After today, and for future reference, I have compiled two lists that may be of use should someone chain themselves to Lord Madelson's railings again;
List of people who don't know where Peter Mandelson lives:Me- 4 Traffic Wardens (two didn't speak English, but one had a solution to global warming)
- 2 Ice cream men
- 7 Taxi drivers
- 3 Drunks
- 1 Member of the Royal Parks Service
- 1 Sadistic PCSO
- 2 Barmaids
- Several of my friends
- 1 Zoo keeper
- 2 Armed policemen (though I know they were bluffing)
- 3 Shop keepers
- 1 Random women who thought she knew where he lived, but took me back to the armed policemen
List of people who know where Peter Mandelson lives:- Climate Rush suffragettes
- The Evening Standard staff photographer
- Peter Mandelson
- Peter Mandelson's other half
- Peter Mandelson's cat
Now, apart from the recent scandals concerning MPs submitting silly claims, I'm not usually annoyed by politicians, nearly all are equally as bad as each other. But today,
Sir Peter Mandelson at at the top of my 'slightly narked with you' list, it's not really his fault; but I find a good scapegoat always calms me down.
As I'm filling in for another London based photographer (he's sunning it up somewhere warm) I decided to park my bum in Central London and wait to see if any calls came in from the agency.
After an hour or so (and just after I grabbed
this - yep, bit bored by that point), I received a call from the agency asking if I could very quickly make my way to Regent's Park and try to find the home of Lord Mandelson; apparently some members of
Climate Rush had chained themselves to his railings as a protest against the closure of the
Vestas wind turbine farm on the Isle of Wight.
Naturally I jumped at the chance to try and get some extra work in, the only problem? We didn't have Mandelson's address.
Not really a problem I thought, plenty of people will know, I'll send a blanket text to those that may know and canvas anyone in the area that could possibly know.
Oh how naive!The first friend managed to give me a rough steer, "Looks like Primrose Hill/Regent's Park" said the text. By this point I had managed to run most of the park perimeter, so was starting to get a bit sweaty. A-Z said that was north, so off I trundled, optimistic that I would soon pick up the scent. The first person I asked was a cycle based PCSO writing out a parking ticket (he smiled at me when I spoke to him, so I assume he must have been enjoying himself); knowing the current
police/PCSO trend of not liking the press I had already assumed that whatever said, I would do the opposite. Unfortunately despite hearing something about it on his radio a few hours before he didn't know Mandy lived. I walked onward...
Calling in at a pub on the north side of the park, the next people to be interrogated were the regulars gathered around one end of the bar, again all rather cheerful (one was on crutches so I assumed he wouldn't travel far for his daily drink). "Peter Mandelson lives around 'ere? I've lived 'ere 40 years and I didn't know that! I can tell you where Paul McCartney lives though, if you go left at the lights...." As he spieled off Sir Paul McCartney's address I said my goodbyes and wandered off pondering on who to ask next.
The first 5 Taxi drivers shed no further light, so I stopped, pulled out my laptop and started a Twitter and google search, again nothing really concrete turned up, just a vague area and a few pictures of the front of the house.
My next informant was a traffic warden; the area seemed to be teeming with them (unfortunately the two I'd spoken to already didn't speak more than a few words of English). This time as soon as I'd mentioned Mandelson's name the chap launched into a rhetoric on how well 'Sir Peter' was doing now and how much more respectable he'd become. Nodding like the dog from the
Churchill adverts, I soon realised that all I was going to get was a lecture on politics, "China, now they have the right idea. One child families, they're the solution to global warming."... His last words rang in my ears as I disappeared (more skidded like a member of the Keystone Cops) around the corner and into yet another pub, where an Australian barmaid gave me what seemed to be a very positive lead.
In a very broad twang she announced that although she hadn't a clue who Mandelson was, a politician lived just round the corner and there "were policemen there and everything!" With
the Benny Hill theme tune ringing in my ears I again ran off in search of Peter Mandelson, Climate Rush types, fame, fortune, death, taxes, the woman of my dreams, blah, blah, blah...
Using my heels to come to an abrupt stop, I came face to face with two rather bemused looking armed policemen standing outside what definitely wasn't Mandy's pad. For some reason I instantly thought of the film Labyrinth, where two door knockers bar the way, one will tell only the truth, one will tell lies. A pointless thought; Labyrinth although a good film, in no way represents real life and armed British Bobbies, as we all know, will probably not be that helpful to a
chap with two cameras hanging off his shoulders. Which they weren't, apparently they hadn't heard about any protesters, or knew where Mandelson lived (definitely not true). Needless to say, I didn't stay long!
Starting to flag and fancying some chocolate, I wandered to a nearby shop and (even though by this point I knew that the story was long gone) asked my
question du jour. Unfortunately (using that word a lot in this entry) the woman that said she knew, gave me directions straight back to my two favourite armed policemen... I grinned, waved my
Toffee Crisp, they waved back and I called it a day.
With a sigh, I wandered back to the shop, purchased another Toffee Crisp and a copy of the Evening Standard for the journey back, it wasn't until I walked outside and peeked at the front page that I noticed, with some dismay, that a certain politician was slyly grinning on the front page; oh well!
You win some, you lose some!
advisable as you will probably look like a custard cream addicted muppet*
As those following me on Twitter will no doubt have noticed; Tuesday last week was a very enjoyable day for the unknown snapper.
Obviously I can't say too much about the project, as with other things it will probably end up being shunted out under my real name somewhere along the line (really must get the sodding website up and running properly!).
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