Harry Potter 'Fights Some Real Demons'

Never understood why people camp out to be the first in line. Whether its waiting for tickets for a sporting event, a new games console or like last week when people camped out to see the new Harry Potter film. Well they weren’t even camping out to see the film but to get a glimpse of Harry, the girl and the ginger one walking down the red carpet.
The three of them are of course out and about doing a lot of promotion for the film and from what I’ve seen a lot has been made of Daniel Radcliffe’s so called ‘problems with alcohol’.
Was he pouring a glass of whiskey to go with his morning coffee? Did he regularly miss work and end up sitting on a bench, guzzling down super strength cider and shouting at traffic?
From what I can tell it was more like what most teenagers do when they first discover alcohol which is to get very drunk in a short space of time, make a fool out of themselves and throw up. Then wake up in the morning feeling like death vowing to never drink again.
Unlike the vast majority Daniel Radcliffe decided that he really won’t drink again.
That’s applaudable for sure, but don’t call it a drinking problem.

An ex colleague of mine regularly turned up for the night shift even though he wasn’t due to work until the morning. He didn’t come in to do any actual work but to drink super strength larger and talk bollocks to whoever would pretend to listen. Then at about 4am he would go to the canteen and get his head down for a bit before his 5.30am start time.
His increasingly gaunt appearance was a clear indication that his health was rapidly in decline, and after a long time off sick and several warnings about turning up for work pissed or not turning up at all he lost his job.
Six months later I saw him sitting on a wall outside a supermarket drinking from a bottle. His skin was a light shade of yellow and he looked like death.
Now that certainly is a drinking problem. One that sadly took over his life.

You Need To Get Out More

There are a few quite people at work who I’ve said nothing more than a passing hello to. And one guy who doesn’t even give that. He doesn’t say a word to anyone. It’s a bit off-putting. Potential serial killer off-putting.
Over the last few months I’ve managed to get more than just a hello from one quiet colleague.
Before I ever talked to him all I really new about him was that he owns a tortoise and likes to get breakfast at MacDonald’s. But since I’ve occasionally been working next to him I’ve managed to get some more information from him.

He’s forty seven and has lived in the same house all his life. His brother is fifty and he’s never moved out either. They don’t really speak to eat other, only a passing hello and that’s it. Not even at Christmas as he said it’s just a normal day in the house. Might get a turkey but that’s about it.
“He’s a piss head, he can’t be bothered to go upstairs to the toilet if he’s drunk late at night so he opens up the back door and goes out there. And if it’s cold outside then sometimes he will piss in the kitchen sink,” he told me.

He’s never been aboard and has never even owned a passport. The furthest he’s been from home is a few days in a Yarmouth caravan park when he was a kid.

It really doesn’t seem to bother him that he doesn’t do much with his life. I imagine that he doesn’t have good days or bad days. He just has days.
Today I asked him what he will be up to over the weekend.
“Get a takeaway, go to Sainsbury’s, give the tortoise a run around in the back garden, maybe take the car for a little drive around so it keeps ticking over. That’s about it really.”
“So you never go to the pub for a few beers?”
“Oh no, I might have a can of Guinness at home but that’s it.”
So seeing that he’s never out drinking I ask him if he’s ever, and I repeated ever in his whole life been out past midnight. I wasn’t surprised when he said no.
“Not even on something like new years eve?” I ask him.
“No, it gets too rowdy doesn’t it. It’s just another night to me.”
I couldn’t help but dig deeper, to get to know more of the things that he doesn’t do, and when I ask him the last time he went on the tube to the centre of London or around there he tells me it was 1980. He lives in a London post code close to the Essex border by the way.
“I guess it’s changed a lot since then. I wouldn’t go on the tube now, not with all the bombs and terrorists,” he adds.
“What were you doing up there?”
“It was a training induction thing for this job. Did a few days in Mount Pleasant and then a few days in Kings Cross. Someone told me that there were lots of prostitutes in Kings Cross and they were right. I walked past one and she asked me if I wanted a good time. I said no thanks I’m going to get a Wimpy.”

