Tag Archive for: Guitar

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I wrote to razor but he did not write back

I sent a letter to Razor care of the Sheppy Prison Cluster the week before last.  I enclosed his glasses and asked if he could complete a visitor order, which I now know is the protocol.  To date I have heard nothing back anf my time here in the UK is running out.

I fly to Lanzarote on Sunday morning to start my Scuba internship with Calypso Diving.

I don't think I am to get my guitar or hat back which is a shame.

Over the last week my house has had a makeover, with assistance being provided by dad's wife, my sister and a new vagabond pal, who has made her way around Africa and South America over the last seven years.  All have worked really hard to clear out my gaff.

Ultimately six boxes of precious things made their way into the attic, whilst 22 black bags of belongings (from downstairs alone) were taken to the tip.

I loved the hat for all it and its feather symbolized which I have already described to you in previous articles.  I also loved the guitar, remembering Loz, Christina and others playing it in the Petts Wood House after mum died when I got drunk for a week, following Loz's dad's wedding. 

The guitar also brings memories of Dave singing 'the Duck song' and the only song anyone has ever written about me, 'Lloyd stole my midget' – brilliant!

It is concluded by all and agreed by me (the rational side of my personality anyhow) that I do have some 'letting go issues'.  "What's wrong with that?" my alter ego screams inside my head?

Maybe the hat and guitar are just two examples of this and maybe its karma that 'Razor the hat thief' does not write back, maybe without the prompts I my memories need to be relied upon more for what they are – glorious memories, whilst life moves on.

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They love me in here

Not so long after I posted about the dude stealing my hat, I
decided that enough was enough.  I
decided to report him to the law and hope that with the fuzz involved my guitar
and hat might find their way home.  I had
left three weeks since the guitar was ‘borrowed’ for an hour and never
returned, reason enough I think to report a crime.

During that time I had been to Canterbury several times and spoken to all the homless guys I knew to see if they could help me.  They couldn't.

I telephoned the Kent Police central call centre and
reported it as a 'non-urgent incident' and was given an incident number.

The on waking the following morning, what should I find on
my door mat but a letter from Elmley Prison. 
A letter from the guitar carrying, hat wearing thief himself!  Razor had been nicked and sent to jail.

In the letter Razor spoke about his need for some reading
glasses (accounting for his terrible scrawl), the fact that my guitar is in
safe hands and asked that I check his email. 
In his letter he does not mention the hat!

For a guy who I have only met a few times, and as someone who
has had the audacity to steal from me under my nose.  He has some serious gall.   

The following a just a few quotes from his four page letter.

“Now hear this, ***** **** is innocent!”

“Listen up good!”

“It would be beyond fab if you could print out the last 20
emails I have and bring ‘em in”

“They love me in here! Why wouldn’t they?  Hope to see you next week!”

Ok, so I think about the situation.  I have less that three weeks till the
off.  My guitar and hat are gone and if I
comply with his requests, there is some slim chance I might get either or both
back.

Having not done this sort of thing before, I look on the
internet to see if there are processes to visit a prisoner.  I get through to the visitor centre.  The first question I am asked is “Prisoner
reference please”.

I don’t have a prisoner reference.  I suspect that I don’t even have his real
name.  They can’t help.

I put the phone down and reflect on how close I could have
come to meeting the hat thief.

The following day at about 6pm, I received a call from a PC
who was investigating the incident.  I
told him about the letter and my wanting to visit Razor in the nick.  I explain that I am having real trouble since
I do not have his prisoner number or real name.

The PC said, hold on, and seconds later was reading out to
me “K******h H*********l H**7”

I could not believe my luck. 
I had the name, number and prison. 
I would try the visitors centre again.

The following morning I called the visitors centre which was
engaged.  I tried throughout the day and
constantly it was busy.  I tried again
the next day, and the next, and the next.

Finally I decided to write to Razor.

I thought I should include a sweetener so I popped into
Superdrug this morning to buy the reading glasses Razor requested.   For a host of irrelevant reasons I explained
to the checkout that I was buying them for a guy who stole my guitar and
hat.  The woman asked if it was a local
man. I said Razors name.  Immediatly she
said that she knew his name and that in the staff room there is a picture of
him hanging up for all the staff to see. 

