Gave £1 to a guy singing Johnny Cash at Tottenham Court Road (Total: £713.58p)

I was leaving work with Colman after Ian had been berating me for only wearing black... I explained it was because I was a Cash copy... 

Well, you wonder why I always dress in black,

Why you never see bright colours on my back,

And why does my appearance seem to have a somber tone.

Well, there's a reason for the things that I have on...

Because Topshop's a copy-cat wench and ruined everything. That's why...

So anyway, Concussed Colman (he really was) and I were getting the tube to Tottenham Court Road together, and he was singing me this song and then - as we got off at the other end - a busker was singing Johnny too... So I gave him a pound, because it seems coincidence offensive not to...

Fucking Topshop. 

Image taken from here - thanks.  

Gave a penny (yes, only a penny) change to the Marie Curie fund box type thing in Tescos(£712.58p)

I know, I know, it's only a penny but every penny counts. And anyway, I'm trying to keep track of things this time. So there. 

You could perhaps give a little more here and put my completely to shame (I shall, however, point out I've worked with poor little lost monkeys and grab a bit of pride back)... 

Gave £2 to a guy that had a maverick moral to tell (Total: £712.57p)

Friday night must be a smashing time for people asking for money, if - well, any time could be smashing. Perhaps profitable would be a more kindlier word. Yes, kindlier is a word too.

Anyway, there we were, heaving and hogging the pavement outside the pub on the corner on a Saturday night; drinking, spilling, talking, spending, when along comes a rather red-cheeked, happy looking chap, cup-in-hand, asking for money. Now, it's pretty difficult to say you haven't got any, especially since you've probably just been over-heard declaring 'It's my round! What'll you have!' at the top of your proud, rich, I've-Just-Got-Paid voice so the chances are, you'll dip delve in to your paid pockets and pull something out. Perhaps you'll even be drunk enough to only look at it briefly before passing it on, bar-bound and smiling at the office-crush about how caring (slash rich) you are, and nothing of the Bateman sort at all. Now, everyone in my group ignored the red faced wanderer, perhaps because they've got more than used to his face than they'd like (thank you very much) but I, being the new girl at work, had never seen The Red Cheeked One before, so did indeed dip and delve albeit without office crush to grin glitter at. Whereas the wire-man didn't get a look in on the old £2, this beggar boy did (oh come on, I like alliteration, I'm not being mean). Cheeks a-flushing more than ever, he thanked me, before telling me and the group (happy now that someone else had paid) 'Wherever you are in life. You're there'

Aesop would have been proud. What wise words from the red one. 

See you there then.

Gave 57p to a man that wanted to write my name in wire (total £710.77p)

There was a man outside work the other day who was begging (his words, not mine) but felt compelled to give people something in return, hence offering to write my name in wire for me (would rather have my name in lights, but hey and how kind). I didn't have the time to let him wire write my name, for which he seemed terribly upset about, but I gave him the money I had in my pocket, save for a big gold £2.00 because I needed that for my lunch. I know, what a bitch. Would you look at me. 

Image taken from here without one word of please or thank you either, badly wired, wounding me. 

Gave Lord Byron £10 even though he was nothing of the sort (Total: £710.20p)

A couple of weeks ago I saw this chap on Carnaby Street, by the shiny shop actually, and thought how eccentric and marvellous he looked. Later on, in the evening, when I had perhaps had as much to drink as he had done for breakfast, I saw him sitting by the bar I was going to, and so I stopped to talk to him. He was, he told me, Lord Byron. Something that I adamantly explained to my friends later as 'probably true'. I had, after all, recognized him (in that sort of, three glasses of wine later recognition way, which isn't terribly clear eyed or crystal clean in any way) and we sat around musing what a charming, crazed character he indeed was. 

Lord Byron is, of course, dead. Dead, done, gone. Who on earth this chap was, therefore, I'll never know. But hell, he had green gems on his fingers as big as the Ritz, and he let me take his picture, sat proud of his past, and glittered gladly on London's luminous streets. I don't give a damn who he was, I liked him. 

