>Meet the card carrying members of the numpty-verse

Posted: May 22, 2011 in Uncategorized

>As previously mentioned, Port Talbot is bat shit crazy. But it appears we are not alone.

Don’t get me wrong, since I last mentioned it I’ve seen some fantastic shout outs from the nutter posse (as some “yoof” might say…well I think. I’m not exactly on the same wavelength).

I was wondering down the shop; probably for the second time that night because I’ve got a memory like a sieve that been massacred by an AK47, and I overheard someone clapping. This you may think is not uncommon, but the claps were getting louder. As I wondered what to expect when I turned the corner, a man walked past. As he was walking he was clapping in time with his steps (concentrating very hard I might add). He looked up and saw me and instead of looking embarrassed or giving something of a sane explanation, he simply gave me an approving nod. For what I have no idea.

Why would he approve me? Was he respecting my choice to walk normally? He also had a crutch hanging from his arm, something that just added to the hundreds of questions that popped into my head in the space of those two minutes.

The other particular highlight was when I was taking the boy to town. During one of his games of “Lets see how many times I can throw my hat on the floor and get Dad to run over it”, two men walked past on the opposing pavement. Usually I wouldn’t listen in to other people’s conversation but it’s hard not to when one person says: “And then he went like this….”

He then proceeded to hop backwards down the pavement like a New Zealand player doing the Hakka who’s been stuck on rewind on the TV, and the spun around and did what I can only assume was an impression of a javelin thrower and making a noise that can only be written thusly:


His companion said nothing. Neither did I. Frankly I was bewildered by the whole thing. The only thing that would’ve compared to that level of madness would’ve been if a leprechaun had appeared out of thin air, jumped up and slapped me and rocketed off to the moon.

But that’s Port Talbot.

I was in Swansea the other day. At the start it was relatively sane, but it was only when I got on the train that things went a bit strange.

Turns out it was rather packed, and rather than walk through all the carriages and catch a line of people on the back of the head with my bag (my record is seven in a row), I took one of the seats by the door. I figured that I’d be getting off in fifteen minutes or so it wouldn’t be an issue.

Unbeknownst to me, I had chosen a seat that had ‘toilet attendant’ written above it. I assume I did considering the situation that unfolded. A middle aged woman approached and asked if anyone was in there. After stating that there wasn’t (that I was aware of) she proceeded to press a button to open it.

Well, that’s what she thought. She was pressing a part of the wall that was quite clearly blank. Maybe she thought it was one of those magic wall buttons that blend into the background that we all use on a day to day basis. There’s not a day goes by where I don’t see someone franticly groping a wall to get into buildings that don’t exist. I pointed out the clearly marked button. She went in.

Going back to my world blocking out music, I noticed when she came out that she began pressing this newly discovered wonderful non-camouflaged button. She pressed a lot of times. She then asked me if said action would close the door. Avoiding the billion sarcastic comments that entered my head I said that it probably closes by itself.

She went away. I sighed relief.

Not two minutes later a man walked up and pressed the button to open the door. This guy was obviously ahead of the curve. Except that he was standing outside the cupboard doors that were right next the actual door, patiently waiting for them to open. Meanwhile the actual door was (loudly) opening mere millimetres away. I waited for as long as I could before my newly self-appointed toilet attendant instinct kicked in and I had to point out the three foot gap that had suddenly appeared to his right.

He entered. I stifled a laugh to myself.

Another two minutes later the first middle aged woman showed up again, only to have who I assumed to be her mother in tow. She began to show her mother the wondrous button she’d discovered only five minutes previously and pressed awaiting a gasp of amazement from her mother. Except that it didn’t open. She turned to me as the keeper of the gates and asked if there was anyone in. As she asked me I couldn’t help staring that the massive red “TOILET ENGAGED” sign just to her left.

I was biting my lip so hard that I almost felt blood dripping down.

I pointed out the sign. The doors then opened and the guy left and the mother and daughter went in.

Thankfully the train pulled up at the station and I exited pondering if I could be the best toilet attendant the world never knew about.

I’m not looking down on the people around here. Well, maybe a little bit but no more than other people probably do to me when I’ve been out. I’ve been in town sometimes and when I’ve got back I’ve noticed my hair. On occasion when it’s long enough and I haven’t done anything to it I can look like Wolverine who’s let himself go and got baby sick on either shoulder. Then I’ve noticed it down my back and front.

I’m sure that there’s a genius on every street, it’s just I’ve got a habit of seeing the card carrying members of the numpty-verse.

But I can’t complain, it gives me something to write about


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