A Joyride ... On Heanor Haulage Yard

Before you read this, I must apologise for my obvious swearing which is dotted throughout this post, but I was [as my friend observed yesterday] in a really tetchy mood - although I feel much better after my latest mini-rant:

My grumpy old man was just off on yet another of his trips to the tip yesterday morning when Mr Heanor Haulage shouted to him - it was probably only to say 'hello' but my GOM takes any form of greeting as an invitation to move in and make himself comfy ... bless him.

It turns out that HH were broken into, sometime between Thursday afternoon last week and Monday morning. This time there was significant damage caused because some smart ar*e managed to get the crane started and ran amok with it.

Luckily the damage was confined to HH property [no tears from me then], but could have been worse. One of the flat-beds struck by the crane gouged a six foot long furrow. If it hadn't been weighed down [with crap, presumably] it would have ended up in someone's house.

There have been threats made by Mr HH to trees or at least some branches as he wrongly assumed that they were used to climb in over the fence. Not at all, I know how easy it is to get in there, so easy I could manage it myself if I was so minded [I may have mentioned it before].

Anyway we weren't at home - being at the seaside as befits our crumbly status - so not there to enjoy the fun or to ring the police ... of course there were footballers on Queen Street rec that know whodunnit [but are keeping mum], we know this because one of these self confessed witnesses shouted over to ask if they'd caught them yet.

I know Heanor Haulage come and go, make a racket, pollute our atmosphere then bog off on an erratic schedule, but I'd have thought that someone farther down Bridge Street or at the top of Dean Street would have heard the wrecking spree.

The consequence for us poor sods at the top of Bridge Street - well those of us without a tin hut by the sea to escape to - is that the crane is no longer stored in the middle of HH yard, but has now taken up noisy residence - jacked up so immobile - next to the top house.

This is a really bad place for it - because as sure as I'm grumpy [oh yes I am] - Mr HH will start it up for whatever reason [fairly frequently if the last couple of days are anything to go by], and the fumes that that decrepit heap of sh*t chug out are truly horrendous.

These black, acrid fumes just waft straight around the corner and into our open windows - yes, I know it's stupid of us to assume that we can have our windows or doors open without being beaten back by muck, fumes and noise from H-effin-H ... and Asda with their squawk, squawk, squawk [lorry reversing] deliveries and bloody squeaky gates, we've only asked them THREE times to oil them - you'd have thought we'd have learnt better by now [rant not quite over yet - but I am getting there].

At one point - being the twitcher I am - I was on the street taking photos of [evicted] House Martins on HHs yard collecting mud for nests, when the pile of junk was started up again - cough, wheeze - I was fighting for breath and I swear the birds were keeling over ... but I suppose if I do stand in the middle [yes it is the middle, Asda says so] of Langley Mill, expecting to be able to do something as unrealistic as breathing, then I'm just asking to have my nose and lungs - ergo my brain - filled with poison.

My GOM went and asked if they'd mind not using the crane quite so much - they do have a tendency to leave it chugging merrily away to itself, but I'm not convinced this is actually worse than keep starting it up over and over again.

This request was met with Mr HH's usual charm - bolshy bast**d!

Not a good move on his part, because I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever again [do I make myself quite clear?] phone the police when little [or big] tw*ts break into his yard. In fact, when they've finished playing around in there [stealing cable, joyriding - whatever], I'll most likely invite them in for a cuppa and a biscuit - no, I don't believe me either but it reads good.

His totally unnecessary bombastic reaction to such a reasonable request wouldn't have been quite the smack in the face it was, if we hadn't just provided him with the photos of the bored teenagers who broke in at Easter.

Oh yes, and we're all supposed to be getting a visit from the police in case we witnessed anything. If they take as long as the last proposed visit - still waiting - then I won't be holding what's left of my breath ...

Bored Teenagers in Langley Mill

We were only back a day from our tin hut by the sea before I was phoning the police - as per Mr Heanor Haulage's request when we see trespassers on his yard. Although they could have taken what they wanted for all I cared, if HH aren't going to provide security with all the money they've been given for different bits of land - well tough.

My concern was that it was dusk and there was one loony walking along our back wall - I'd just gone to turn my computer off and was stunned to see this crackpot behaviour. The wall in question is one brick thick and at least twelve or thirteen feet high, he was asking to break his neck ... yeah, OK I admit it, I shouted 'I hope you fall off and break your neck, you tw*t', through the window - but that's me, I'm quite horrible - but I would have been devastated if he did fall [and broke anything of mine].