Brought Ruby Eyes for a Skull with Wings £40.00 (Total: £700.20p)

May I remind you, before you tell me off for spending money on myself, that I am allowed. Mainly because I make up the rules. Super... 

I recently brought a nice little skull with wings, which doesn't sound nice at all, but I thought it was a bit like an angel dancing with the devil, something I have done once down the A40 past eleven on a school night... I brought it from the place that I buy all my shiny things from, the same place Ozzy Osbourne buys his - although I would like to think the similarities stop there. I can't show you a picture, as their website is under construction, but - buying the little, pretty-ish thing, I thought how nice it would be if the face had eyes, so I brought him Rubies for eyes, and that - apparently - is how you spell the plural of Ruby. Gosh don't we learn a new thing every day. 

I took the image from here, sorry about that, but my, what big jewels you've got. 

Ruby. With Eyes. 

Gave Chesters £10 to run a marathon and to shut him up a little bit (Total: £660.20p)

Damn it. I've done it again. I've had things written on the back of my hand, on envelopes, in diaries saying things like '£2, funny grt p street" and stuff like that for months and have forgotten to blog any of the damn money I've spent... Grrr and harumph... I've just given Chesters (above, left, knees)  £10 though, for his run he's kindly doing to raise money for MacMillan Cancer Support... So I've remembered it this time, and blogged it and perhaps - started my own little run of blogging again. Happiness all round. Grrrreat. 

Gave a shouty lady £0.40p in Oxford Street Station (Total: £650.20p)

There was some lady with a bucket shouting at Oxford Street Tube station about Childreach and worried for her loosing her voice, so I gave her the 40p I had in my pocket... The funny thing is, she kept shouting even when I was standing right next to her.

'I can hear'. I said.

Strepsils for tea for that one I reckon...

Made Ruby Pseudo a touch more ligit £200.00 (total: £649.80p)

I shan't say much about it here (although may say something a bit more about it here) but Ruby Pseudo (me dears) is now the proud owner of a certificate, or - as I like to say - a Tificate.

Nice.

Just a shame my Grandad couldn't be the company secretary... the old Capitalist charmer would have loved it... and his maths was better.

Loved that man...

Gave £5 secretly to the man the mayor is charging too much rent at Piccadilly (total: £449.80p)

Now, I thought I liked the mayor. Or perhaps it was that I liked the thought of a mayor. Either way, a couple of conversations I've had recently have led me to believe I think nothing of the former thought and that actually, that man's a bit of an arse. Grrrr me.

The inkling that he (the mayor) was a bit of a tit came when I heard that he'd put the cabbies license costs up from £120 to something like £285.00 - well that's not bloody fair is it? From that bit of news I tested it out on the other smashing cabbie boys and they all had bits to add, including the fact that when you use radio taxis that instant charge of £2 you get goes straight to THE BLOODY MAYOR.

So I wasn't terribly taken with the man myself, and then I got speaking to the chap in a hut-type-thing outside the big Boots near Piccadilly... Annoyingly, this man gets asked questions all day. I, for example, asked him if he knew where I could get a key cut. We got chatting anyway, as is my wont, and the next three people all asked similar stupid things, like: 'where is Piccadilly?' or 'Do you know where lie-chester square is' and 'am I in London yet?' (actually, perhaps mine was the most sensical, so there). Our happy chappy, a true East Ender with splinter sparkles in his eyes, answered every question as best as he could. Including mine. I told him he ought to have a sign saying 'Donations for directions appreciated' and he said 'well, it would help me pay my rent'.

His rent used to be £200 a month. It's now over a thousand pounds more than that. Because the mayor things that's okay. Christ. It's more, I'll have you know, than my extortinate rent, and that's saying something (at least, I think it was, I'm not terribly good at maths and numbers tend to just squelch in to a muddy math pit when I'm not looking and I could have most of the contents of this and the last post wrong)... Anyway...

