Graham at Borders in Bristol

Hello folks,

Here is a picture of Graham in action at Borders in Bristol recently. He was talking as part of the Tangent Books Author! Author! events.

Other news, Graham has relaunched his 'Bigger Issue' magazine and is selling copies for a Guinea (or £1.05p) at his usual haunts across the South West. Mr Walker will also be appearing at the Glastonbury Festival and will be accosting unsuspecting festival goers around the Caberet field.

More news from The Bigger Issue man soon.

Boring

A reader who wishes to remain anonymous asked...

As someone who seems to attract people who drone on for ever about every detail of their (extremely boring) lives at social events, how do you suggest that I deal with them?

Thanks for your question. As this is the first question in my “Ask uncle Graham” blog. I am more than relieved in feeling confidently qualified to answer this particular poser.

As a Big Issue vendor selling my wares in many towns throughout the South West. The two things these places have always held in common is; they always come equipped with a ‘bore par excellence’ (strangely, only ever one per town), the second being, the buggers, adept as they are, sniff me out within hours of my arriving and immediately adopt me as their new best mate!

Now I could give you the perfect answer to your obviously angst-ridden question: ‘Tell him/her to piss off!’ Of course, as a fellow bore magnet, I am aware that you, and indeed I, could never deliver that kind of rhetoric. And the bore is more than aware of that! Having never met you I sense you are a kindly person; a person who exudes compassion and is as much caring as you are approachable. That’s what we, as bore magnets, are. We both of us may as well have a flashing flourescent sign stuck on our heads stating; ‘BORE REFUGE. COME ON IN’.

So, before entering a rather indirect -those who can’t, teach - type of solution to your problem, let me fill you in on the three main aspects that together,I believe, form the make-up of the ‘bore psyche’.

1. Bores are astute, far cleverer then the likes of you and I.
2. Bores don’t become bores overnight, they have been boring all their lives, they are professional, they’re good at what they do.
3. Bores live with continual rejection, it’s part of the job, water off a ducks back.
3a. Bores have a skin, thicker than a rhino in a duvet.

On a personal note, my latest bore was ‘Mr. Cheeseman’ from Taunton. (he talked cheese!) “Mornin mucker” “Aagghh, morning Ennui “I would say (His name was Henry but he thinks I’ve got a speech inpediment). “Yeah, got ripped off yesterday with some farmhouse cheddar.” “Did you Ennui.” “yes” he replied, “I asked for extra mature but I have a strong feeling they fobbed me off with mothing more than slightly tasty mild, can’t prove it of course, just gotta live with it I s’pose.. Now as it’s Tuesday I was considering trying 150 grams of double gloucester tomorrow. It could be a mistake but life’s about taking risks.” “Well let’s hope they don’t rip you off with a single one Ennui.” I muttered, in pseudo-supportive, wanna tear my head off sort of tone. Of course he didn’t hear it, borers are not there to listen. Yes for three months I just about handled Mr Cheeseman. I even handled his daily parting line; “If I don’t see you through the week, I’ll see you through the window, ha ha ha” I then came up with the solution to get Mr Cheeseman off my back. I left Taunton for Weston super mare, acutely aware of the fact that, from experience, there was another, as it transpired, a (I’ve watched every film John Wayne ever made I have) type of bore, lurking in the shadows, awaiting my arrival. You see I was, as I believe you are, in denial. You must therefore, before attempting the following solution, accept the fact that bores will always be bores, and we will always be bore magnets. There’s no changing that.

So, the final solution. Next time you’re invited to a social gathering . . . . . .

1. Bore enters room.
2. Bore spots sign on your head
3. Bore, pours himself a half of beer shandy
4. Bore approaches you and states something akin to; ‘until tonight I never ever realised that the male species of the centipede only has 84 legs.

(Now this is a crucial moment, please don’t underestimate its importance. The bore is now going for the kill

5. The split second before the bore turns a potentially rewarding evening into one where youre fiddling with your belt whilst trying to recall the film; ‘pierrepoint’ in order to ascertain; ‘at your weight, what’s the optimum drop?’ Yes, before that happens. Take one massive breath.

