So, a mate was telling me that a chap he knows had the need to visit a house in the South Bank area of my town in a professional capacity. When he got there, apparently the kitchen was absolutely full of deep fat fryers, the walls running with grease and large amounts of potatoes everywhere. It seems this place was being ran as an illegal back street chip den, allegedly with a stream of kids coming to buy said chips.
It would seem that there is a market for these unlicensed spudeasies – it was suggested that they are frequented by those who (or whose parents) are unable make their own chips and that the nearest official premises are too far. The chip house would operate for a few months before things got too hot then it would move on.
I mean I’m not entirely sure I believe this, and it does sound like the most Northern thing I’ve heard since our dad pointed out a house he and my Uncle Charlie went to to buy a couple of ferrets after their old one bit their auntie and met a grisly end, but, you know, crikey.
And I was going to say something about this the other week and there’s almost a theme here.
I received one of those catalogues for buying your furniture, general white goods etc. through your telly – that is, you put a pound in the TV to make it work for an hour or two and pay off your nice new bed that way rather £10 a week with the usual type of catalogue – through the door the other day. Cheek, I thought.
A mate of mine used to work for one of these firms a few years ago as a collector, going round people’s houses to empty the tellies. He’d tell the odd story about people using a pound coin attached to a wire to try and beat the mechanism or turning up to some house that was semi-derelict with ten lads sitting around smoking bifters and watching the malevolent cyclops, he’d open up the coin box and it’d be full of water and warn them although he didn’t give a monkey’s about them trying to rob his firm it wasn’t a good idea to make your own coins out of ice to use in an electrical device.
Or a guy he worked with repoing a bed then smashing it up in the street out of devilment.
Apparently business used to spike when the Boro got to a cup final, as used to be the fashion, as people sold off their possessions to go.
And as you’d imagine it’s not really a value for money way to shop. A guy I work with didn’t actually believe such a system operates anymore, but it’s still going strong thirty years after I remember my gran putting 50p in the gas meter. And it’s not that long ago that I got the gas & leccy key meters taken out of my house.
I mean, this is no doubt luxury for many people in the first part of my username, but that chip shop thing really shocked me – you know, “how the other half live”. I have no real point to make other than that. And sorry the title is so rubbish.
It would seem that there is a market for these unlicensed spudeasies – it was suggested that they are frequented by those who (or whose parents) are unable make their own chips and that the nearest official premises are too far. The chip house would operate for a few months before things got too hot then it would move on.
I mean I’m not entirely sure I believe this, and it does sound like the most Northern thing I’ve heard since our dad pointed out a house he and my Uncle Charlie went to to buy a couple of ferrets after their old one bit their auntie and met a grisly end, but, you know, crikey.
And I was going to say something about this the other week and there’s almost a theme here.
I received one of those catalogues for buying your furniture, general white goods etc. through your telly – that is, you put a pound in the TV to make it work for an hour or two and pay off your nice new bed that way rather £10 a week with the usual type of catalogue – through the door the other day. Cheek, I thought.
A mate of mine used to work for one of these firms a few years ago as a collector, going round people’s houses to empty the tellies. He’d tell the odd story about people using a pound coin attached to a wire to try and beat the mechanism or turning up to some house that was semi-derelict with ten lads sitting around smoking bifters and watching the malevolent cyclops, he’d open up the coin box and it’d be full of water and warn them although he didn’t give a monkey’s about them trying to rob his firm it wasn’t a good idea to make your own coins out of ice to use in an electrical device.
Or a guy he worked with repoing a bed then smashing it up in the street out of devilment.
Apparently business used to spike when the Boro got to a cup final, as used to be the fashion, as people sold off their possessions to go.
And as you’d imagine it’s not really a value for money way to shop. A guy I work with didn’t actually believe such a system operates anymore, but it’s still going strong thirty years after I remember my gran putting 50p in the gas meter. And it’s not that long ago that I got the gas & leccy key meters taken out of my house.
I mean, this is no doubt luxury for many people in the first part of my username, but that chip shop thing really shocked me – you know, “how the other half live”. I have no real point to make other than that. And sorry the title is so rubbish.
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