So there he is, quintessentially one of the people that under-pin Our Lovely London, not too far removed from Our Great Cabbies. People like this man, whose name I never knew, are imperative to our city... they answer the stupid questions for us, point out the correct way of saying Leceister Square and make every tourists day by dropping a 'guv' here or there at the end of sentences. And above all else, he sold me a darn sight better espresso that some good awful, truly nasty, yuck, yuck, yeah doughnut place opposite (seriously, it was foul. I've been telling everyone. Horrible). And... he charged me £1. And shook my hand, and made me smile.

So I gave him £6, well - I was paying for the day's directions.

Bad Mayor. Nice Man in hut. Help keep London lovely...

Help the kind waiter with crooked teeth win a competition by buying My Good Friend Ashley a glass of Champagne £16.00 (total: £444.80p)

My Lovely Friend Ashley was leaving to return to Amsterdam, which was a shame for the lot of us as she was One of The Good Ones at work and I think we messed up a little bit, but... besides to the point, and anyway, and let's move on...

We had been meaning to go for a drink for a while, but not really a goodbye drink, we had hoped to get one of them in before. But time flew past, as it does, and we ended up toasting her travels on the 8th of August (I know, look how long it's taken me to post this toast), outside Villandry, which - incidentally - is the place I got stuck in on The Day of the Bombs. Ouch.

But it's a nice place, and there are lovely waiters, and several of them I am very fond of. One of these waiters has a crooked, charming smile. His teeth dance around the place and end up giving you this kooky tired grin, mainly because the boy works too damn hard serving people that forget to say 'please'.

On this day, he bashfully asked me if I would mind helping him out on something, and that he's 'pay me back'. He was in a competition at work where you had to sell glasses of elite, lovely champagne to the customers to win a trip to France to see how it was made. He was one glass away from winning.

So I brought Ashley one.

Firstly, I have never seen a girl so drunk, so instantly. And for me, a girl that hates champagne, I have never tasted anything so yum. These beautiful bubbles, however, went straight to her head, she was giggling and whooshing all over the place, heels falling off and apologetic texts to her friends she was late and lovely to meet. Leonie (the lovely, little cousin) and I, were dreadfully amused... As was The Charming Waiter.

He won by the way.
But he's been put in to too many shifts to actually be able to go over there so far.
Harumph.

He also tried to pay me back, and it went something like this:
I was out with Fantastic Amber and Kind Cat, drinking Rose.
He (Charming Waiter) came over and told me he'd brought our last 3 roses for us, which came to £13.00
I had, therefore, only spent £3.00 on him.
Please don't do that, I said, you don't need to.
Next, he brought us a bottle of the same champagne, saying it was on him, tucking £70.00 under the bucket, and just asking me to use that to pay him once he brought the bill.
Uh, Charming Waiter, now we're really in trouble.
I was now £67.00 pounds in his deficit.
Not what I was trying to do at all.
In the end, Fantastic Amber, Kind Cat and I brought the champagne, or at least, perhaps a client might have brought the champagne.
I also tipped him £20.00
Which, if anyone can do the maths... meant, well... that I had sorted it out.
Right?
I never was good at maths....

Gave a man sitting on Regent Street with no socks on £7.00 socks (total: £428.80p)

...And the reason why I stopped was... How can you leave anyone sitting on a cold street without any socks?

So I went on a sock mission, which you wouldn't think would be too hard on Regent Street, but that silly store with it's crap copy-writing French Connection didn't sell any (I spent about 7 minutes in there whilst the stupid staff faffed and argued and mused and did nothing other than base level behaviour), Paul Smith seemed a ridiculous way to spend money and the other stores were too busy selling stuff we didn't need. I ended up in Benetton, probably the first time I'd been in there since 1987, and found some socks quickly and without fuss. There was an ugly man in front of me buying himself lots of clothes he was too old, rude and ugly for and I thought 'I'm going to be here for ages, what if the man gets moved on?'. I asked politely, explaining I was buying socks for the homeless man, if I might go in front of him. And this ugly idiot gave me a look of disgust, like I'd ruined his whole day, like I was the worst thing to happen to him all week, like I ought to be shot at close range. Uh buddy... I think you're talking about you there.