You may not realise it yet, but having reached this point, you are on the cusp of winning. Conversely, the bore will by now be in his element, thinking likewise.

6. Whilst the bore whitters on,counteract by reciting aloud two affirmations (remember the bore never listens) “I’m not wrong. Bore won’t beat me, I am strong, bore won’t defeat me” x8.

You will now be feeling a level of confidence perhaps never experienced before. Please treat it with respect.

7. Grab your bore by the horns.
8. Scan the room and identify the brashest, loudest person you know. Let’s call him George.
9. In an assertive manner, march your bore over to George’s group and interrupting any conversation that may be occuring, confidently introduce him. “George, this is Ennui. He’s desperate to discuss the falling standards in the gorgonzola industry.
10. Immediately, and before anyone finds the wit to respond, turn around and walk briskly to the far side of the room, pour yourself a large drink and . . .relax.
Enjoy your evening and, well done you!

Best wishes, Uncle Graham

Ask Uncle Graham

From his unique perspective as a Big Issue seller Graham Walker has seen and heard it all. Confessions, threats, the good, the bad and the downright weird. Now you can ask Graham for some personal advice here. Experiencing business difficulties in the credit crunch? Ask Graham, he's stayed in business through good times and bad. Thinking of leaving your wife in favour of the secretary? Graham probably already knows about it.

Email Graham or leave a comment and Uncle Graham will get back to you soon.

Ode to Donna Diamond

Donna is a diamond
She has so many facets
I've often seen her sparkle
But i'd love to see her assets

Naughty Again

Apparently, the older you get the more cynical and mischevious you become. And the more you regress towards childhood. Well I’m 54; an impish, out of sync cynic who needs answers. I’m a man heading in two directions; puberty and old age. I’m A man who now annoyingly asks, ‘but why?’ Also, at 54, I’ve now become grossly compassionate.

So, before I deliver my cynical, puberty-driven column, in case I offend, I’d like to apologise. It’s nothing personal. I think any man that’s bald or follically challenged, but still insists on growing a twelve stranded, two inch pony tail clumped together with an elastic band, or indeed anyone that has the wit to read my column, is a beautiful person. Nigel from Crewkerne excluded (Yes Nigel, I did get your email request along with the rather interesting photo attachment. In response; not at the moment thankyou!) So, putting nigel behind me, in sickly compassionate mode; “I love you.” Right, that’s the soft stuff done. Let’s get on with the cynical, mischevious, annoyingly ‘but why’ly’ bit.

“But why” do people wear those hands-free, dongle type things strapped to their ear just in case someone happens to call, when I suspect the only two people likely to are; some random pollster conducting a survey on the well worn, ‘dishwasher powder vs liquid debate’, or dare I say, . . . . themselves?! It’s a bit like strapping a fire extinguisher on your back . . . . .just in case!

“But why” do blokes walk around with a huge bunch of keys hooked on the belt loop of their trousers; enough keys to liberate the entire prison poulation. Surely no-one’s life is burdened with that many locks.

“But why” do people pay a small fortune on, ‘almost personalised’ number plates such as V111 KEY or N17 ELL, or G30 KJE when all it reveals is that Vicky and Nigel couldn’t afford the one that’s spelt right, and George, will no doubt be busy adding a few strategically placed screws in an attempt to fool us that his plate bears a striking resemblence to his name.

“But why” do those who wear toupees never take . . . . .! Oops, ‘word count’ dictates I must now, unfortunately, desist. So, finishing as I started; on an apologetic, treacly compassionate note, when I previously said ‘I love you,’ I didn’t mean it to come across as some sort of egotistically impersonal, Michael Jackson; ‘I love everyone in the world’ type of I love you. ‘Cos you know it aint like that with me. It’s only you I love.

