Hello John Dowding

A short while later I’m outside WH Smith, and I notice John Dowding (also from the “Environmental & Consumer Services Department” walking up the street past me and The Struggling Retailer. I say “Oh, Hi John, have you got a minute, I’m being pissed about by one of your staff” and he says “No, I can’t stop now I’m going to a meeting...” and scurries up Union Street towards Carphone Warehouse or somewhere.

It is unfortunate that Dowding was too busy to stop and talk to me about what was going on. I wonder what is so important about the ,meeting he is going to. I know John from another job I once had as a rickshaw rider because he put the rickshaw operation out of business too. If you have ever wondered why Cycles Maximus tricycles don’t operate in Bath any more despite being so popular in London and Edinburgh, it is because John Dowding’s department of the increasingly deranged BANES “Council” has told us that we are not allowed to operate here. Apparently rickshaws were threatening the livlihoods of all our hard-working taxi drivers! Yep, it’s true. Next time you sit in the back of one of our city’s fabulous taxis, perhaps in the back seat of a Ford Mondeo or a Mercedes Benz) have look at the driver’s flabby neck and try and work out just how he thinks a pedal-powered trike is going to dent his mortgage repayments.

Later I remember that Dowding used to hang out in the Hat & Feather (back in the good old days when it was kicking pub) have a few beers, and then go up to the Hub Club for some acid house or something. I wonder what he does in the evenings now. I know he doesn’t go to the Hub anymore because his colleagues at BANES put that out of business too.

I have almost regained my composure when I see a couple of cops heading towards me. From their body language I can tell they are interested in me, and sure enough the more masculine of the two asks me if I have a Pedlar’s Certificate. I say “Wow I could really do with a friend around at the moment”, but I don’t know anyone nearby. I ask bystanders if they can help and listen to what this police wants to say to me. A lovely woman comes along and says yes she will, asks if I am allright and I say I’m too shakey to write, can you write down what this police says to me. She does. I think her name was Kate. So then I say yes, I have got a Peddlar’s licence and he tells me “Ok mate you’ve got to stop trading” . I say “Hello mate but I think you’re mistaken”, and he says “No, It’s a new rule, the council made it up this morning - from now on pedlars are not allowed to trade in Bath”. He is not specific. He is vague. It sounds as if he’s making it up as he goes along, but as far as I could tell from his obscure police-talk he seemed to be saying that I was not allowed to be a pedlar here simply because the council had decided that this morning.

He said they had told everyone else with a Peddlar’s licence to go away too. He says I am in breach of conditions of my Pedlar’s Certificate because I had a “semi-permanent” stall. I say “Don’t be ridiculous mate, something is either permanent or not. Nothing can be ’semi-permanent’, it’s either one thing or the other”. The more female of the police laughs a little at this, and I notice she’s quite attractive in a way. (Later on in the pub I wonder if the cops will ever try and get a female police to chat me up in a bar in order so she can arrest me for something. My mate laughs tells about someone who once shagged a police round the back of Goldiggers in Chippenham. She was apparently off-duty at the time, and he slapped her ass while they did it. That was when he found out, that was when she said “Stop it, I’m a police”.)

The cops tell me they have made all the other pedlars piss off too, I just stay where I am. As I understand it, I am still allowed to be there, just not allowed to trade anything with anyone. The cops tell me I’ve got to go and see Mr. O’hagan (the man in the nylon shirt) and tell me where his office is. I guess I’m just supposed to go there with �150 like the people who pay for a static street traders licence. I ask the cops if it will be alright if I just wedge them up, and how much do they want?

Later we went to Mr. O’hagan’s office, but guess what - he was out! What a surprise! It wouldn’t matter anyway if I could afford �150 a month for a Street Trader’s Licence because I heard that there are already nearly 100 people on the waiting list for places.

I consider various options like getting Sue to sell my stuff for me if anyone wants anything, but that idea too silly. I later decide to let people steal things they want from The Retailer and meet me in the pub later and buy me a drink. I guess that would be illegal too Mr. O’hagen? I give the woman who helped me a copy of Catacombs Of Terror! by Stanley Donwood to say thanks. I wonder if I’m allowed to do that even. The book is about seedy council officials and corrupt CCTV operatives. See what Time Out said about it here

I look up and notice one of the cameras is looking right at me so I give it a one-fingered salute and it pans away from me. I guess they get embarrassed when you give them the finger.

Whenever anyone was interested in my locally-made goods I told them what twits the council were and they all said “Yes we know, council officers are all apparently complete idiots“. Some people mentioned the Spa and we all thought it might be a much better use of O’hagan’s time if he went and helped them sort out that fiasco. Some people muttered the word “wankers”.

I remained on the street until about 5pm when it started raining and then I go to the pub where I bump into Andrew and Kirsten, the authors of some of the books I’ve got on sale. Naturally they are interested in my story as their books are one of the most popular items I sell.

Their books are about life in Bath so naturally they are interested to hear about my experiences, and this gives me an excellent opportunity to make more detailed notes about the day while I tell them the story. Am an anxious to write it down while its all fresh in my mind, so I make two pages of more notes while we have a pint ot two. Andrew and Kirsten tell me about a bloke they know on the council who usually helpful. I say yeah that’ll be a first then, but 5 minutes later the guy walks into the bar. How fortuitous. Kirsten goes off for a natter with him, and when she comes back she says I should drop in to his office on George Street in the morning with the stuff. The Helpful Councillor is an Estate Agent it seems.

The next day its Wednesday 18th of August and I got up and wrote most what you’ve read up to here on my computer.

Meet the “Helpful Councillor”