Nottingham Characters

Every city… no every place has its characters. The people who seem steeped in the essence of an area. They appear to have lived there for a long time and they work on the streets so are highly visible, and the memorable ones are always a little eccentric.

Nottingham has a few that need a mention:

1. The Xylophone Man -

Now sadly deceased, but features prominently in Nottingham's popular culture, so rather than write any more, I'll point you to a couple of articles about him - http://www.leftlion.co.uk/articles.cfm?id=80 and http://www.indymedia.org.uk/en/regions/nottinghamshire/2005/11/327735.html

2. The Fish Seller Man
During the 10 years I lived in Nottingham, this guy has always peddled his cockles and mussels around the pubs near Nottingham Castle. When I was but a naive fresher, I drunkenly bought a polystyrene tub of something fishy from him, but have never been drunk enough to do so again! I'm sure his trade must be roaring given the number of tourists and first-time students he catches each evening.

3. The Animal Charity Collection Woman - I will get round to writing about her

4. The Park Gas Lamp Man

He lives on the Park Estate in the cottage where you register for parking stickers and so on. I’ve never seen him with anyone – he’s always alone. He always wears old blue jeans, a black material jacket a bit like a coal miner’s with badges or pins that have a turn-of-the-century military feel – a flag, a shield, a medal – none that I recognise the meaning of. I’ve never seen his head of hair, as he always wears a faded brown wool beanie that’s seen better days. No matter what the weather, he always wears it. Underneath his jacket is a navy / nearly black T-shirt, whose neck is stretched through age, revealing pale, slightly withered collar bones. Occasionally he changes his shoes from black rubber shoes with brown woolly socks that match his hat, to tan / sand colour loafers without socks in summer that are so worn they could almost be slippers and look incredibly comfy, but only on his feet! In each ear, he wears a gold stud earring.

He works for the Park keeping the gas lamps working. You’ll often see him riding around on an ancient Victorian style black bike (one of the ones with uncomfortable handlebars and seat and no gears, similar to the standard bikes you get all over Amsterdam). At other times, he’ll be carrying a ladder and some rags; or he’ll be half way up his ladder leant against a gas lamp post polishing.

He also owns a turn of the century classic town car; jet black with those classic curves, long hood and thin wheels. He’ll often be seen washing and polishing it.

Add to that his weathered face and stringy frame – he’s one of those people who looks old and young and of no age all at once. A face that’s lost in time just as he appears to be trapped in time, and of another era.

Today I saw him talking to himself, carrying a ladder and a bucket from one lamp to the next. He stopped 3 feet short of the lamp post, looked quizzically at it, as if assessing what needed doing. As he did, he raised his right hand to his nostril, picked his nose, drew his finger out and in one graceful movement into his mouth. He placed his bucket on the ground, took his ladder in both hands, flipped it to full height, laid it against the lamp and climbed with his bucket up to the top.

The whole time he was up that ladder, I could hear him muttering to himself (I was sat on my balcony looking down and across the street below to where he was working), but just out of earshot to hear the words. He vigorously cleaned each pane of glass inside and out before checking the bulbs.

His jeans tucked into his socks; his old brown hat still stuck to his skull.

Tucking his cloth into his jacket pocket, I hear his black rubber shoes bending and squeeking against the rung of the ladder, occasionally balancing on one leg to reach the far top corener of the lamp.

Slowly he made his way down the ladder, stepping back another 3 feet and looking up to the lamp, a ponderous finger to his lips. Then picking up his tools and with a light limp to his left leg, walked on… to the next one.