There they were, running around the yard, acting ever so big, climbing up onto things, trying to shove one flatbed off of another [I've mentioned that HH double decker them. When they failed to push one off they climbed on top and started jumping up and down, hmm, so that's how they reached the outbuildings wall.

Of course by the time the police arrived they'd climbed up onto something and jumped back out of the compound. I was called back by the police twice, firstly to make sure where it was actually happening [as Heanor Haulage is still classed as being on Wesley Street]. Secondly to ask if they'd got a football with them. I wasn't about to get anyone into trouble that weren't involved so answered quite truthfully that there were already lads on the rec playing football [although they may have been part of the same group].

Two days went by and the police rang again to thank me and to ask if it was an ongoing problem with teenagers playing on HH compound. I replied that they do mess about on there every so often. An email was going to be sent to Langley Mill police, even though I said that I thought they'd be aware of the problem. I was asked if I'd mind the police visiting for a chat. Hmmm.

Yes, that very afternoon ... what the police? no, don't be daft, they were doing more important stuff [this really is trivial until someone gets a spike up their a**e or killed].
The same lads running around HH and climbing on things. Oh heck another one climbing over the fence, watching that really did make me wince. After they made a few more calls to their mates they went onto the front [slurry corner] where three more climbed over - the sissy way - to join them.

Note to anyone who wants to know - Mr HH, police - it's easy to get in just there, even I could manage it at a push ... with a stepladder of course, I'm not cocking my leg up for anyone.

By the time they'd done a bit of sunbathing on the flatbeds and tried to get the crane started they must have lost interest and decided to visit Asda before returning to Queen Street recreation ground.

Now I want to make it VERY clear that it wasn't me being nosy - I was trying to pursue my latest and not inexpensive hobby but the grumpy old man kept asking me ... 'Have you got your camera handy?' and 'Can you see what the tw*ts are up to now!?' it was easier to stand there like a nodding dog by his side at the window than spend my hard earned dosh at ebay.

I didn't ring the police as it's mostly a waste of time, but someone else may have done because a police car was parked on our street. A few minutes later a policeman came back with several bottles that he'd taken from them. This was witnessed by my GOM [who else?], as by this time I'd managed to velcro my a**e to my chair and was spend, spend spending!

So, they were not only stupidly climbing over a high spiked fence but also thinking they could do it easily without putting a foot wrong due to alcohol ... tw*ts.

Minutes later a woman turned up with a fresh supply of drink in a carrier bag. I'm not suggesting for a minute that it was alcohol but they did hide it in the bushes.

Oh incidentally, my superzoom, whizzo camera was glued to my sticky right mitt during bits of this activity and I took a clear photo of each and every one of them - now deleted from my camera as I don't keep crap on it. But, ahem, there is a photo CD knocking around somewhere among my stuff, entitled 'Tw*ts of Langley Mill' .

I wish they'd find something less stupid and dangerous to do during the school holidays or at least do it where I and - much more importantly - my grumpy old man can't see them ...

My Cat's Rescue

I watched ‘The Deep’ in a morose ‘when-I-watched-this-last-week-my-cat-was-here’ kind of way. When out of the blue I announced I was going for a walk to find her. Bearing in mind we'd already done this Saturday evening, early Sunday morning and the grumpy old man has since worn a furrow in the footpath with how many times he's walked round asking people if they've seen her.

We went down Bridge Street [it's a long way round yet] passing three cats on our way to the recreation ground. As soon as we got there I started whistling and shouting her name ... oooh, I was sure I could hear something on Heanor Haulage land.

We went round the corner toward the bridge still shouting and listening [between the trains - they were exceptionally loud that night], but I could no longer hear anything. Hmm, so that means she wasn't in one of the Asda containers.

The grumpy old man couldn't hear anything at all, was I going doolally? ‘Are you wearing your hearing aid?’ ... ‘No’ ... ‘Well we'll go back for it then, I need you to hear it too’.

Back home we went, there was a definite spring in my step now. The conversation on the way: ‘Are you sure it was her?’ ... ‘No, but it was definitely a cat in distress and why would it meow every time I shouted? It must be her’ ... ‘What shall we do if you're sure it's her?’ ... ‘Ask again tomorrow if we can go on HH land.’

