Posh & Pikies

While I was in foreign parts (If you will excuse the expression) a reasonable number of potential UK jobs have come in.  One of these was in Hampshire, and so it was, that yesterday I hired a car and went to look at the problem I had been asked to deal with.

Pikies, or if you prefer:- Gypsies, Gypos, Thieves, Tinkers, Travelling folk, Romanies, Gitanes and so on.  If anyone doesn’t know what I mean email me.

The situation is this.  There are ten houses and they form a horseshoe around a grassy area or paddock.  The back gardens actually back onto the paddock which forms a bit of dip, and this field  is apparently jointly owned by the ten houses. The problem is that a group of Gypsies have set up camp on said green and pleasant land and the householders don’t want them there.  Via word of mouth somebody told the residents about me and we arranged to meet.

I don’t own a car,  because living in West London I don’t really need one.  I go by public transport generally,  and if I need a car I hire one.   If I am really honest  I don’t give cars a second glance really, but a lot of people are not like me.  To them the car is the most important thing in their lives.  Wankers.

Now then when I have these meeting with clients,  the car you arrive is fairly important to them as they will make an almost instant appraisal of you by your car.  Too cheap and you cannot be any good and too flash and they think you are a thug and drugs dealer.  My car of choice is usually an “A” or “B” class Mercedez or a mid range Audi.  Not too flash but expensive enough to cut the right image.  Big Mercs are too flash and BMW too bling or common. Let me ask you when was the last time you smiled at a BMW driver?  If you drive a BM ask your self when were you last smiled at.  I suppose if I was to buy a car it would be a Fiat panda 4×4 or something like that, not exactly a bird puller, but who gives a toss.

I took a wander round by the field and there are about 15 caravans, a few trucks, several vans and cars.  It goes without saying that there was also a number of pikey dogs and grubby kids running about.Anyway, I arrived at the residents meeting and was greeted by the chairman.  Wing Commander whatshisname and the secretary who is some kind of judge.   The first thing he mentioned was the car.  How did I find it and was it comfortable blah blah blah.  I told the truth and said I had had several and found them very good, but I had not had this one very long.

Down to business, they outlined in hushed tones and in private exactly what the problem was, but I knew that already.

I think the wing-co was under the impression I was going to make a public appearance and speak to the masses.  Not my style old boy.

“Well what do you think” he asked

“Have you asked them to leave?”

“What?” He asked his eyes wideneing
“Have you asked them to leave?”

“Well we have had three meetings and discussed then problem if that’s what you mean”

“Have you spoken to the people in the caravans and asked them to leave” I asked
“No we have not!  Are you mad they might have attacked us,  those dogs of theirs are bloody savage”

“Ok I will take the job.  It should take seven days ten at the very most.  I will need access to all the back gardens at night.”

“Seven to ten days! That doesn’t sound very quick” huffed the Wing-co

“Who said anything about being quick?  You said you want them gone and I have agreed to get rid of them for you, besides which they have been there for quite a while already haven’t they?”

“Hmmm yes quite so, quite so” Pondered the Judge
“If you want them to go quickly offer them so money”

I thought the wing-co wwas going to have some kind of seizure.  his eyes bulged and his face went beetroot and I noticed a vain pulsing in his frehead.

“WHAT that’s our land and  they are trespassing.  It would be bloody preposterous to pay those swine!” He exploded
“OK, calm down.  Why haven’t you taken legal action?”

There was a silence and discreet but nonetheless nervous glances were exchanged.

“Yes well ahem, It errmm costs thousands and they get legal aid and we would all have pay and it simply takes an age to get a result.  Plus there is the chance we might loose”

“How can you loose?”

Another silence more sly looks between the two bastions of society.

“Well, obviously in any case one must consider the possibility of a unfavourable decision.  However there is a potential legal technicality about ownership.  Plus we were hoping to develop the plot, and put quite simply legal proceeding could complicate matters” quipped the legal beagle very suddenly.

“My price is £10000”

“What,  just to rough up some gypsies?” howled the Wing-co
“Lets get a few things straight from here on in shall we! Who said anything about roughing them up? If it was that simple you would have got rid of them ages ago.  If you agree to me dealing with this you leave it to me and my team right?”

“Right” they agreed.
“As soon as we shake hands on this you owe me £10,000 as soon as your unwanted neighbours have gone.  Do you understand that”


“I decide how we get them to move and have your full support and assistance in getting them to leave, is that agreed?”


“what if they dont go?” queried the judge
“A reasonable question but rest assured they will go”

We shook hands and I very quickly dashed out a handwritten agreement which The Wing Co and his legal friend signed.  Next stop the pikeys.

The fucking dogs went ape as soon as I got anywhere near them, yapping away.   No surprise there then.  A big geezer with a wild looking beard came out of a caravan with two slightly smaller blokes.  I say slightly smaller but not by much, they were still big.  They greeted me with the traditional Romany welcome

“What the fuck do you want?”

“I don’t want fuck all shag, but the people who own this land want you to fuck off”

“why should we?” He asked.

“If you don’t life is going to become very uncomfortable for you”

“Is that a threat…?”

“No, I am just telling you how things will be”

“Are you a brief?”

“Do I look like a brief? would I be wasting my fucking time talking to you lot?  I don’t fucking think so pal.  I’d be sat on my fat arse in some office somewhere writing letters to you rather than asking you nicely to leave”

“Alright keep your hair on mate I was only asking” Said the big bloke with his hand out strectehed in front of him.
“Are you going to go or not?” I asked
“I’d love to, but you see me missus and the gals all like it here and it disturbs the kids moving round.  Besides, we have jobs to go to and things to finish.  Now then if they paid us we might think about it”

“How much?”

“£5,000 per family”

“Fuck off”

“£3,000 that’s a fair offer and the only one we could possibly take”

Clearly this was something that had been given careful consideration

“I see 15 caravans would I be right in thinking that represents 15 families”

“No sir there are 12 families”

“You aint getting £36,000 I’ll tell you that for nothing”

“looks like were staying then sir!”

“OK lads but I have told you what’s going to happen”

I held out my hand and we all shook.

“I’ll be seeing you lads”

The trio stood and watched me amble off  across the soft green grass and past the abandoned washing machines and prams.  As I felt the spongy English ground under my shoes,  it struck me just how different it felt to the hard ground of East Africa I had felt under my boots only a few weeks ago.

7 Responses to “Posh & Pikies”

  1. Brigitte says:

    “I hate pikeys!”

  2. Is this part 1 of a continuing story?

  3. Tom Riches says:

    UN, why do you always try negotiating with these sorts of people, it never seems to work out?

  4. dl says:


    Whyever not talk to them first? It’s got to be the obvious thing to do.

    It’s mimimal effort, with the (admittedly faint) prospect of an imediate result. There can be only two outcomes: either they, “Yes, OK sir. We’ll go now”,(most unlikely, I agree) and UN pockets £10k; or (most likely) they say ,”Sod off!” and nothing is lost but the two minutes spent talking to them.

    If no-one’s actually asked them to go, no-one can accuse them of being unreasonable in staying there. So it’s an essential first step in the process of getting rid.

    Interesting story. Eager to hear how this develops…

  5. Oh Good God, Uncle Norman,

    I am rivetted.
    Not only by your cool, calm, cock-sure attitude
    but by your Intelligence and Deliberation.
    Very smart, very civilized, very threatening.

    It’s all a little scary.
    I imagine you’re used to that, though, aren’t you…

    I can hardly wait to see what happens next.

    (Mmm, I’m envisioning a brooding Jason Statham.
    I think perhaps you are The Transporter…of Pikies…
    Yes, still delicious…)

    Please be careful…

  6. Uncle says:

    Brigitte – Hate is a very destructive emotion and you can you loose objectivity. I have managed to downgrade hate for the Spanish to serious loathing.

    GB – Welcome oh famous and wise haired beast. I will let you know how things pan out.

    Tom – In a way you are right but DL is more right. I knew that these geezers weren’t going to play ball but if you don’t ask you don’t get. It is better to talk and try to seek a resolution. You would be surprised how often a problem can be resolved just by talking it through. Not so in this case so we have now put my plan in place.

    Minx – My gorgeous temptress of domesticity! It does get a touch scary, but I keep a beady eye out for shops offering boxer shorts two for the price of one! Jason is a more suave character than moi. Besides which he has better choreographers and script writers. The people who employ you can be more dodgey that the people you are asked to deal with!

    I will keep you all posted on how the job goes. I don’t envisage any problems but you never know.

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