Myself and a few friends had been out to this church in the middle of nowhere a few times before, mainly just arsing around at night trying to scare each other and on another notable occasion when we had all bought BB guns and decided to play army in the woods. I was about 26 at that time.

One summer night about 10 of us decided to go to Baldhu to play hide and seek so we all piled into 2 cars and headed over to the middle of nowhere. We all pottered around for a while just generally arsing about and having a laugh. Behind the Church, (which is boarded up) is a small wood. This is freaky as persons unknown have decided to hang dolls heads from the trees, which if you aren’t expecting it can really scare the living shit out of you at 1 in the morning.

Pat and John [see previous stories] headed out into the woods to do God-knows-what and the rest of us just hung about. It was at this point that Will noticed some headlights coming down the track and for some unknown reason decided to shout “Quick, hide!!!” and everyone did.

Being that we were in a graveyard most of us hid behind gravestones, with a few opting for the more respectable tree to camouflage themselves.

The night was a moonlight misty one and being that we were in the middle of the countryside it was also rather dark. A short while later two cars parked at the entrance. [Just a quick note. We had parked our cars out of the way as the police were always getting calls here and we didn't want them to find us, so the new arrivals couldn't see our transport.] About 8 or 9 kids got out of the vehicle and it soon became evident that most of them were high as kites as they were all giggling. One of them also said “We are all so fucking high” which was another clue.

They were also all boy racers. Whom I hate. Head boy racer said that he was gonna go into the graveyard alone and I think a couple of the girls probably wet their panties at how fucking cool and hard he was.

Time to start fucking with them.

Myself and Will were quite close to the front behind two gravestones and with the moon being behind us meant that we were almost invisible to the boy racers. I started to moan very lightly, like a zombie and kept this up for about 10 seconds.

Head Boy Racer: What the fuck was that?

Boy racer 1: What? I didn’t hear anything.

HBR: Fuck it, I must just be high.

HBR continued slowly into the graveyard. So I made the noise again, only slightly louder.

BR1: Fuck! I heard that. What the fuck?

Will then started to make the sound of a crying baby which he does remarkably well.

HBR: What’s going on?

The other boy racers were complelty silent and all looked petrified.

It was at this point that Pat and John for some unknown reason decided to start hitting trees with sticks and laughing manically. The woods are about 20 metres form the graveyard and all that could be heard was echoing bangs and slightly distant psychotic laughing.

HBR had, had enough, “Fuck it, I’ve got my knife I’m going in” I think he was almost in tears.

Will obviously thought this had gone far enough and decided to let HBR know that it had all been a joke.

Imagine this scene:

You are at a notorious graveyard stoned out of your tree. It’s around midnight, with the moon high in the sky and a mist covering the gravestones. You have heard strange, unexplained noises coming from the graves and the woods beyond. And then from behind one of the gravestones emerges a 6ft3″ man mountain, back lit by the full moon, his arms outstretched, moving slowly who then says in a very slow deep voice “We only want to play hide and seek!” and then a slight pause and then “Join us”.

All the boy racers start screaming and crying and all run for their cars. HBR stands there for about a second before turning and fleeing. His mates being the great friends they are are already moving by the time he gets to the car so he has to dive onto the roof of the car and in through the sun roof. The cars tear off down the track.

The last image I have of them is of a car speeding away with what I can only make out as a pair of legs sticking out of the roof.

====================================

Will states that he never meant to frighten the boy racers. After hearing HBR comment about the knife he thought that he should calm the situation down so had got up and with his arms open in a sign of welcome had asked them to come and join us in playing hide and seek. He had said it slowly so that they would understand him and come across as being friendly.

I still expect to be drinking back in Cornwall one day and hear a story of how so and so went out to Baldhu and almost got eaten by zombies.

I had tickets for Stone Sour and Bullets & Octane at the Astoria. I had been waiting to see my two favourite bands for a while and was fucking excited about going. I was meant to be going with The Wilsotron from Cornwall but he had to bail at the last minute. I knew that Neil liked metal so asked him if he wanted to come and he agreed.

