDOOR POO POO PARLOUR
Nice morning I thought, forecast clouding over with beefy showers. I'd better get a brisk walk in before lunch. Off I head and park up near Kenwood and stroll down the tarmac path to the meadows.
Overnight theres been a couple of sharp showers and the ground is damp. The morning sun, still strong, is working all those lovely earthy smells out of terrafirma. In this case the stench of dog shit and it's a' blowin' in the wind. The path is smeared with compressed DS from the previous weeks months and years. For yes folks this is where the spoilt, pampered people of Hampstead and Highgate bring their also pampered pets for their morning trips to the lavatory. Wandering onto the Heath itself, one might expect the stink to subside. But no, it was a constant theme in the air and underfoot.

You know, I bet hell stinks of dog shit.

Years of daily dog droppings. Now melted in doggie turdies underfoot. The evidence is complete with the visuals. Gangs of self-absorbed yabbering young and middle aged women surrounded by packs of dogs playfully yelping about and crapping freely anywhere and everywhere ( a surprising preponderance of black Labradors I note ). Just what is it with women and dogs?

And when I got back I dragged that doggone crap in with me on the wet soles of my trainers, right throughout the house, kitchen and conservatory alike, before I realized my big mistake. Now the whole place reeks of that vile digested Chum jelly meat & Winalot biscuit melange.

Put the rights of people to enjoy the Heath's magnificent array of flora and fauna ( Londons lungs) before spoilt pet owners' present freedom to use any green space they choose as an open sewer for their animals.

LIGHT REMOVALS
This was one of my sidelines when I first moved to London. I had some beat-up Austin van ( good old British engineering, white of course ) and I started up my onemanband removal service called A to B removals( name since nicked ). It didn't last long however, I soon discovered the jobs I was called out on were more suited to Pantechnican Removals of Chelsea.

Evie will know about this one; the customer when ringing for a quote will always understate the load to be moved. Always always there is about one third more gear to be transported than you are informed. So you give an honest quote in good faith based upon the telephone estimate of the amount of rubbish to be lugged. Then when you turn up you are shown a room full of stuff which you think reasonable, "that should fit in nicely". Then, about halfway through loading, the lady of the house will mention in passing " oh by the way ( by the way my ass )there's another room with some things in". She will open a door and there's a repeat of room 1 right in front of your sweat-mangled vision.

Human nature can really piss you off if you don't wise-up - and even if you do. And human nature is exposed back to the raw nerve here.

So. On my vexed way back from the aforementioned wanderings in dogshit land, across the road from my freshly parked-up car stood a prehistoric hi- top rust bucket of a Transit van (white of course, not counting the numerous ruddy patches) with hand painted scrawl and a doodle drawing, as if from some kid at primary school, daubed in black on back and sides.
" Honest Ronnies Light Removals"
" No job too small, call for free quote"
And there was honest Ronnie, sweat-soaked, running-vested, beetroot-faced and unloading the first of two large upright speakers up over his porky shoulder from the back of the. . . . . customer's estate car?

Ah yes I thought, I remember that one. There was too much stuff to fit in honest Ronnies van so they used the back of the removee's vehicle to save a second trip. I was tempted to feel sorry for Ronnie for a split second til I realized he was most likely signing on. I've met one or two of these light removals fellows since - when moving myself. They invariably live alone in some smeller of a run down Baby Belling'd bedsit.
This is where " White Van Man" was born.

Thank the good Lord I dont have to do that back-breaker any more. Still, the good old days, when I first started learning what this city is really all about.

Everyone trying to shaft everyone else, in one way or another.
Basically.

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MSM