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Class War issue 80: White Van Man
Mr Angry here again, another day driving through the jungle they call London. I'm well angry today, when I left for work there was a big scratch on the side of my van. Pisses me right off, I'm not that annoyed about the scratch but why don't the stupid local youth go up to a posh area and do their cars. I bet they're too scared to scratch the Mercs and BMWs in other areas like Hoxton (Joe 90 land in north of the river in London). With the high house prices they'll get better protection - it's always like this. Still maybe I can scratch one of theirs when I'm in the city delivering - that'll cheer me up nicely. I'll pretend I'm fumbling for my keys and do the business with a small screwdriver.
On a happier note I've made a few quid on the trip to France. We've got a nice little syndicate where we take turns around once a month to stock up everyone's fridge with beer, wine, cheese and ciggies. When Euro 2000 was on we put a big hole in our lager supplies. It's about the only delivery I can make a good profit on and everyone's sweet and happy. The local newsagent is bitching again about the loss because no one buys ciggies or beer anymore, but no one could really give a shite about that at the end of the day. We don't need to pay the ridiculous taxes made by the rich and I never did see the local off licence making a stand against it or any other issue, they just take the money off us. "Up the Free Traders...Brother".
Wow - Nearly hit a suit crossing the road in Kensington Gardens, maybe I'll have better luck near Harvey Nicholls. There goes the cyclers on their designer £1000 bikes, all off to do a day's pen pushing with their bicycle clips on. It amazes me that they all think they're doing their bit for the environment when they take their jag out to the country at weekends.
The petrol shortage put me out a bit, but I dashed across the channel to fill up as I was near the south east coast. What the fuck the farmers are complaining about I don't know - they get the red diesel fucking cheap anyway. And I know a lot of them sell it on as well as use it in their pickups. I like the youth of the North East who drive your car to a petrol station, fill it up, return it, and ask for £10 for their trouble - working class heroes one and all.
I'm off now - just seen a loverly little soft-top Merc I can safely scratch. The dick who had the private number plate P0 WER had better watch out as well - when I see him again It'll not be a pretty sight.
Till next time. White Van Man.
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