We met up about an hour before the doors opened and even tho there was already a queue forming we decided to go for a drink first so headed off down Charring Cross Rd and ended up in a cheap-shitty-pub. We ordered a couple of jugs of vodka red bull and sunk them in quick time and were onto our third when a rather homeless looking fella walks up to us and just starts talking utter, utter shit. He turns to me and asks me my name. Why the fuck do you want to know my name? I inquire of the bu. He looks at me and then turns to Neil and begins conversing with him. Another potential friend lost. Neil just stares at him open mouthed with a little bit of dribble erm, dribbling out the side of his mouth. I don’t even think he blinked. The hobo finishes his long rant and asks Neil what he thinks. Neil looks to me then back at the bum. Fuck off mate comes the well thought out reply. The homeless fuck looks set to cry but instead walks off to be homeless somewhere else.

We finish our drinks and then head off to the queue where we character assassinate everyone in the queue and non too subtly. By the time we reach the door we are laughing uncontrollably, mainly at the sign above it saying;

ASTORIA

7-11pm Stone Sour and Bullets & Octane

11-4 G.A.Y.

Fair enough then. Me and Neil postpone the decision to stay on for a dance afterwards til later.

The bouncers look at me and Neil and just wave us through shaking their heads. Maybe to do with the fact that Neil is 6’7″.

We get in and have a few more drinks. I explain to Neil that Bullets & Octane are one of my favourite bands and how much they fucking rock. Neil nods his head in anticipation of seeing this truly awesome live spectacle. He then shouts out really loudly to a guy walking past, “Alright mate, bit of a short cunt!?” to someone who is basically a midget. I promptly spit out my drink over a big nasty looking biker type. Apologies follow almost as quickly.

Bullets & Octane burst onto to stage a short while later. Gene Louis the lead singer swigging from a bottle of Jack Daniels looks the very epitome of cool and the whole floor turns into a mosh pit. Just very fucking cool. Punk rock baby. A few songs in and the crowd is hyped, bouncing along.

Louis has crowd in his palm.

Neil finishes drink.

Louis finishes song.

Neil looks at bottle.

Louis takes adoration.

Neil looks at Louis.

Louis stares out at adoring crowd.

Neil throws bottle.

Bottle hits Gene Louis of Bullets & Octane square in the face.

Neil allows himself small smile.

Graeme pisses himself.

Louis looks less than impressed.

Louis gets over it and starts a new song.

Neil nods out of respect.

We then enjoy the rest of the Bullets gig and get more wassted.

The main event follows soon after and as soon as Corey Taylor [lead singer of Stone Sour and Slipknot] walks out the place goes fucking mental and the whole club is a mosh pit. I’ve never seen this place like it. Neil drags me deep into the pit, obviously thinking that 5 metres from the stage is too far away and we proceed to basically ABH and GBH our way through about the first three Stone Sour songs. Fucking amazing.

I was at the time, as I am now really, a little unfit and I flag quickly. Trouble is there is no way out. I ask Neil for advice. He tells me to hang on. He then bends down and picks me up and I get crowd surfed for about a minute before going to the front of the crowd and out into the welcoming arms of security who hug me to safety. I feel like a baby.

I wander to the side of the crowd and watch the gig from the relative safety there. I glance across and it’s pretty easy to see Neil as he’s so tall. He’s standing there like a fucking giant in his white vest. But wait a minute, what’s this? Neil is obviously feeling a bit warm and is taking his vest off. Trouble is, it seems is that Neil couldn’t be arsed to wait the 2 seconds to take it off over his head, so has decided to rip it open like he’s the fucking hulk.

Corey Taylor finishes song.

Neil is topless.

Taylor soaks up the applause.

Neil looks at vest.

Taylor asks the crowd how they are.

Neil looks at Corey.

Neil throws vest at Corey.

Corey attempts to say something but is severely impaired by face-full of sweaty Neil vest.

Neil allows himself small smile.

Corey removes vest and tells Neil he can have it back.

Neil stands defiantly.

Corey throws Neil vest.

Neil throws it back.

Corey has face full of vest for second time that evening.

Neil allows himself small smile.

Corey pulls down pants and trousers and proceeds to wipe his arse with vest-of-Neil.

Neil gives a look of “yes, and what now then mate?”

Corey throws back vest-of-Neil.

Neil side steps and vest is consumed by mad Stone Sour/Slpiknot fans desperate for a piece of ass covered vest-of-Neil.

Gig continues.

The gig finished and I wandered outside to await the vestless Neil. As I am waiting a small fight begins in front of me. Neil turns up. Picks both of them up and tells them to calm down we’re all here for some fun. The fight stops as the two brawlers can’t quite believe that one man has just picked up two fighting men and told them to calm down. I am by this stage shocked by nothing that this man is doing.

We then wander off towards the tube. We part ways but not before Neil gives me one of Stone Sour’s drum sticks. I decide not to ask.

All words by G.

After about a month, for one reason or another, we broke up. This was a common occurrence at Hendon and by this time most of my fellow trainees had become single.

In our intake we had about 130 people, most of whom were around my age and a fair proportion of these were, [and probably still are] girls.

Every night me and my mates from class went to the local pub to get hammered and on one such occasion I noticed a girl who I had seen around Hendon. I started to talk to her and almost immediately she told me that she wasn’t going to sleep with me in a really, really Welsh accent. Which was nice of her. I think I just walked off without saying anything else.

About half an hour later I was chatting to another girl when Welsh girl came over to me and send that me and her were leaving. I looked at her then looked at the girl I was currently talking to, finished my drink and then walked out with Welsh girl.

On the walk back to halls we fooled around a bit and she told me on 3 more occasions that she wasn’t going to sleep with me. [I hear this a lot from girls, it’s like a green light that they want to fuck and also makes me go in for the kill harder, it’s always quite funny the next morning when they say “oh, but I don’t normally do one night stands!” and I come back with, “Well you do now, you slut, get out”]

We get back to my room and as we’re getting down to it she once more tells me that she won’t sleep with me. She then whips off my jeans and boxers and promptly starts sucking my dick. Ten minutes later she was naked and I’m fucking her doggystle.

This goes on for however long with the sex being particularly aggressive from both parties. Anyway it ends and I get up and go and look at myself in the mirror.

When I return to the bed Welsh girl is sat on the end of it, her head titled back and her hand holding her nose.

Me: What’s happened?

Welsh girl tips her head forward and takes her hand away from her nose and blood pisses everywhere. She then says in her really, really Welsh accent:

“You banged me so hard you gave me a nosebleed!”

I start laughing a lot and roll around on the floor trying not to wet myself. I look up and she’s looking all forlorn.

Welsh girl: You won’t tell anyone about this will you?

What would you do?

***

The next day at lunch Welsh girl comes up to me and punches me in my arm, calls me a cunt and says that she will never talk to me again.

All words by G.

This is the first recollection.

When I was still living at home with my folks I worked at the local pub behind the bar. One of the bar girls there was a ginger overweight thing. We went drinking after a shift one night at the local night club. We drank and danced, danced and drank until the club kicked out.

I then did the decent thing and walked her home. [Well, the decent thing would’ve been to kill her and bury her in a shallow grave, but, ya’know, wisdom only comes with age.]

We arrived at her front door and she turned and said to me that she had fancied me for ages and would I like to come in? Now bear in mind these facts; 1) I was drunk and 2) I have a dick.

I went in.

In my drink addled mind I still knew she was a minger, but I didn’t care. I have no shame. So we started to kiss, which quickly lead to her dropping to her knees and to start blowing me. [The one thing that girls not so blessed in the looks department have is an eagerness to please. Good girl]

So she goes on with this for a bit and then we start to fuck. We do this in many varied positions, all of which require zero effort from me as I’m way too shit faced to be putting any effort in.