He is a confidence
trickster who will have his hair cut and then refuse to pay, or eat in a
restaurant and walk out before paying. 
Kent Police have in fact gone to a host of businesses in the area and
warned them and this guy.  I could not
help but reflect on the fact that I was one guitar and one hat down. No one had
warned me.  

I included in with my letter the set of reading glasses, and
encouraged him to try and arrange my visit from his end.

I posted the letter this afternoon.  I really hope that this guy is telling the
truth and that my guitar is in safe hands. 
I also hope that he knows there whereabouts of my hat.

We’ll see.

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This dude had stolen my hat!

Ever since I lost my love last year, eating has become a serious issue.  I have to really kick myself in order to be motivated to prepare a meal.  I used to weigh 15 stone (95.25 Kg), now I am about 12½ stones (79.3Kg).  I have tried to explain to people that the weight loss is me working to a target and although some of this weight loss is good, on reflection, it is really easy to see how one can just, and without conscious thought taking place, not bother eating for days at a time.  Maybe that is worthy of another thought at another time.

Knowing that other people are coming to eat is a good way of motivating me to cook and eat.  So, I have tried to regularly get people round, creating the absolute necessity to eat and whilst I am at it, further attempt to combat introspective feelings of isolation and loneliness.

Anyhow, a few weeks ago I had a few friends round for a ‘Stew fest’.  Stew is a great meal for the winter and I had been given my grandmothers recipe from my sister.    I had ‘practiced’ once before and as it turned out, although it caught on the bottom of the pan, it was not bad grub.

It got quite late and my friends H&B had to leave.  J&L were staying over (two brothers and both old friends of mine), and I brought out the cheese.

Seconds later there was a ‘rat, tat, tat’ on the window.  It sounded like a ‘friendly knock and so I assumed that H&B had forgotten something.

As I flung open the door, there standing in the snow was a man.  Tall and thin, his voice visible in the freezing night air, he asked if I knew where there was a B&B locally.  I directed him to the Railway Hotel which invariably has rooms available and also gave him directions to a small B&B around the corner.  He then asked if I might spare him a cup of tea.  It felt unchristian to turn him away on a cold night and so I invited him in to sit at our table, whilst I made him a cup of tea.

I will refrain from giving his actual name and instead refer to him as ‘RazorShell’.

Standing at about 6’ with straight blond hair hanging to his jaw-line Razor said that he had worked in advertising, he spoke about writing and bands he is in the process of forming.  He spoke about companies he is part of.

His speech and mannerisms put him somewhere between Bill Nighy and Ronny Woods.  Wearing dozens of bangles on his wrists and with his fingernails painted black, Razor is the real thing.  His problem is he’s just not rich or famous.

Now back to the story, after eating cheese, drinking tea and generally being entertaining, it got to the point where I needed to get some sleep and J&L had already crashed.  I made it clear to Razor that he had to leave, and he did.

Over the next couple of weeks, sporadically Razor would turn up, banging on the door and asking if he could have a cuppa.  In each case, I said yes and invited him in.  The third time he turned up, as I opened the door, I noticed he was wearing my green hat with a feather in the band.  I asked for it back and explaining its sentimental value (last present from lost love and feather from last farming world outing with her little boy), when he handed it over, I returned it to the hat stand I received a few years ago for Christmas.

The last time I saw Razor was on Saturday 13th in the morning.  He came round and I again offered him a tea and chat.  He was just as entertaining as ever and as he was about to leave, he asked if I could lend him my guitar.  I asked him how long he needed it for and he said he would have it back an hour later; he just wanted to do some busking.  I agreed.

Flamboyantly Razor said his goodbye’s and left.  About two hours later, I looked toward the door recognizing that my guitar had not been returned.  My trust had been broken. 

Then I noticed something else. 

My green hat with the eagle feather in it's band was missing. 

By some slight of hand, Razor had stolen it, standing in full view of me as I showed him out of my front door, this dude had stolen my hat!

He has not returned since and I fear I will never see my hat again.

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