Went to the show with the kids yesterday (Amazing btw). On the way back I picked up a big issue in George’s Square to read on the train home… much to my shock I found this inside. I couldn’t go back and get the sellers name but if anyone else has more information or also has one? Email sent will keep you updated

Exciting! Email looks valid. Wonder what that will be.

Wow, these rumblings! Please keep updating 

Something a little odd about Big Issue sellers, often homeless or struggling folk, being used to reward other folk with prints (if it's a print) that'll, in theory, be worth many thousands of pounds. Some interesting moral thoughts and decisions ahead. Exciting!

Think the request for the seller’s name is an indication that they will also be getting something?

On a train into the city now, going forward the best, expecting the worst 😂

Oh didnt you think of helping and buying a paper the last times you visited

I can understand a unique ID, but I'm surprised they included the individual edition number on the reward slip. That seems...unnecessary.

I'm reminded of the Stik Big Issue thing. I purchased my set from a local seller. He stood well over 6 foot tall, leather jacket, big ginger beard, full kilt. Jock, he said his name was, in a thick Scottish accent. Dimly, I genuinely replied, "Oh, are you Scottish?" 

He couldn't have looked more Scottish if he was made out of shortbread.

"Are you fockin' kiddin' me?" came his reply, and we were firm friends after that.

I explained the Stik poster thing to him, well, tried to, spoke at length about different colour posters, trying to tell him about edition numbers, rarity, etc. He looked at me like I was a madman. It's a strange feeling to have a homeless person look at you with pity in their eyes. Anyway, he humoured me and patiently went through every issue he had, and there, right at the bottom of his stack, was that illusive orange one. "Ah-ha!" he said, and then rolled the issue, and the poster, crushing it tightly in his massive hand, and then passed it to me.

Jock lived in a tent in a car park. A small one-man tent. Had done for many years. He didn't want a flat or house. Too much trouble. He used to tell me he was his own man. His plan was to ultimately head down South, to migrate, like a massive bird.

The years outside had not been kind to Jock, and he had every skin condition known to science. His skin looked thick and calloused, all over. He had the same skin as a pineapple. He looked a bit like that big orange Thing from the Fantastic Four. His scabies probably had severe dermatitis, and on that dermatitis, more scabies. And he knew he was repulsive, that I found his touch disturbing, because he always took great pleasure in shaking my hand for too long a period whenever we met. Often hugging me, sometimes gently touching my face. Big, sweaty, warm, covered in bristly ginger hair, it was like being gently caressed by, I imagine, a Mammoth's ballsack.

He once asked, after I suggested he go to the local medical centre, whether I'd like to see his feet. I replied, no thank you, and that we didn't have that kind of a relationship.

I liked Jock. He was funny. And he seemed to like me. I'd had friends before, but never a 6-foot-tall Scottish one that would snap people in half if I asked him to.

After he'd helped me out so much with Stik posters, if I saw him in town, I always made sure to buy a Big Issue, say hi, buy him a coffee or something. He always had 9, sometimes 10 sugars. Occasionally he'd need to go and use the toilet, so he'd ask if I could watch his pitch, his stuff, and perhaps sell some Big Issues, he'd laugh. Some days he disappeared for hours, leaving me sad, now an unlicensed and potentially illegal Big Issue seller.

I saw his tent one Winter, in the car park, half buried in snow. His feet sticking out the end. I thought, sh*t, he's dead. Nervously, I knocked on his tent. I don't know whether you've ever knocked on a tent flap before, but it's quite quiet. No reply. I anxiously reached down to touch his leg. It was cold, and kinda squidgy. The tw*t had stuffed some trousers and boots with spare clothing, making it look like his legs in the snow. He was at a local food bank, in the warm. The b*stard. I never forgave him for that.

He was a good guy. Sure, on paper, complicated, scary, maybe even difficult to some, but that's life. 

I'm pretty sure I'd bought Big Issues from him in the past, but I hadn't actually talked to him until the Stik thing. So I always think of him whenever I see one of those posters. He was cool.

This will help hunting down (search the yellow dots). 

www.bigissue.com/vendors

They won’t even need to ask their names or engage in conversation as seller names are on the Big Issue website. Saves time speaking to a homeless person and less likely to catch anything (this is sarcasm!).

Go, go, go… got to catch ‘em all!

Here this afternoon - confirmed, the vendor didn’t know much about it tho, but if it comes through I will pay it forward. Very grateful and what a way to top off the day. 

Gonna be some weird and intense conversations with Big Issue sellers this evening.

"But can I just look through them first? Please! WHADAYA MEAN NO?"

Depending on how things go, issues unsold, issues purchased but not even read, a Glasgow are exclusive, this thing, whatever it is, could end up being an edition of 15.

Best of luck everyone. Remember, fortune favours the bold, as well as those with private helicopters and the funds and means to travel unexpectedly.

Holy crap, never in my lifetime did I think I would witness a genuine Willy Wonka moment, there’s 300 golden tickets out there and I hope they get well placed! =)