Note;
Does your heavy take tea or coffee with his home made scones? Expect my Heavy to give you back your cream /jam scones,by shoving them where the sun don't shine!!!
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Note;
Does your heavy take tea or coffee with his home made scones? Expect my Heavy to give you back your cream /jam scones,by shoving them where the sun don't shine!!!
I think you posted this before havenāt you??In the late seventies I lived in East London and knew some really dodgy blokes - the kind that would happily break someone's legs for not very much money. For some reason they took a shine to me and one day suggested I find a monkey or a grand for a "long term investment" So wish I'd tried harder to find the money - appears they were buying up land around where Canary Wharf now sits!! I believe the development company ended up paying stupid amounts for the few remaining plots.......
Thereās an English lady out in Skiathos called Mary Richardson. Sheās in her early 70ās, as tough as they come, very charming with a few quid behind her. Sheās from south London.Mrs Swotty's ex-husband was a friend of a certain East End gangster family. He's a lovely guy ... won't hear a wrong word said about him.
Mrs Swotty was related by marriage to the now departed Babs Windsor ... also related to the aforementioned family.
That was fine until we moved over here and my new best friend, from south of the river, disclosed that he used to be a runner for the Richardsons.
I daren't tell Mrs Swotty ... just in case!
(She doesn't read this forum ... hopefully)
During my ammo selling days I arrived at the old Don Muang Airport in Bangkok. My agent in country had told me he'd meet me off the airplane. I thought he meant he was simply collecting me at the airport.
So the aircraft arrives at the air bridge and nobody is allowed off. A Sikh gentleman followed by a police officer come to my seat, confirm my name and ask me to follow them. My fellow travellers are clearly all thinking I am going to be a guest at the Bangkok Hilton very shortly. What actually happens is within 10 minutes we have walked through a private immigration office, I have been introduced to the police officer who is the chief of airport police who has my passport stamped and we walk through baggage claim. At this point I am expecting a delay as we wait for my luggage...oh no. "We have your luggage Mr Matthew" We walk straight outside, the ubiquitous black mercedes pulls up and i don't believe they have my luggage. Boot opens and there are my 2 pieces of luggage. Presumably everyone else's luggage is strewn over the airfield tarmac as they hunted for mine.
The whole point of the process was to prove how much influence they had (and still have). At the end of my visit one of his "uncles" takes me back to the airport. I was booked with BA but we drove further up the terminal to Royal Thai and walk up to the first class check in. The uncle gets an id out that unfolds like Chevy Chases in Fletch and he says "put this man in first class to London". I am issued with a ticket and enjoy a lovely flight home.
Over the intervening years I have seen this repeated numerous times and he gets treated like royalty everywhere. He is not dodgy in the sense of criminal activity but he is clearly given a lot of slack by officials everywhere because he is friendly with the police, army, airforce officers at a very senior level. Crossing him would not be a wise decision for a local. As a Farang I am just his mate who he gets drunk with at the pub.
During my ammo selling days I arrived at the old Don Muang Airport in Bangkok. My agent in country had told me he'd meet me off the airplane. I thought he meant he was simply collecting me at the airport.
So the aircraft arrives at the air bridge and nobody is allowed off. A Sikh gentleman followed by a police officer come to my seat, confirm my name and ask me to follow them. My fellow travellers are clearly all thinking I am going to be a guest at the Bangkok Hilton very shortly. What actually happens is within 10 minutes we have walked through a private immigration office, I have been introduced to the police officer who is the chief of airport police who has my passport stamped and we walk through baggage claim. At this point I am expecting a delay as we wait for my luggage...oh no. "We have your luggage Mr Matthew" We walk straight outside, the ubiquitous black mercedes pulls up and i don't believe they have my luggage. Boot opens and there are my 2 pieces of luggage. Presumably everyone else's luggage is strewn over the airfield tarmac as they hunted for mine.
The whole point of the process was to prove how much influence they had (and still have). At the end of my visit one of his "uncles" takes me back to the airport. I was booked with BA but we drove further up the terminal to Royal Thai and walk up to the first class check in. The uncle gets an id out that unfolds like Chevy Chases in Fletch and he says "put this man in first class to London". I am issued with a ticket and enjoy a lovely flight home.
Over the intervening years I have seen this repeated numerous times and he gets treated like royalty everywhere. He is not dodgy in the sense of criminal activity but he is clearly given a lot of slack by officials everywhere because he is friendly with the police, army, airforce officers at a very senior level. Crossing him would not be a wise decision for a local. As a Farang I am just his mate who he gets drunk with at the pub.
I was in Ivory Coast for 3 years in the late 70s. What a horrible place (and remember I was born and grew up in Africa & quite used to it). White people were still a curiosity where we were at the time. Bribery was a way of life and nothing happened without a bribe. I could write volumes about it. I once was sent to give me the local police chief a "gift". In return, he gave me a confiscated poacher's rifle (very much a DIY thing made on the lines of a flintlock gun) which I had until the early 2000s. It was in my container that went to Qatar and I very nearly got locked away for having it.I had a not-too-dissimilar experience when working in West Africa in the nineties. The details differ slightly, but in essence it was the same. On one occasion the chief of airport police also handed my host a folded A4 piece of paper. Later in the car travelling away from the airport, my host, who owned several construction companies, unfolded the piece of paper to unveil a handwritten list of building supplies (aka BOM). My host explained "He's building a house"....
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