Our Ambulance Station sits next to a night club . . . of sorts.
So, this poses certain annoyances when going to and fro from our station – ie, there is always some drunken “Shoreditch Trendy” staggering about the road wearing stupid coloured skin-tight jeans hanging off his or her arse crack and sporting over sized thick cut glasses – but without any glass!!
But that’s not the problem that annoys us the most because all it takes is a few blasts of the fog horn and they usually scurry out of the way – and seeing as they’re always skinny little runts, your coffee and burger are rarely spilled when your ambulance runs over them.
No, the problem stems when (and if) you return to base to find one or a some of them pissing up against the Ambulance Station gate. Or some pissing, some puking. Drives me utterly insane . . . and the excuse is always the same;
“Sorry, didn’t know – ”
Last night we swung in to find some delightful young marriage potential doing the honours up against our gate. Marvin gave him the sirens and the blast of the fog horn right in his ear. But seeing as this had no effect I leant out and shouted at him.
“Oi!!! Do you mind! Go bugger off and do that somewhere else!”
“I’m sorry man, didn’t know . . .”
“The big sign that says Ambulance Station – and the Ambulances in the yard don’t somewhat give it away then. Stop pissing – and piss off!”
“Alright alright. I’m really sorry man . . . ”
“Would it be ok for me to go and piss up against your front door?”
“You’re right, I’m sorry man . . . I don’t want to offend you guys”
. . . . **long pause** . . . .
“Well? You gonna bugger off and do that else where or what!?”
“I can’t stop once I’ve started!” He pointed at his spouting tackle as if to justify everything.
And if it’s not the pissing and the puking, then it’s the bottles that get lobbed into our yard. Ah, London – how we love thee.