We set off again, one of us armed with better hearing, I was striding out and the GOM was sort of lagging behind. By the time we got there, the GOM realised that we could have gone in the car - what was I thinking? He was exhausted, he's no spring chicken and he'd already covered miles [albeit the same few miles] looking for her.

 
He heard her before we even had chance to shout her name. That was it, we were both convinced - she was there.

Now, we just happened to know where there was a sneaky way onto HH land [having observed a bit of activity last weekend]. We went to check out this hole in the fence and before I knew where I was, I'd had one of my little ‘moments’ and was to be found tiptoeing across HH yard, leaving the GOM at the fence telling my rear quarters that I could be in trouble if I got caught … I was of course, wearing my ultra-bright-ideal-for-breaking-in-and-trespassing-cream-fleece.

I negotiated around the crane bits and across to the shunter ... whistled, shouted [whispered], no not here ... I made my way to the big green thing aka the old boiler, no not here ... off to the big red thing aka the diesel tank. Oh, I can hear her back toward the fence.

There was a HH trailer covered in tarpaulin, I whispered ‘Tia, are you in there?’ ... ‘Meow!!’

I pulled at the tarpaulin, and got it up far enough to see two huge eyes and her blue daisy collar in the torchlight. Bugger it! If there had been HH's old lights the next bit would have been easy [having since seen the photos of the trailer]. As it was I was practically working in the dark - the torch I was using was next to useless - and I couldn't find how to loosen the cover. I ended up struggling to hold it up with one hand and dragging the cat out with the other.

She started purring, even though I'd nearly dislocated all her joints pulling her out, she was a bag of bones, never very heavy at any time. As my neighbour has often put it 'Tia eats to live', where her cats 'live to eat'.

I made my way back along the crane parts, I shouted [in a loud whisper] to the GOM to tell him to shout back to direct me as I couldn't find where I needed to be ... oh a bit further yet ... and a bit more ... oh heck, a bit more ... then I turned to the fence stepping over and around scrap.
 

I reached the hole in pitch dark where I'd left poor old grumpy worrying. ‘You've never got her’ ... ‘I have’. He took her from me while I had an argument with the razor wire. It was just after this that the pain hit, I thought the top of my head was going to explode, I had to sit down, such was the pain. I think it must have been the build up of stress suddenly being released.

We made our way back home - again - it's a chuffing long way with a wriggly, purring cat, half of me wishes they'd hurry up with that ramp to the bridge [although doing the footpath is what scared her into hiding], the other half of me is dreading it being open for the dregs of Langley Mill to cause trouble again.

Half way up Bridge Street I could see my neighbour out with her torch, she was calling and listening at the storage containers just over from the ‘turnaround’ while it was quiet. She was delighted to see we'd got her back.

Tia was starving! I’ve never known her eat so much, there must have been water where she was as she didn’t want a drink. She smelt awful, a mixture of diesel and rubber, I helped her out by wiping her with damp kitchen towel, licking that muck off would have made her sick. I got no sleep that night, she was non-stop purring, washing, eating and then going to the loo - thank heaven for cat litter.

I'd just like to say that if we'd been allowed to go on HH land via Asda's bit, we'd have found her in minutes and although I've been somewhat scathing of HH [yes I have], we were always allowed to go and fetch her back by the gate man - this was whenever she threw a ‘why-did-you-abandon-me- [with the neighbour] -and-I'm-not-coming-back-so-there’ wobbly - he knew all the cats that routinely ‘hung out’ in the buildings and on the back yard. Hmm, I think I'd better apologise here to Mr HH for trespassing - and even though I'm not a rule breaker, I'd do it again if I had to.

I've just read and watched with horror that twat of a woman who deliberately put a cat into a wheelie bin, apparently - at the time of reading - this was not considered by the police to be a ‘criminal offence’, presumably leaving the RSPCA to foot the bill of any proceedings against her. I hope because of this couldn't care less attitude that there aren't a spate of copycat ‘non-criminal offences’ made toward cats or indeed any animals. At least my cat's imprisonment was not malicious.

Tia didn’t go out for three days ... Saturday morning, off she went ... tea-time, we're packed and waiting to take her to the seaside for some peace and quiet - like the good cat servants we are. ‘Lets take some Asda photos and look for her, I can't stand waiting here any longer’. Half way between the bridge and the recreation ground … ‘Meow!?! This little head pops out of a rusty old girder/pipe doo dah next to the fence on HH land. I just give in …