Posters are up around town, thus its official: on Monday Tesco opens its doors at 8am and Beestonia formally cedes to Tescopoly. Arses.
After my last piece on the store, I received a text from the mole who first tipped me off about Tesco’s illegal nighttime activity. It was around midnight when the call came through, and I’d just finished a glass of fine Claret, washed down with a chaser consisting of, errr, the rest of the bottle. So, like a lolloping, slurring Roger Cook, I donned my jacket, grabbed my pen and pad and after summoning my faithful accomplish K (who I take on missions as she is tiny and less likely to be punched than I).
Now, Tesco ARE allowed to work on the interior of the shop, and external agencies are allowed to work on the highways, but NO work is permitted at such an hour on the site. So when I saw a huge yellow vehicle trundling down by the displaced Job Centre, I decided to ask the driver what was happening.
“I’m’ working mate. Fuck off”
Hmmm. “Are you aware you’re working illegally? People are trying to sleep round here”
We walked round the side of the store, where a vicious whirring noise was blasting out onto the street. A cherry picker was up against the windows of the store, and judging by this guy’s attire, he was working:
I asked him what he was doing, but he couldn’t hear me, so I gestured for him to come down. K started filming here: I’ll upload the videos (plus some more from the aggrieved young lady who first tipped me off) when my computer stops getting all nostalgic for the early eighties and pretending its a BBC Micro.
“Stop filming” he demanded, so I didn’t “Are you aware you’re working illegally?I asked. “Stop filming me or I’ll arrest you” informed Mr Tesco. This was a surprise to me, as I was previously ignorant that supermarket staff held such powers. Mind you, I saw EIGHT police recently arrest a pitifully drunk man outside Sainsburys -by pinning him down, strapping him with restraints and dragging him down the road – on the seeming whim of the little security guard at the store, who had bore the brunt of the wino’s boozed up blatherings. Lidl will probably get a tank and a helicopter gunship soon, which should stop the carpark skaters.
I digress. I pointed out that he couldn’t arrest me, and that even if he did have the power, I was doing nothing illegal. But its unfair to blame the workers who have to work such ungodly hours to feed their families, so I asked for the foreman / site manager. He waved at a cluster of men in hi-vis who had suddenly appeared a few yards behind me, and one eventually walked towards me. ‘What do you want? Get off the site’.
I was on a public highway, and pointed this out. It occurred to me that I better point out that I was a campaigning journalist, not a drunk, though I am definitely more qualified in the latter than the former. Once informed of this, he suddenly stiffened, turned on a heel and marched back into the shop in what can only be described as a bizarre and very urgent manner. Again, the video will be up soon. The guy moonwalked to avoid me. I’m not kidding.
A few minutes later, and with the men in hard hats and hi-vis quickly running round the store, all staff were bought inside and the temporary fencing chained and padlocked. I went home, a red wine hangover starting to bite at my brain.
Anyhow, it maybe too late now, but the cynical rubbishness of the Tesco building experience has galvanised me to never shop there. And should they ever dare to put planning applications down for expansion, and I’ve heard rumours these are already drawn up, I have more than a few good reasons ready to make sure it’s not green-lighted.
Who is this?
You may have seen him in the news a few years ago, for all the wrong reasons. His name is Jason Grocock, and he achieved a level of fame in 2006 when he bribed police officers who were involved in the Colin Gunn (Nottingham’s biggest twat: coke dealing, violent, nasty Bestwood-based meathead who once threatened to kill me when I was a humble barman at MGM) case, swapping suits for inside info. The officers lost their careers and were locked up, Grocock got four years and three months in jail. A truly shocking story, I’m sure you’ll agree. I mean Limeys for god sake! The shop that sold clothes to those who considers Yates a class joint, Burtons a bit high-end and a Wetherspoon’s two-for-one a perfectly acceptable first date. Paul Smith, yes, I’d have probably snogged Colin Gunn for a suit from their, but Limeys. We even have crap corrupt cops.
So he’s a thoroughly rubbish human, and, very strangely, Facebook friends with our faithful MP, Anna Soubry. Which I’m sure is perfectly innocent, she was a criminal barrister herself once, so its ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to talk about. I’d make a joke here about she sits with worse examples of corrupt crims every day in the House Of Commons, but I’m not Ben Elton so shall refrain.
(cheers for Andy for the tip off)
For the record, I’m friends on Facebook with Conrad Black and Zac Goldsmith, two odious turds. Not quite sure why. Claret is possibly to blame.
Curse of Beestonia DOESN’T strike: after writing about my opposition to science budgets being cut in the spending review, Gideon didn’t wield the axe with as much cruelty as he had previously threatened. Nice to see that single-handedly, I managed to stop science from stopping, avoided a plunge back into the pre-Enlightenment Dark Ages and ensured that Brian Cox never has to visit a sub-standard hair-stylist. See? Beestonia works.
This needs little explanation, and I wish I could say I made it myself but I didn’t…big props to ‘Outback Brad’ for this gem: