Olympics

Superman Alex also known as Alex The Cindy said he read my blog recently. He told me he liked it but it seemed to him that I lost interest in writing: "You are slacking off! There are so many things to write about, Olympic games for instance." It's hard to write about something that doesn't happen though or, in other words, it's simply no fun to write about a disappointment. Anja Gottschalk, a rider with most likely best looking bottom in the world, said a few days ago, interviewed by Evening Standard: "...Everyone has been scared off coming into the centre by all the warnings about public transport, car parking and the greedy hotels putting their rates up three or four times." Anja is absolutely right on this one. Streets of Soho are empty and whoever expected a financial boom is a doomed dreamer. Sad news is that on top of that Anja got arrested (her rickshaw got impounded) for stopping on double yellow line for a minute... Alex The Cindy, her beau, avoided detention calling his mom, who confirmed his address... Police doesn't get tough only on rickshaw riders. Critical Mass was cut short by Mets and 182 people got arrested too, for maybe protesting the Olympics: http://www.care2.com/causes/182-cyclists-arrested-for-maybe-protesting-the-olympics.html#ixzz22DhUjIUi. Clearly Olympics brought rather general tension than expected prosperity. People keep talking about a nuclear doom and UFOs over London. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1262668/Olympic-Armageddon-Top-thriller-writer-imagines-terrorist-attack-London-2012-Games.html
This video, fortunately, has less than 8000 spins.

Let's be honest! UFO strikes ruthlessly, no doubt! http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2181066/Olympics-2012-UFO-sighted-Games-opening-ceremony.html.
The harsh reality, though,  remains unaltered. UFO or not people get same drunk and messy.
One of these days I met an American by Leicester Square tube station. He had that face of a liquor soaked alcoholic. "I lost my partner and I lost a thousand pounds!" - He informed me. "You probably got robbed." - I suggested. ""I'm quite good at it." - He answered somewhat mysteriously. After a while his expression changed. "YES! I GOT ROBBED!" - He got all passionate - "THEY SAW I WAS DOING WELL AND THEY ROBBED ME!" Casinos are surely dangerous places, aren't they? And here was a truly Olympic deal for me. "I need to go to Lancaster Gate!" - He stated. I had nothing better to do. "I'll take you there for twenty quid." He gave me a chagrined smile. "So you've got no money?" - I guessed. "It's not this... I've got thousands of dollars... However I've got only about seven pounds on me... I'll give you the rest when we get to my hotel." It was late so I decided to give it a try. On the way he seemed to be pretty vexed. I heard him saying to himself: "How am I gonna explain this to my partner?!" As we arrived he handed his passport out to me and asked to wait a minute. He had many stamps from Paris, Amsterdam and States there. Soon he was back carrying a mug full of coins... We counted pounds and pennies until we reached twenty, not even a pence more. He took back his document saying: "This passport equals a loser!" and was gone.
About two days later I saw an interesting situation on Charring Cross Road. You know, them hustlers, they have that peculiar quality. Any time they see an attractive girl they absolutely have to have a go at her. An average "bad boy" usually stops in front of a girl spreading his arms, waiting until she literately steps on him and then he attempts to give her a hug. Another popular technique is to grab a passing-by girl's arm in attempt to stop her, talking some bullshit simultaneously. They usually call a girl "Sexy" or "Princes" and soon enough offer their company, ask for her number, invite for a drink etc. I don't need to explain how very much welcome is that kind of intrusion. That night I saw one fellow pinching a random girl on a cheek, calling her a "cutie" or something. Let me tell you - she didn't like it! She was pretty small and he was quite a big guy. Nevertheless she pushed him away immediately, screaming: "Don't touch me!" She started to punch that hustler's face. She really could punch! I could tell he would love to beat her back, but all eyes were on him. He had to simply take it, begging her to stop. People around watched with satisfaction. I hope he learnt a lesson.
...and by the way: the Olympics are FULLY ON!!!

Oh shit! Exhibitionism!

I have to warn everyone. This entry is for nerveless only. 