We move to the sofa with me just sat there and the ginger unit on top of me going for it like it’s an Olympic event.

I then have, for no reason, a moment of sudden clarity and sobriety. This then stops as fast as it started and I’m drunk again.

I then start to cry. A lot.

Ginger unit stops pummelling my dick and looks at me and asks what’s wrong.

I look up at her and I say:

“I just realised that I’m fucking you!”

With my dick still firmly inside the ginger unit, she draws back her fist and punches me REALLY hard in my face causing my nose to open up and blood to piss everywhere. She also screams “Fuck you then” really loudly. So loud in fact that it wakes her mum up, who’s in bed upstairs. She enquires whether everything is alright.

Ginger unit starts to cry now which shakes me out of my shock at having my nose smashed across my face whilst fucking a pig ugly ginger unit and I start to laugh.

I can hear mum moving around upstairs and figure that she’s donning a dressing gown to come downstairs and see why her little girl is crying.

I decide to leave.

I stand up causing ginger unit to fall backwards onto the floor still crying. I half pull up my trousers and wander over to the door and say “I’ll see you at work tomorrow then” and let myself out.

I stand outside for a bit and contemplate what has just happened and I do the only thing I can think of. I call my mate Will and tell him the story whilst walking home.

The next day when ginger unit turned up to work I asked her if she enjoyed her evening. She told me I was a cunt and that she’d never go near me again.

I don’t like being told what I can and can’t do, so out of spite I fucked her again the next weekend. I think the saying; “cutting of your nose to spite your face” could be well used here.

All words by G.

I am restricted at the moment to light duties due to being in a really stupid car accident at work [see 7/7 and the Highbury Grove School Incident] and as such am only allowed to work in a non-confrontational roll. This is to persist for the next 6 months and the roll I have been given is that of Station Officer, i.e. the copper that you go into the local nick and report that you’ve lost you r phone to.

So this is the position I find myself in this morning.

The day starts as any other in the station office with people reporting bags and phones that have been nicked over the course of visiting pubs and clubs the previous evening. Nothing exciting at all.

Halfway through my shift a big white dud who looks like he should be a cage fighter comes to the desk and says;

“Hi there, sorry to trouble you, I’ve had my watch stolen and my insurance company says that I need a crime number to make a claim”

So far, so fucking normal.

Me: Okay, no problem, if you could start by telling me what happened.

Cage fighter: Sure. Well I was walking home last night and then two massive black blokes jumped out with a massive knife, threatened to stab me and took my watch.

I stood there for about 10 seconds looking at him in disbelief. Now there were two possibilities here. The first being that these two black blokes were indeed “massive”, which if he thought they were massive must’ve made them about 7ft tall and this bloke had nerves of steel to be telling me this story of how-he-almost-died so calmly. The second option was that he was lying.

I went for the second.

Me: Erm, did you call the police?

Cage fighter: No, I just thought I’d go home to bed.

There was now no doubt in my mind he was lying. Time for some fun.

I breathed out slowly and looked at him.

Me: Wow, this is a really serious crime that’s taken place here. First off, are you okay? Are you in shock?

Cage fighter: Er, no I think I’m fine.

Me: That’s very good. To be honest you’re lucky that you’re not in hospital.

Cage fighter: …

Me: Or dead.

I let this sink in.

Me: Okay if you follow me sir I’ll show you to a secure witness room.

I then went round and got him from the public area and took him through to our witness rooms. [Bland rooms with a table and some chairs in them. Nothing else. Some may say they’re oppressive.]

Cage fighter man is now looking a bit concerned as to what his lies are leading him into.

Me: Right, are you okay. You could be suffering from shock.

Cage fighter: Oh, erm

Me: Good. What I’m going to do now is go and get our specialist CID Robbery Squad people to come down and go through it with you again. This might be a bit traumatic for you, so be prepared.

