The pillage of Croydon

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I have witnessed tonight the complete destruction of Croydon, a place I love (for all it’s faults) for the happy times I had when I lived there.

I have sat glued to the news watching in disbelief as rioters and looters pillaged shops and businesses at will.

I know the same problems are effecting other areas of London and even Birmingham and my  heart bleeds for the local residents who are suffering and no doubt living in fear.

I am stunned and saddened by it all ..  how many of these people really believe in anything apart from personal gain, what they can grab and steal from a shop or an office and their excuse…. “poverty”


We have the most generous welfare system in the world, too generous.   I know from now having my own business (that I have worked hard to achieve) that you can start from nothing.  I did.  I started from a desk and telephone from a back bedroom.


Because I didnt want to sit on my arse and have handouts.

You think you have nothing .. let me tell you what nothing is .. nothing is when you work hard all your life to have a business and a home that you are proud of and you lose it .. everything.. you walk away with the clothes on your back and some bits and pieces of furniture.  That is nothing, that is failure.    I’ve been there.   I lost everything, and I had two choices, 1) sit back and feel sorry for myself and blame everything on someone else or 2) get off my arse and do something about it, so I did.

No-one can blame their failure anything but themselves.   Don’t blame the government, don’t blame the education system, don’t blame it on your colour, your sexuality or your parents.  Stand up and take responsibility.

Most of the idiots can’t even be bothered voting.  Yet they are quick to blame the government but they forget about the easy credit we all demanded, the cheap food we buy from the superstores .. the fault lies at our own feet.

I have no sympathy left for sob stories, I have no patience with them.   Stop diverting the blame, stand up, get out there and become someone, not a member of a mob, not a member of a gang, you have your future in your own hands, accept it and deal with it.

You take enough from society, put something back.

Monday night .. means?

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Lost .. me .. never!


Oh how I hated them at the time .. not realising just how much fun cleaning was with a bunch of gals!

At Bicester the sound of Bilitis verbarated around the corridors .. (for you young un’s Bilitis was a lesbian film and EVERYONE had the sound track!)

I remember Jackie Murphy and Sue Carline best for handing out the rota for cleaning the block .. my favourite (for some reason!) was cleaning the bathrooms .. I still like a sparkling bathroom now!

We had a lovely wee Scottish Sgt Major in Bicester, for the life of me I can’t remember her name – but she was a very fair, decent woman, who had survived my attempts at sabotage when I was seconded to the troop office after hurting my arm.  I spent weeks pouring over the big sheets with everyone’s name on it .. I think they were for rations .. I really have no idea (I was a storewoman not a clerk!) .. anyway .. her favourite saying at that time was “Private Johnson .. a nice wee cup of tea would be lovely” .. I hate making tea .. so .. after a week or two I was really fed up with it.   I decided (in my great wisdom) to sabotage tea making.   The next time I heard the “a nice wee cup of tea would be lovely” I made my move … 12 teabags in a wee teapot .. honestly you could have painted with the walls with the tea that came out .. so.. very pleased with my very clever idea .. I smugly dropped it down in front of her.

She took a sip … paused … took another sip .. then said “Private Johnson, thats the best cup of tea I’ve had in a long time”

My flabber was gasted .. my dirty evil plan had failed …  although looking back .. I think she was just too damn clever for me!

I did however extract a wee bit revenge at the next in night.   I had in my possession (I can’t remember why!) a plastic dog poo .. now this SM liked to bring her wee cute dog round the block on in nights … so I waited .. until she had checked our room and moved on to the next .. and quietly placed the poo in the middle of the corridor.

The gasp was audible from the other end of the corridor … she turned red, was apologising profusely and telling her wee dog off … then she looked again … stared a bit harder … then it came … from the souls of her boots … “PRIVATE JOHNSON .. .GET OUT HERE NOW” ….   how she knew it was me, I have no idea .. but thankfully she seen the funny side of it.. or maybe she was feeling sorry for me as I still had my arm in a sling ….

…ah .. the sling … I had actually been told by the medics that I could take my sling off .. BUT we had a big parade coming up the next day and I couldn’t be bothered bulling my boots.   One of my roomies .. Joanne Hawker .. very kindly offered to bull my boots for me … I was sitting on my bed (with the sling off as I told her I could give it a wee rest out of the sling now and again) when she flung a cigarette over to me .. I grabbed it in mid air .. with my “bad” arm ..

The boots followed through the air a couple of seconds later ….

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