"You’d be quite surprised by the amount of exhibitionism that happens around us every single day. Of course, not the disturbing flashers who jump out of bushes, but the soft hot flashing that can be so hot." - reads www.lovepanky.com in the article "Sexy Exhibitionism – How to Get Naked in Public". Even if hot flashing could be hot (sic! sic! what a nonsense!) flashers don't need to jump out of bushes to be disturbing, and yes, it is quite surprising! I'll spare you the story of a customer who decided to "finish himself off" on my trike on the way to Knightsbridge, for it is basically too creepy. Last Saturday night though, I follow Brewer Street. It's dark, rather cold and my pocket is rather empty. I am in front of some shop, move on slowly. Suddenly somebody calls me, saying something that I don't quite grasp. The only thing I'm sure about is that someone offers me money. I catch a glimpse of a guy sitting on a step behind a little pillar. It seems like his pants are down... I'm thinking: "Another perv", but I put on a brave face and ask: "Where would you like to go?" "I just need some toilet paper!" - says he - "Have you got any? I'll give you £10!" "I like your style!" - I tell him. I really can't believe it, can't stop myself from laughing as I jump off my trike. I pick up some tissues and pass them to him. He accepts, produces his wallet and gives me £20. He just seats there on the step, pants down, like if nothing happened, even though he probably just laid some seriously hot and heavy brick. I can't tell if he's blushing while flashing but I doubt it, for in darkness you feel no regret, plus it's not in his pants, which counts. I wish him a pleasant evening and I'm off.

You put me in a mood

Those people who expect YOU to pay THEM as they get on your trike are my favourite customers... With no sense of shame whatsoever they proudly expose a chip on their shoulders. First of all the place they are actually going to is "just around the corner", "only two blocks away" or "only down the road". Not to mention that "something is better than nothing", "you can either take this (i.e. some petty change) or wait here in vain" or even "you should think about making your living". As if one would be able to make one's living riding around all night for two pounds seventy three pence or something... "HOW MUCH?!!! ARE YOU FOR REAL?!" "I'M A SINGLE MOTHER!"  "I'M ONLY SIXTEEN!" "K'MON BOSS! JUST PEDAL! WE'LL PAY YOU ONCE WE'RE THERE!" By the end of the day you are but a "fucking rickshaw" and very soon somebody will remind you about it. Thick skin and selectivity are the key virtues, for even if people are really equal, the equality has nothing to do with a size. And when it comes to technique... Well, technically you are supposed to pedal. Therefore big, heavy people should pay more, innit bruv?! The only problem is to set things straight... Another night, on New Oxford Street, a couple comes to me. They want to go to Old Compton Street. She's an English girl and he's a smartly dressed big black fellow. I say a fiver per person, a just price, Lord is my witness. She does't seem to mind but she looks at him first thing and I already see his scowling expression. "It's just around the corner! Let's walk!" He says. "Do it for eight pounds in total." She suggests. "Not with him." - Is my answer. Addressing the fellow I add: "Look at you! You are a RESPECTABLE gent..." With my hands I'm showing HOW respectable he actually is. I see another rickshaw coming, the girl moves towards it and I'm kind of relieved, for I can tell that the small Asian guy who rides it is so desperate that he would probably go for a fiver... The guy is still by my side though and presently he says: "I think I will slap you!" I have to say something to this so I ask quickly: "Why?" "You put me in a mood." He gives me a dirty look. I'm asking myself how tough I REALLY am. To get some more time I say: "I'm only trying to do my job..." "I'm here with a lady and you... I really should slap you!" But he doesn't. I look around. "Well, you gonna do as you like..." I'm already sensing his hesitation so I add sharply: "I CALLED YOU A RESPECTABLE GENT, RIGHT?" He agrees. "Fuck that!" He says and follows the girl. They get on the other rickshaw. Much relieved I pedal off.

Perpetuum mobile

Marek's rickshaw once broke on Piccadilly. He could do absolutely nothing about it. One of the chains snapped and he had neither a spare one nor a chain breaker tool. There was no remedy. He had to push it back to the base. Somewhere on Piccadily a stroke of good luck sweetened a bit his misfortune. He met a friend of his who seeing him in trouble offered a helping hand. "Get on the saddle and steer. I'll give you a push!" Never minding his smart clothes, that friend of Marek pushed the trike energetically. Thus, pretty soon, they reached Piccadilly Circus. A police officer looked at the show, including a smartly dressed guy, a tricycle and an idle rickshaw rider and knew straight away that the thing in front of him was not one of a perpetual motion. Adressing Marek's friend he asked: "Excuse me! How much did you pay for this lift, sir?"

