Me and this other Council House kid…let’s call her “Linda”. Well me and “Linda” were an item…well as much as 4 year olds are an item. We hung out together, she’d come round and I’d play her Paul Anka records and stuff, compare Teddy Bears and watch Andy Pandy on the TV.
One day we were down the bottom of the road, thowing stones at passing cars…like you do on Council Estates. She pulls me to one side, behind a parked car, pulls up her skirt and invites me to look down the front of her knickers.
“Ever seen one like that?” she says.
“No” I replied. “Not like mine AT ALL!”
“Let’s see then,” she says, all worldly wise.
Just at that moment we were rudely interrupted.
“What do you think you are doing!” bellowed Police Inspector Jordan. He lived opposite the parked car and sensed we were up to no good.
Fuck me my first experience of coitus interuptus…we ran home as fast as we could. Neither of us could sleep for a week, expecting that knock at the door…the Police arriving to take us to prison.
It was an experience that delayed me losing my cherry by at least 3 years…TRAUMATIC.
Take your pick. For the record though, my school record is 39 fights. 35 wins, 4 losses.
My favourite fight was actually one I lost. Like boxing, any evenly matched contest is a good one.
My least favourite fight was the one where I had the shit kicked out of me by a multi-racial collective from The Deanery, following a recent riot in St Marys.
Social integration was happening, but not in a good way for me personally.
This was my priest growing up when I went to church from 13 to 17, I was very good mates with 2 of his kids (they were same year and year below at school). He used to like to chat to us by MSN Messenger of an evening if we weren’t at his place.
Anyway, he said he used to go away on residential church trips and it would happen quite often, but it turned out he was going away to rape little boys.
Raped 2 kids whilst on bail as well.
Still friends with his kids, but all a bit awkward now (he didn’t touch his own kids though, only others).
Also, my sisters bessie at Junior school, lived at the bottom of our road, her Dad used to rape her and her sister (who was in my year). Used to get away with it cos his wife was a paraplegic, and when she threatened to tell anyone he used to say he’d burn the house down with them all in it. I remember my parents took them shopping one day, the girl just pissed herself in the middle of the shopping centre for no reason. Really fucked those girls up something proper. He’s out of prison now.
I played a bit of cricket for my works team when I was a young chap. Most of my team mates were older and married and some used to bring their wives along to make the sandwiches for the tea interval.
Anyway, one day we were all sat in the pavilion waiting our turn to go into bat when I spotted an odd-looking fella ambling around the boundary. By the time he had got to long leg I had developed a sinking feeling because for some reason odd-looking fellas always seemed to home in on me.
True to form this particular odd-looking fella was no different: he made a bee line straight for me and then, bold as brass, asked in an unnervingly loud voice: "Would you like to come for a wank?"
Cue much tittering – the bloody wives were the worse offenders – before the team captain replied: "Now then my dear chap, young Halo* is just about to go into bat, but, if past performances are anything to go by, he should be available to join you in about five minutes."
*This name has been changed to protect my anonymity.
I was a proper little cunt, right up until the age of 12, when everyone grew and shortarse here did not.
The only thing I’ll say in my defence is that I moved schools twice during primary years, and that tends to make you something of a target. I also twatted a lot of racist cunts.
The fighting career did continue into secondary school, but I was blessed with a previously wimpish mate who’d become a double hard bastard within six months of joining Cantell, doing the entire pantheon of fifth year hardmen.
I don’t know if it’s just because I’ve been stifling lols all day in the office, but reading this, now I’m safely home has set me in hysterics, and I can’t stop!
Lightening the mood with noncing? Shame on you, @fatso
Nevertheless, I have a story to share.
The Unigate milkman that served the Flower Estates always had a boy on his van. I won’t name names, but I remember one nipper I knew riding about on the float and feeling slightly jealous at the time.
When his time was up, one of the nippers we knew better got the gig. He didn’t last long. He told my mum why.
We didn’t have much money in the 1980s. I remember at least one occasion when we had to duck to dive a debt collector. I’ve always been the early riser in my family, both at home and abroad, so I’m always the person that handles morning business.
One morning, this milkman turns up and we’re seven quid in arrears on our milk bill. “Milky” is not happy. He says to me, a ten year old kid, that my mum better have the money the next time he visited.
The old dear, who I didn’t think could exist before 10am in the mornings in any meaningful fashion, flies down the stairs at 8am and says.
“I better have what? I know about you, you cunt. 50p for a wank? Fuck off or I’ll call the Old Bill on you”.
He never came back for his seven quid. The Flower Estates were blessed with a new milkman very soon after.
I replied. “Not like mine AT ALL!”
