Cab-over Pete
Member
- Location
- Kenilworth, Warwickshire
Aye-up,
I had cause to travel the length of Foleshill Rd and Longford Rd in Coventry a couple of days ago.
Now, if you’re not familiar with these mean streets, they are a bit like travelling to another country altogether, if you catch my drift. Or several countries in one stretch of tarmac. You’ve got the Polish stores, numerous “markets” selling a huge array of fruit and veg, many, many boutiques selling women’s fashions, dozens of foreign food outlets and then assorted electronics stores and temples of various denominations sprinkled liberally along the route.
It’s like Around The World In 80 Furlongs.
I’m sat at the traffic lights near what used to be a hugely popular pub named The General Wolf. As I glance around there is a young mum at the bus stop, child in a pushchair drinking what looked like cold tea from a bottle and she was merrily spitting like a camel into the road.
Over the road two old boys who reminded me of a Lenny Henry character named Decos are having a proper good laugh and a joke and a sharp suited young Asian chap is emerging from his law office looking very much the high flying lawyer type.
Then I spot a huge, sparkling Mercedes car. It’s pearlescent white and stands out a mile in the drab surroundings. The shine on this thing is something to behold. The wheels are a glinting chrome the like of which any custom truck owner would be jealous of and the windows are smoked with a dark brown tint.
Leaning nonchalantly across the back of it is possibly the fattest man I have ever seen. He’s enormous. He looks like an American rapper, all attitude and gold teeth. Draped in obviously expensive clothes and dripping in jewellery he’s looking around him slowly but surely, scanning the area with a scrutiny that’s earned him employment from The Big Dog......
.......Who emerges from a nearby shop front. He’s equally massive, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my pick up and with a look on his face like “F***k off peasants, I’m the law in these parts”
The two touch palms as The Big Dog makes his way to the passenger door slowly but deliberately, ensuring all around him know he’s visiting. He lets himself in and the iridescent Merc groans when he sits down.
Only then does the lookout move. He uprights himself and slides slowly off the back of the car to the drivers side. The car levels up as his enormous frame squeezes behind the leather bound wheel.
It’s then that I notice, emblazoned across the rear window in bright chrome letters, the words “No Farmers, No Food”!!!!
I have a pastoral grazing scene along one side of my pick up and oilseed rape in flower across the other side. The Big Dog gives my truck a glance. I put my thumb up with a smile.
He looks like he’s going to kill me, so my smile melts and we go in opposite directions. I thank the stars I don’t owe him money.
I dare say the slogan is in support of the Indian farmers plight, but I can’t help a smile. Most people wouldn’t know that and we need all the help we can get!
I had cause to travel the length of Foleshill Rd and Longford Rd in Coventry a couple of days ago.
Now, if you’re not familiar with these mean streets, they are a bit like travelling to another country altogether, if you catch my drift. Or several countries in one stretch of tarmac. You’ve got the Polish stores, numerous “markets” selling a huge array of fruit and veg, many, many boutiques selling women’s fashions, dozens of foreign food outlets and then assorted electronics stores and temples of various denominations sprinkled liberally along the route.
It’s like Around The World In 80 Furlongs.
I’m sat at the traffic lights near what used to be a hugely popular pub named The General Wolf. As I glance around there is a young mum at the bus stop, child in a pushchair drinking what looked like cold tea from a bottle and she was merrily spitting like a camel into the road.
Over the road two old boys who reminded me of a Lenny Henry character named Decos are having a proper good laugh and a joke and a sharp suited young Asian chap is emerging from his law office looking very much the high flying lawyer type.
Then I spot a huge, sparkling Mercedes car. It’s pearlescent white and stands out a mile in the drab surroundings. The shine on this thing is something to behold. The wheels are a glinting chrome the like of which any custom truck owner would be jealous of and the windows are smoked with a dark brown tint.
Leaning nonchalantly across the back of it is possibly the fattest man I have ever seen. He’s enormous. He looks like an American rapper, all attitude and gold teeth. Draped in obviously expensive clothes and dripping in jewellery he’s looking around him slowly but surely, scanning the area with a scrutiny that’s earned him employment from The Big Dog......
.......Who emerges from a nearby shop front. He’s equally massive, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my pick up and with a look on his face like “F***k off peasants, I’m the law in these parts”
The two touch palms as The Big Dog makes his way to the passenger door slowly but deliberately, ensuring all around him know he’s visiting. He lets himself in and the iridescent Merc groans when he sits down.
Only then does the lookout move. He uprights himself and slides slowly off the back of the car to the drivers side. The car levels up as his enormous frame squeezes behind the leather bound wheel.
It’s then that I notice, emblazoned across the rear window in bright chrome letters, the words “No Farmers, No Food”!!!!
I have a pastoral grazing scene along one side of my pick up and oilseed rape in flower across the other side. The Big Dog gives my truck a glance. I put my thumb up with a smile.
He looks like he’s going to kill me, so my smile melts and we go in opposite directions. I thank the stars I don’t owe him money.
I dare say the slogan is in support of the Indian farmers plight, but I can’t help a smile. Most people wouldn’t know that and we need all the help we can get!