Why I don't like lesbians

That night weather tricked me again. It was warm, nice and dry, so I decided to leave my canopy at the base,  moved out enthusiastically, got two-three quick lifts and soon got caught by a vehement downpour too... Fortunately I soon found a shelter, by Travelodge Hotel on High Holborn Street and Museum Street's corner. An architect who designed that hotel was so kind, that he left a recess in the ground floor's right corner. Me and my rickshaw sneaked in there neatly. If only that place could protect one, as well, from recession... In any case the rain could not diffuse through. Unfortunately lesbians could. Four of them appeared out of the blue. Even though myself being in charge of THAT particular tricycle was out of question, no one asked questions. Two of them sat quickly on it, third one took the operator's place and was clearly about to take off! The fourth one, poor creature, was simply butching around. "You snooze, you lose!" I said to myself and fearlessly stepped into trajectory! Collision was inevitable. Fortunately killing me softly with rickshaw didn't work. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" The "driver" looked me gently in the eye. Petting her was not my ambition. "It's all right. Just get off!" She did. I stepped aside. The two seated stayed. There was some smooching and boob squeezing going on. I didn't fancy a threesome, neither quartet nor quintet. Dem ladies were not exactly my type anyway ^_^. After a while two of them moved on and from some distance started to urge two remaining. Enjoying each other's company those were not in a hurry. Finally though, all of them were gone. I approached my trike and to my distress discovered that pouch on the grip rail was wide open. I had two Pret-a-manger sandwiches there. Those bitches pinched them!

English summer chat up line

There's that joke circulating on the web:"In the Bible it rained for 40 days, they called it a disaster. In England we call summer. " Nights are short in June. In the full daylight, about 4.30 am, I stopped in a red light on Charring Cross Rd, right by Leicester Square tube station. There was a bunch of late night/early morning, mid-twenties clubbers on my left. Two lasses approached me. "Do you know if there's any place still open around here?" I briefly explained what was still available. One of them soon walked away to join her friends but the other clearly felt flirtatious. "Is this called a rickshaw? Where you from? I like your eyes... DO YOU KNOW THAT THE MAXIMUM TEMPERATURE THIS SUMMER WON'T GO BEYOND 24 DEGREES?" I had no choice but to beam at her saying that it was really devastating! Soon enough her boyfriend frowned at her. "Jane! I see you later, yeah?" He moved on. She pulled a face and scurried away after him.

Business advisor

I was slowly following Oxford Street towards Oxford Circus. On my left there was some totally smashed fellow, desperately leaning against a lamp post. A few steps from him stood three lost looking girls, clearly not able to make heads or tails of their whereabouts. I stopped and asked if they needed directions. As obviously it was the case I explain to them the way they should follow. They asked me then how much would I charge to take them there. Unfortunately they found my price too dear. I decided that it was no worthy of further haggling and moved on. At that point the boozy looked at me and slurred: "You should change your approach toward customer. You are too desperate!" For a little while I felt completely overwhelmed by his drunken master style. I put myself together though, searched for opponent's weak points and made a quick riposte: "You are too drunk! Sober off and then you will advise me!" I must had found his Achilles heel cause as I was pedalling away, for a long while, I could hear him shouting something about fucking off.

Evening Standard gives us bad name. Rickshaw riders are not criminals!

Some rogue journalist, Michael Howie, just sent this message to the world on pages of Evening Standard: "They (i.e. Police) aim to target brawling drunks, drug dealers, pickpockets, unlicensed minicabs, and DANGEROUS RICKSHAW DRIVING." Maybe Mr M. Howie and the Police believe that "he who would pun would pick a pocket", but I don't really know too may rickshaw riders who actually pun. 
What kind of a danger, a rickshaw actually represents? Imagine furiously ridden horse-drawn cart. Scary, isn't it? Now what's a relation between aforementioned cart and a pedicab? I am asking. 
A bit earlier the article reads: "A string of pedicabs were impounded last night at the launch of six-month blitz on West End crime". Since when riding a rickshaw is A CRIME? An important question rises: what did those poor riders do to get their, or some third party's, POSSESSION IMPOUNDED? Mister rogue journalist quotes Chief Superintendent Simon Ovens: "There are no laws that deal specifically with rickshaws - they are unregulated. So we are using the tools available. If we have to go back two centuries to apply the law, we will." And what is the law, then? Maybe they should go back in time a bit further and burn us all at the stake?  Why does the Police impound our tools of trade? Because we ride furiously or stop for longer than is necessary? Speeding or stopping on double yellow line is not a crime. One should get a fixed penalty for a minor offence. Instead one gets arrested (!!!) and his/her pedicab is taken away for weeks or months (if you don't plead guilty at the magistrate court). They still expect you to pay a fine, even though they deprived you of your tool of trade. Police doesn't care about rickshaw riders who work at night without lights, whose pedicabs are not properly maintained, who don't respect a highway code and thus give the whole industry a bad name. They basically choose a few poor devils each night, at random, and confiscate their tricycles, using any lame excuse. Some people prefer to live on benefits. Rickshaw riders work hard for their money.  Some people complain that immigrants take their jobs. Rickshaw industry creates plenty of new jobs. Those who are not lazy know that our profession in not only rewarding but also helps to develop serious salesman skills. There's no cheating here. You work hard but you get paid immediately. Every night I meet so many people who greatly appreciate what we do. Methinks we don't deserve to be picked on. LICENCE US NOW!