Cage fighter: Erm.

Me: What they will do is take a statement from you n depth which will take a few hours. They will then gather some people together for an ID parade. Next step is for you to point out the suspects and then you’ll have to go to court.

Cage fighter: …

Me: Okay, I’ll be back in 10 minutes. Sit tight.

I then left the room closed the door and went and looked at some emails at a terminal which is right next to the room I just put him in. I looked at some emails and started playing Elf Bowling.

10 minutes passed and then I heard the door open and a meek voice say

Cage fighter: Excuse me officer.

Me: Yes sir?

Cage fighter: I’ve been thinking and I’ve just realised that, erm, my insurance policy on the watch has actually expired. And I need to be at a meeting in a bit. So I’ve decided to not report it.

Me: Really?

Cage fighter: Yeah.

He is now visibly sweating.

Me: But sir, you’ve been the victim of a very nasty crime, what if they do it again.

Cage fighter: Okay, thanks, bye now.

Virtually running for the door at this point.

Me: {shouting} THEY COULD KILL NEXT TIME!

The rest of my day was much better after this. Fucking prick.

All words by G.

Jon and I first met on the millennium New Years Eve. He was hosting a party at his parent’s house as they had stupidly left him on his own. Jon didn’t seem to care much about anything that went on that night. He passed out at about 8 o’clock in the evening. When he came round he wandered through the house and opened the door to his dining room to find me boning some girl on the floor. I gave him the thumbs up and pumped away. We have been firm friends since then.

Fast forward about 4 years and I was living in London. Jon was living just down the road in Reading. Or Bracknell. Or some shitty little town around that area. One weekday night (why these things always happen on week nights I don’t know) Jon came to London. Jon and I were gonna go fucking mental up town. Jon drove his heap of shit car to my flat and we set about drinking. Before long it was decided that we should head into town.

After a brief stop off at the obligatory World’s End pub for a few, we found ourselves in Covent Garden. A stupidly expensive ponce’s playground. We mooched around a few bars talking to girls and necking shots, but found that the Wednesday night drinking crowd wasn’t really that exciting; in fact they were a bunch of boring foreign cunts for the most part. We were more than a bit steamed and wondering what the night was gonna through at us.

We were walking around the market at the very heart of Covent Garden when we were approached by a very hot girl handing out flyers. My normal, sober response to this girl would’ve been either a blanking or “Fuck off”. But a combination of her being hot and me being both pissed and horny led to me striking up a conversation with her. Her name was Anna and she was from Poland.

Jon: Are you an illegal immigrant then?

Jon wasn’t being rude. He was just honestly interested.

[A quick story which highlights how priceless Jon is. After a particularly heavy night out in Bristol, Jon and I were heading back to Hepper Brother 2's and (d)Runk’s flat. We had quickly lost everyone else in a heavy night of drinking which had started with the police being called. We were hungry and just before the flat there was a kebab shop. We needed no more invitation. Whilst waiting for our food, we, as per usual, struck up a conversation with the man behind the counter who wasn't English. A game of "Guess where the Kebaby man comes from" soon started and I think we ended up going right around the Med and most of the Middle East before we found out that he was from Iraq. Jon looked at the Iraqi Kebaby man with interest.

Jon: So you're from Iraq then?

Iraqi Kebaby Man: [Smiling a lot] Yes sir, I am.

Jon: So, did you enjoy the war then?

Brilliant. The Kebaby Man just stood there, probably thinking that he had translated wrong. Jon just stood there waiting for an answer. I love this man.]

Anyway, back to the main story. Anna didn’t understand what Jon was saying but kept smiling and looking hot. I asked her what she had flyers for and she went into a pre-rehearsed spiel about a local club that was open until 2 in the morning and that if you took a flyer from her then you could get in for a quid. This wasn’t enough for us two though. I enquired whether she had any other flyers that got us in free and got us free drinks. She did but she only had 3 left and one was for her friend who was coming to meet her in the next hour. Perfect.