I raised an eyebrow at him, (difficult since I'd just had a fringe cut in by my hairdresser and my eyebrows were effectively underneath) and said 'surely you can't mind? that would be hilarious' (in a, well-it-wouldn't-be-at-all way, as is my wont with using the word 'hilarious') and walked in front of him.

Of course, this lady faffed, her till gave up and I just handed the money over, asked for them to be popped in a bag and walked out the store.

The homeless man, with more manners than most and definitely more manners than the prick in the store, thanked me politely, almost giggling with delight, and put his socks on there and then.

I do wonder at us sometimes.

At least that man has warm feet, probably a warmer heart too.

As my father would say, you (ugly man in Benetton) need to buck your ideas up. And the rest...

Gave a man sitting on Regent Street with no socks on £1.33 from my pocket (total: £421.80p)

It's funny... As we skit scatter our way around town on a scratchy Saturday, spending our money on nonsense and nothing, we seem to think it's okay to hurtle, hurt our way past the bent body by Benetton, empty cup in hand, nothing on his filthy feet. I stopped to find some money for him in my pocket and was huffed at; 'look where you're going' I was told.

Idiots. The lot of us.

I gave the man all I had in pocket, which wasn't much because I'd just been robbed by Starbucks (actually, I hadn't, but I had watched someone rob them... nonchalantly walking in, picking up a bottle of water - healthy robber - and walking back out again... serves them right). When I dropped the money in his empty cup (come on people, empty - really? Too busy spending money on crap to pass on change?), he looked up and gave me one of those clean, I-never-meant-to-be-here gazes that make you feel like frippery and all the modern world means. I kept walking and stopped... More 'look where you're going's for me then...

Gave £5 to a taxi man singing Elvis songs on a day I Loved London (total: £420.47p)

Last week, I had a meeting in The Wolseley. I love the Wolseley, my friends Kit and Sacha took me there first and I have been dropping in and delighted every since. The doorman, John, is also a smashing chap - he drops his t's, tips his hat, and makes me promise not to go home in anything not hailed by him. My mother would love him.

Having had the best bacon and chicken sandwich ever (and giggled at the country girl stabbing her chips to annoy her mum with polished silverware and a practised pout) I had to go in to Fortnums, equally as British, equally traditional, equally great. Whilst some people think that it's just a building of upper class nonsense, it's really nothing of the sort. The doormen also make me giggle ('oh go on' one told me once 'nick something, I never have anything to do here') it has the best of everything from soap to soup from leather to lemons and it's beautiful.

And... it was raining. That sort of quiet, almost kind rain, that wishes it wouldn't but sort of has to - so it rains delicately, but just enough - beckoning umbrellas and dusting shoulders, warm but still wet. The sort of rain that ends up making rainbows...

Now, whilst I love walking in the rain, I was late for a meeting, so I was one of many people along Piccadilly suddenly sticking their hand out lending wobbly routes to boys on bikes they hadn't seen. My lucky London day just got better though, and I got possibly one of the world's biggest Elvis fans to pick me up, singing along loudly, somewhat badly and terribly boldly all at the same time. He sung along to every word he knew and whistled the bits in between or simply made up his own lyrics. I couldn't help smiling.

London is a lovely place, and our cabbies are some - if not The Best - in the world. I love London, I love being sung to, looked after, served well and even - even, rained on.

I tipped him a £5 and gave him a wink. 'God bless you poppet' he said, and winked straight back...

The Thanking Friends Bit Part #1/Gave £11.99 to the National Aids Trust as per Jacqui's request (total: £415.47p)

Every now and then I meet someone who reads my blog, which makes me very happy, and often takes me by surprise. Jacqui White surprised me so once in a meeting, when she said 'I love your Grandad blog by the way, it's the first thing I read in the morning'... I think I blushed.

In gratitude to my friends, who support me in this little endeavour, I have donated a strange sum to Jacqui's chosen cause... the National Aids Trust.