Paris of Troy

I got a lift to King's Cross with two German girls. On Judd St, not far from Russel Sq. I was passing by three boozy fellows walking the same direction as me. Going at easy pace I could hear one of them saying in a deep, theatrical voice: "My father says I'm stupid but, you know, I feel so sad every time when I wait for her all night before she comes back home..." Soon I overtook them and went on. I got to King's Cross station. The ladies paid the fare, thanked me politely and were gone. On the way back I saw those three chaps again. Same guy, raising his beautiful, deep voice dramatically, carried on with his story: "..SHE WENT TO PARIS WITH ANOTHER DUDE!!!" His two companions watched him gravely.

No more sympathy for late night drunkards

After 11pm there is only one shop around West End with a licence to sell alcohol at night. Two days ago a guy I met in Soho was very thirsty. I decided to help out a poor devil. I took him to that shop. (Let me add that the shop is not exactly around the corner.) On the way he mention that, recently, he heard "a lot of shit" about rickshaw riders. I advised him to stop reading Evening Standard. When we got there, before he actually entered the off-licence, he asked if I could take him back to Tottenham Court Road station. I assured him about it and named my price. "What? I'll give you a fiver in total! Otherwise I can give you just a couple of quid for bringing me here!" Saying this he entered the shop. There he picked up three beers and produced a twenty pound note to pay for them. Next he stepped out and handed over to me two pounds and seventy three pence. I told him that he shouldn't expect people to carry him about for free. "Here's a fifty p more!" Generously he tried to stick it in my hand. It had been a while since I saw such a joker. I threw all that petty change into plastic bag where he kept his beers and told him to take that and fuck off. As I was riding off he kept shouting behind my back: "Geezer! Come here! It ain't cool! Geezer! Come back" Nevertheless I felt cooler and cooler as the distance kept growing between us. Finally, when I disappeared around the corner, I was cool as a cucumber.

Believe it or not, history is repeating. Yesterday some drunk Russian asked me for the same thing. Very innocently on my behalf, I decided to help a fellow man. On the way to the same shop he kept bitching about quite a lot. "Verrr iz dat shop! How farrr iz dat shop!" Finally he shut up. I was rather happy about it until I got there. I Looked back only to discover that my trike was empty. That bastard jumped off and ran away! I didn't even realised when... Therefore here's my message to all the late night drunks: cash upfront, you twats, or help yourselves to the water from the puddles!

Squirting

A fellow rickshaw rider told me that once, around Covent Garden, he saw two drunken women. One of them desperately needed to relieve her bladder. She went to a nearest doorway, put her pants down, squatted and started to pee. She was far too drunk though, for this kind of acrobatics. Suddenly she lost her balance and fell on her back. Nevertheless she couldn't stop peeing. So there she was: lying on her back with urine gushing from her pussy like a fountain.

Her friend was laughing so hard, that she nearly peed herself too.

Emancipation

You know those couples practically making out standing, her/his back against a wall, at night, in public places, don't you? Sure thing you do! Well, to be honest with you, sometimes they could be even more than just couples, like that lucky gay boy whom I saw one night on Old Compton Street being simultaneously jerked off and fingered by his two mates.

Those are extremities though, and much more frequently one can see couples enjoying themselves this way or another. Usually the initiative is taken by a male or a male-like partner who enthusiastically fingers a girl. Lately I spotted something significantly different. Last night I saw a girl pressed against the wall all right, by some fellow, however she smartly reached into that guy's pocket and was actually tossing him energetically. I hope he didn't cum in his pants. As a matter of fact it was all happening on the corner of New Oxford Street and Earnshaw Street, right by Centre Point. I was impressed.