Remembering Miles

I shouldn’t be saying, this but I will, ‘cos I know I must. If you’ve gotten to read my book, you’ll perhaps be familiar with the person I’m talking about. Due to family politics it was ‘requested’ I give him an assumed name: Adam. I can’t tell you how guilty I now feel about that. It was akin to denying his very existence. But now, divorced from others’ politics, “his real name is Miles, spelt MILES”. Other than wonderful, there is no adjective to fit a friend whose death was a personal tragedy and whose funeral was . . . . made more than difficult!

Miles was an ex Big Issue vendor, a person who lived life too hectic, too fast, too vivid; too short. A person who on the very rare occasion, ‘dabbled’, and a person who occasionally shared a home with a manic, part time relationship.

The last two times I saw Miles are, for me, equally significant. The first of those was when it was his partner’s birthday. I’d arranged to meet Miles at midday in Plymouth. He was there; steaming drunk and almost unable to stand. So, knowing that he was due to be at his partners birthday party in less than six hours and sober, for the next four of those, I dragged him around Plymouth, not allowing him to sit down, lie down, just walk and drink copious amounts of coffee. After four hours he was almost there. “Have you bought Hazel a birthday present” I asked. “Oh shit, I have nae”. So, Hazel being a Liverpuddlian meat-free female, covering all angles, I bought, a card, vegetarian cookbook and a bunch of red and white flowers.

Arriving back at his part time home; his part time manic relationship, with Miles now sober, excited, and armed with responsible, ‘I love you’ type of gifts, Hazel then, proceeded to tear the card, the flowers and the book to pieces and throw them all on the fire. I left. The next time, the very last time I saw Miles was, a few months later when we were walking through town, when he left me for ten minutes to visit a local flat and indulge in one of his rare ‘dabbles’. Unfortunately this particular dabble involved a heroin dealer, a syringe and a fatal overdose.

Miles death, was as some would assess his life; a tragedy. But whatever take people had on that life, his funeral instead of being a healing gathering of friends and family, was instead, for me, a chore; an unexpected chore that was not only made difficult, but disappointingly tragic . . . . . .

Big Issue man mugs OAP shocker!

Last week I mentioned how my lengthy spell of homelessness had been a long and necessary journey; a journey striving for equity, to nullify the damage from my previous 35 years; my previous life. Last week I also mentioned that after 15 years I had achieved just that. I was now ready to go it alone; it was time to move on. Or at least I thought it was! Unfortunately there was one final hurdle, silly me hadn’t recognised that the sack of guilt I had been carrying throughout my entire journey, whilst now considerably lighter, wasn’t yet quite empty, there were still a few granules of guilt left. To an outsider, this sack may appear unwarranted. After all the guilt was born from a shit childhood, a childhood beyond my control, an apprenticeship that turned me into a five star, en-suite disaster of an adult. To me though, it was my burden, my fault, my sack of guilt.

Selling the Big Issue has not only given me an income, it’s also provided an open road lined with limitless opportunities. I am proud to say that what were once opportunities, are now achievements. More importantly, for each thing I have achieved, my ‘sack’ has reciprocated by spilling some of its guilty contents. Even the insults that have come my way – insults I felt were thoroughly deserved – held a positive element; each insult has been matched with yet another fist full of granules scattered on the road behind me, perhaps sticking to the soles of those who felt the need to abuse me. Then, last week, I had a bit of a ‘moment’. I was just on my way to work when I passed a window cleaner. (This particular window cleaner has a bit of a problem inasmuch that every time he passes my Big Issue pitch, his face seems to contort into a sort of sneer. Poor thing.) Anyway, walking on, I then saw an elderly gent trip in the middle of the road. I rushed over to him and helped him to his feet. With both my arms wrapped around his waist, the window cleaner suddenly looked across, vacated his ladder and started running towards us shouting “Leave him alone you ba***rd”. Yes, all he could see was ‘Big Issue Man mugging OAP’. It was at this moment precisely, my bag of guilt spewed out the very last of its contents; the final hurdle.

So on New Years Day 2009, I will be moving on, to travel a different road. All I can hope for is, this new road supplies a walk that is as rewarding and achieving as this one has undoubtedly been.