You can do the same here.

And thank you Jacqui. Means well loads.

Bless xxx

Gave £10 to Virgin Unite (total £403.48p)

I have just finished reading Richard Branson's 'Screw it, let's do it' book, kindly given to me by Darren who is working for 6 months as a volunteer at Mona... In the book, Richard (perhaps rather cleverly, since I'm now donating something) mentions his Virgin Unite arm of his empire, which is the independent charitable arm of the Virgin group. Virgin Unite are about driving entrepreneurial approaches to social and environmental issues, changing the way social and business sectors work together to form partnerships that will drive sustainable solutions. To do this they focus on three key areas, Connecting People, 'Good' Investments and Social Businesses.

Some of the campaigns they're currently running include: (taken from the website)

Heaven's Angels is a campaign to raise funds for bikes for the Rural Transport Network - getting healthcare delivery in Africa moving.
The Re*Generation is a campaign supporting vulnerable young people on our doorstep in conjunction with our amazing grassroots Unite Partners.
The Music Movement is a creating and supporting a community of musicians who are willing and able to help tackle tough social issues. Such as Natalie Imbruglia who has gotten behind the issue of Fistula.

Well done Natalie...

The concept is really interesting and you can wander wonder through the site for hours, in terms of donating money there are several ways of doing it, including 'give time', 'give stuff' 'give voice' and 'give time'. Since I'm doing shed loads of expenses on a Saturday night (terribly social me) time isn't something I can give, so I looked in to 'give cash'; even here are there several ways of doing so, including sponsoring a fundraiser, sponsoring a project or something else entirely. One of the projects you can sponsor is the UKs Invisible Children campaign, who are living in extreme poverty and deprevation right here on our doorsteps. £10, by the way, provides a bath and three emergency meals for a young person living on the street. Well, I might be staying in on a Saturday, but at least I've got a damn roof over my head. Lucky wench.

Volunteered at a Chimpanzee Sanctuary in Spain, £160.00 (total: £393.48p) + RUBY REQUESTS SOME HELP

I like to tell clients Meaning is the New Money... and this is what my time in Spain this week was. Having decided that I wanted to do some volunteering work, but without the time to go and spend 6 weeks building an orphanage in Nambia (I think my mother was relieved) I saw the Mona site, where they offer 'working weekends' for people that want to take a break and make a difference at the same time.

It was amazing.

Truly, utterly, amazing.

There are 14 chimpanzees there, and 2 Macacas. Katy (pronouced 'Catty' in Spanish) was one of the latter and would fire up at me every time she saw me, grabbing through her cage doors or leaping around her vast enclosure from branch to branch letting me know she was tough and small - funny, so am I you little rascal (alright, so she was a lot tougher, but hey)... The 14 chimpanzees came from varied backgrounds, each with sad stories to tell. Many zoos, for example, don't like to rescue male primates, as they consider them a bit of 'a waste of space' since they're neither cute or prone to getting pregnant... Mona has many males, from Tony who was a crippled but lusty little fellow who took a shine to me (most attention I've had in days) to Nico (above) who is the first animal to ever self harm, resulting in him having his fingers amputated. Victor has just joined, and spends most of his time under a red blanket, timid and slightly scared. He came from a family who treated him like their son, dressing him up, making him use a tooth brush and having him at the table, eating with a knife and fork. When he was around 6 years old, he naturally tried to show them how strong he was, as all growing chimps would; this was not the sort of behaviour they had expected at all and - having had the run of the house - he was put in a cage. The girls at Mona are still trying to figure out everything that happened to him, but he's beginning to play again, albeit with the women hater chimp, Tico (he rears up at you if you walk past and you're female, hilarious...)

Bongo is one of the little chimps, he's cute and kind and fun. We'd jump up and down at each other and have races which made the Macacas scream and screech with glee. Waty, who's in the same enclosure as Bongo, however, didn't like me playing with 'her family' and would spit at me. It's not bad though, how many people can say they've been spat at by a monkey?