Shit Ghanaian Bloke At Work Says

There’s a popular fan page on facebook called, Shit My Dad Says. It’s quotes what this bloke’s dad says. (didn’t really need to explain that but you know)

I was thinking that maybe I should start a page called, Shit That The Ghanaian Bloke At Work Says. I won't but I thought about it for two seconds.
He’s a very friendly guy about fifty who looks like Errol Brown out of the band Hot Chocolate.
And example from this week, about the couple at work who are expecting a kid:
Him: “Now everybody knows. Everybody knows that he is pregnant.
Me: What do you mean he is pregnant, how can he be pregnant?
Him: Yeah, he and she is pregnant.
Me: No she’s pregnant.
Him: No when a woman is pregnant then the man is pregnant too. He put it in her. You know, it takes two to tangle.
Me: You mean it takes two to tango.
Him: Yeah, it takes to tangle.

He’s very proud that he’s got British citizenship, as he told me while stood to attention with his chest pushed out. “I am British man. I have British passport. I sing to the Queen and I can bend down and she can hit me on each shoulder with her stick.”

After a recent altercation with a manager he comes over to me and says, “He is stupid he talks all jaba jaba jaba all the time. He thinks that he can get away with me because he thinks I am stupid African man. Well I’m not. I am British man.”

He’s lived in London for thirty years but his command of the English language sometimes suggests otherwise. To comic effect.
Him: Why do I always get these letters for E14? E14 The Arse Of Dogs, All The time.
Me: How do you pronounce it, the what of dogs?
Him: The Arse Of Dogs. All the time I get The Arse Of Dogs.
Me: You mean The Isle Of Dogs.
Him: Yeah, The Arse Of Dogs.

Directions

This week a woman pulled over in her car and quite abruptly asked me for directions. I paused to think what is the best route to take and due to her rudeness if I should tell her at all.
“You should know, you’re a postman,” she says in a very rude manner.
So I sent her the wrong way.

I’ve had enough of giving directions. It seems that every day someone pulls over and asks me how to get to such and such a place.

I get asked for directions from lorry drivers a lot. They’re usually on the wrong side of town so when I say I don’t know how to get there and just point them in the general direction they look at me like I’m the stupid one for not knowing. No you ‘re the idiot mate, not me. You would think that if you drive for a living then you would have a GPS system or at least an A to Z of London.

I am crap at giving directions anyway. Even if I know where the road is my mind seems to draw a complete blank. It would be easier to give directions if we had an American grid system. But not if you give directions like they do.
“Walk four blocks east, then turn on fourth and seventh then walk two blocks and it’s on seventh and Washington.”
Err, yeah thanks mate, I will get out my map.

Angels Vs Devils

Last night I found out that the postal strike was called off. I was relived in a way because money is tight on a four day week.
But I found out around seven thirty and by this time I was already a few beers down and had it in my mind that I was going to get drunk and have the next day off.
Some options went through my mind.
1 Go in to work as normal.
2 Act like I hadn’t watched the news so was oblivious that the strike was off.
3 Go in late and say that I had only just found out the strike was off when I heard it on the radio.

Whatever way I was going to get drunk so I went to the pub and drunk a lot more.
Usually when I’m in the pub and I’ve got work in the morning the cartoon devil is on my shoulder telling me to stay out and drink more and the cartoon angel is telling me that it’s about time I went home to sober up and get a good nights sleep.
Well yesterday the angel didn’t get a look in. Not one bit.
I set my alarm but slept right through it. My manager phoned me up at 6.30 and said that the strike is off. “Is it? Okay I will be there in half an hour,” I said.

Sometimes you just got to got with what the devil says. If you listened to the angel all the time then life sure would be a bore.