Snapshots

To be a rickshaw rider is all about living the way YOU want. It's about freedom. Freedom could be dangerous but it's a whole different story. It's enough to say that freedom has its price. Every now and then somebody calls you a prick. Sometimes someone promises to stab you in the neck. "Bigmouth strikes again!" - as Chumbawamba sang. "Water off duck's tail..." - as Alex Brownie says. Yet there is something that remains. It's as if your brain stored some pictures. There's that feeling too, as if you were dreaming or as if it was just a film you were watching...

I met those two very young Turkish lads. One of them was really pissed, he could hardly walk. Obviously they craved for some affordable, immediate, physical love without strings attached. Btw what they were looking for was actually available around the corner. I charged them upfront and got them there in no time. As I stopped I took a look behind. One of them was quite strangely positioned. Upper half of his body was hanging out of trike. He was all covered with his vomit and so was side of my rickshaw next to him. "FUCK ME!" - was all I could think or say about it. That instant he heavily fell on the floor and remained there, silent, motionless, positioned like some bizarre foetus. "Hassan! Hassan!" - his friend tried to wake and lift him up but that fellow just didn't seem to be there any more. As I was about to say that, in his actual condition, he probably won't get a hard on anyway, his friend looked at me and waved. "See you later." He didn't need to say it again.

Rickshaw rider's night out

Some time ago some people, who took on writing a blog about rickshaws in London, asked me to prepare a guest post. So I did. They published it lately http://rickshawsinlondon.com/guest-posts/, omitting some interesting and important parts. I thought it would be a shame to lose them, therefore I decided to post a full, original version below:

"Hi everyone! I've been riding a rickshaw for a little while. I even write a blog about it! Here's a handful of a practical knowledge I'd like to share with you:
- Beware very drunk/drugged people. They are capable of anything. I insist: ANYTHING!
- Anytime you can tell that your potential customers are too rough or just untrustworthy charge them upfront.
- Some rickshaw riders are monkeys. Greedy, unscrupulous, selfish and cynical. They will steal your lifts, they will undercut your prices. Smile and be patient! There are many nice people around every corner. You will find them.
- Some people out there will treat you like an animal. You don't have to take anything like this. If anybody calls you names, suggests that £5 is a lot of money where you come from, tells you that your father drives an elephant, maliciously tries to finger your arse or to set your jacket, on your back, on fire with a lighter - don't take them anywhere. You are self employed, which means that you work for yourself. Dignity has no price.
- Some shameless, drunk women will try to allure you into having sex with them, on your rickshaw. They may even suggest a sexual encounter as a form of payment. Don't you EVER make out on your trike. She may change her mind later and accuse you of a rape. You will go to prison for certain sure. You have probably heard how they treat rapists over there. Take her home or pay her a visit. Use a condom.
- A bad boy element is an intrinsic part of the nightlife... Those gentlemen will try to force you to drive them around for free, will attempt to take your trike away from you or basically will sit on your rickshaw refusing to go away. Never show them that you are scared (no matter how intimidated you are feeling). Never try to be cocky or aggressive (you can't fight a bunch of hoodlums on your own). Talk politely but show them that you are self confident. Low profile people's minds are erratic. They will get bored soon and will be gone.
- Avoid a physical confrontation at any price! Remember: you don't go out to fight, but to make money. Nevertheless when worse comes to worse and you need to defend yourself, never punch people in their teeth, for their teeth will easily cut the skin on your bare knuckles. You bleed a lot, scars remain forever and what if your opponent was venomous? Simply kick their balls. It works. BTW if anybody puts a knife to your gut, unless your second name is Seagul, Norris or Van Damme, don't struggle. It's not worthy.
- Read my blog. It's great! ;~)"

Difficult

I spotted a guy, on the corner where Regent Street meets Maddox Street. He was conspicuously lost. I made a u turn, got closer and whistled softly to get his attention. He approached me eagerly, blinking and smiling widely. "Do you need directions?" "Yes!" I looked at him and thought that somehow he was smiling too much. "I'm looking for... Wait, wait... I'm looking for a square..." He was kind of punk-rocker with a mohican and a lot of piercing. He said he was an Italian. "Russel Square, Portman Square, Leicester Square?" I was trying to give him a hint. "No... no... wait..." Speaking slowly he was laughing and poking faces. "It's difficult... The TRIP is difficult..." I looked at him and suddenly got it. "Are you on LSD?!" "Yeah!" He grinned broadly. There was much rejoicing...