I cleaned cages whilst I was there, made the monkey's enrichment (food 'packaged' in ways that encourages them to forage/play), washed blankets to dry in the hot summer sun and fed the animals their breakfast and lunch whilst having the experience of sitting with them whilst they ate dinner in the evenings (about 10 peices of fruit, one yoghurt or protein 'something', a rice ball and soup) and built hammocks and swings for them to play on in the cages. Every morning started by walking through their enclosures (whilst they were still in their cages) collecting any food they might have missed, the bright colored hankerchiefs we had wrapped food in or any toys that might have had to play with from the day before. Then I'd scatter their food under the bushes and around their tyres and sit and wait outside to see them bound out like the true, impressive beasts they are.

My time with Mona was beautiful, in the most basic, kind, startling way. It was hard work and I loved it, it was sad work with a happy ending. To see all the chimps, each with their own sad story to tell, living in such a pretty place, looked after by such patient people, made me glow. People think I've been on a two week holiday, sometimes you just need 2 days...

To see the chimps, please click here.
To make a donation, or even to adopt a monkey, please click here.
To find out about going on a working weekend yourself, please click here.

If you are interested in helping me collect various things for the sanctuary, please email me at: ruby.pseudo@hotmail.com. I am looking to collect blankets, seeds, tools, towels, pegs, bowls, cups, mugs, plastic beakers, money - anything. Ideally, I would love to send a package through in the next couple of weeks, would love to hear from any of you that would like to donate bits and pretty pieces.

Thank you,
'R'. x

Gave 15p to a man begging who looked clean (total: £233.48p)

I think I've done this before, given money to someone begging simply for the fact they looked clean. Well - it shows they're trying doesn't it?

Brought Piotr, the office cleaner, a flight £121.74 (total: £233.33)

Piotr, the Polish name for Peter, is our cleaner and sad. He's been sad for a while, he loved a boy and a boy left him. Well don't I know that story... (I hope you're well Henry)...

We sat outside the other day, just talking, and whilst I love London and being British (Churchill tattoo on my arm n'all)... I never realised just how difficult and tough a place it can be for anyone trying to make a living or indeed a life here.

Piotr, along with his other Polish working friends here (stretched across the UK in 'far off' places like Manchester and Birmingham) all have degrees. They have degrees to be nurses, lawyers, doctors and teachers... But here they clean our carpets, empty our bins and get ignored whilst we send that all important email.

Piotr told me he couldn't believe I spoke to him, that I was too important to speak to him. It made me sad. I told him that actually, we're colleagues and we both work for the same company. In essence, my boss is his boss...

Piotr worries about his English not getting any better, but that's because he's got nowhere and no time to practise it. He works long hours and many of the Polish people here work two jobs. He speaks to his mum every day by Skype and misses her terribly. Since his heart hasn't been mending too well (know that one too), he misses her more than most.

He told me that London is a lonely place. When I told him it was lonely for me too he welled up. Sometimes, just knowing that it's not just you is enough...

He has a friend he wanted to visit in Manchester and I offered to buy him a first class ticket to see him. He was terribly embarassed at first, and wouldn't say yes. I asked him to think about it. He went bright red and said he never been offered something like that. I told him about this, this re-spending of money, and he still said he coulnd't. I asked him if please, perhaps he could.

He called his friend and his friend is ill, he has jaundice and has returned to Poland.

I just hope it clears up before Piotr flies to see him...

I've never seen a man so happy; I thought he was going to cry.
Shame the chap's gay huh? It could almost have been a love story.

But two broken hearts do not make a right.
Or a straight.

Perhaps you can smile at your cleaner next time you see them? They're not the invisible class after all... Their hearts break too.

And wish both the boys well and the best of British luck.

Nice.

Gave £2.50 to Errol at Baron's Court towards My Diamond Ring... (total:£111.59p)

Errols's buying me a diamond ring remember? Saw him last night, and - since I hadn't paid equally for the dinner because my friend tipped and I didn't - gave Ole Blue Eyes money instead...

Well, I want my diamond ring dammit.