You can't scam a scammer - George Joyce

I ask a million questions to whoever I decide to talk to. Whether it be a copper, a 'baccy' smuggler, a snob in high heels, or the local "rough sleeper" who's name is Ralph and sells the Big Issue outside of Marks here in Westbourne. Living in the Salt Lake valley for the last 12 years feels like cotton wool compared to here. People seem angry and will take what's not theirs because everyone feels like they're owed something. Animals have more decency. I've done a lot running around Bournemouth at night through the debris filled streets into clubs and out again and into a cab screaming my address and "get me outta here". The village of Westbourne is quaint and has been compared to Florida i.e lots of wealthy retired people. A favorite comic of mine once commented about the region, that the big give away are the RAMPS everywhere, even the shop windows are bi-focals. But the sum of all I've learned is yet to deliever it's purchase.

Getting to know Ralph

The local tramp took my salt and vinegar crisps tonight.
Finally!
I guess he needed the salt.
I over-filled Puffin Palace as well
Let's hope he doesn't jump out.

Going with the flow

There's a homeless man who stands outside of Marks and Spencer's here in Westbourne selling copies of The Big Issue. The man's name is Ralph. He's gruff, he's dirty, and his fingers are long and filled with grime. I don't often shop in Marks but when I do I'll give poor Ralph a quid or 50p, never more than that because I'm certain of where it will go.... or am I?

The first time I offered Ralph a loaf of brown bread he turned it down, I wish I could remember his reason now. A second time I offered him one of my two-for-one packs of cookies and he refused saying he couldn't eat sugar because it's bad for his "teef". Tonight I offered the guy my bottle of water and he said he had plenty already. The man sleeps in a bush, I've seen him! He's not a phony, but I can't stop thinking of that Seinfeld episode of "Top of the Muffin" when the homeless shelter turns down donations because the sacks of muffins were topless.

While I'm on a rant, let's turn to the nearly topless tramps that makes up Bournemouth High Society. I am a photographer for the highly fashionable and borderline pornographic publication of DV8 magazine where I go out at night and take photos of Bournemouth's must be "scene" in bars and clubs. I take pictures of STUNNING women; they've got the hair, the skinny arms, the lips, you name it, it's ALL going on. I'll take their photo and right after the shot they come clip-clopping over to view my LCD screen and then squawk that I must erase it (which I don't) and insist that I take another one. They then adjust themselves into a peacock-like pose far from the beauty I captured of them at first. It's madness I tell you, madness! After those nights, I'm glad to get home where I meet Puffin preening himself as nature intended.

I've still got the flu but at least I have FIRE!