After convincing her that she should give us two of the flyers and meet us with her friend after she finished for some drinks, we found ourselves sat in some underground club in Covent Garden drinking free alcohol and laughing at our luck that not only had we got free entry and drinks to a club, but we were also going to be joined by one confirmed hottie and a second possible. And on a Wednesday. I quickly decided that Anna was mine. My thinking was that I wanted to go for the definite hottie. Sure, the friend could’ve been a Page 3 Stunna, but could quite easily have been a pig as well. I was happy playing the short game. Jon couldn’t give a fuck what he ended up with to be honest. He’s a fucking animal. As are most of the girls he’s been with.

Before too long I saw Anna enter the club and spot me and give me a wave. Her friend followed and was a hottie as well. Anna introduced us to Magda and Jon seemed happy that he wasn’t going to be pulling yet another JonPig. Game on.

More drinking ensued and before we knew it the club was closing. Neither Jon nor I wanted the night to end there as we thought that we were getting on rather well with the Poles. I enquired as to whether the girls wanted to go drinking somewhere else and was pleased where they both enthusiastically said yes.

We wandered out of the club and around the streets of the West End. Anna then produced a small bottle from her pocket and took a sniff from it and then gave it to Magda who did the same. Anna then offered it to me, “Want some” she said in that all too cute accent. I enquired as to what it was and she informed that it was a bottle of poppers. I had never done poppers before but thought fuck it and took a big lungful with each nostril and then gave it to Jon who did the same.

WRONG!

My head started going twatty almost straight away and it wasn’t long before I was laughing my tits off. Somehow we ended up in a bar at the bottom of Centre Point on Tottenham Court Road. Fuck knows how we got past the security at that place. All of the people drinking there where in suits and seemed to be at some sort of party, whereas the four of us looked exactly what we were, four pissed, high cunts. This place soon kicked out and we came to a crossroads in the night. Jon and I had a number of options. Firstly we could go back to mine, I did, after all, have to be at work at 7 the following morning. Secondly we could try to convince the girls to come back to mine as well, but we didn’t consider this option until it was too late. Thirdly we could find a late night drinking hole and go form there. Only problem with this was that the four of us were almost broke. So we choose option four. Go back with the girls to their flat. This was fine as Anna said that they just lived down the road.

We got on the bus and started having some grown up fun.

More drinking, sniffing and 45 minutes later we were still on the bus. I know night buses aint quick, but fuck. I asked Anna where she lived.

“Oh, in Leytonstone”

FUCKING LEYTONSTONE? That was by no stretch of the imagination near to the West End. It was fucking miles. Oh well, in for a penny.

Night buses aren’t the most quiet of places but this top deck seemed to inhabit some right lairy cunts. One of whom, was being very vocal about how brilliant Scotland was.

“Well why don’t you fuck off back there then you cunt?” asked Jon in his best Come-and-have-a-go voice.

“What the fuck did you say pal?” enquired Jock.

“I said, you deaf Scottish cunt, that if Scotland is so good, why the fuck are you living here? Are you fucking stupid?” He had a point. I was mildly concerned. Not by the Scottish cunt, but about whether the Poles would take offence to Jon getting all agro. I needn’t have worried. Anna chipped in with “Yeah, you cunt!” Special.

Jock got up and wandered over to Jon and asked him to repeat what he had said if he was a real man. Jon then stood up. Jock wasn’t a small man but he did visibly pale when Jon didn’t manage to get to his full height of 6’ 8” because of the low roof of the bus.

Jock just stood there opened mouthed. Luckily a stand off didn’t ensue as Anna squealed that we had arrived at her stop.

We all bundled off the bus and after more deep snorts, went into the local 24 hour shop to buy some vodka. We only had enough for 2 litres of Muscovite Vladiski shit, but judging by the way that Anna and Magda were necking it neat, it seemed to do the job.

We wandered through some shitty council high rise estate, blatantly drunk and laughing our tits off. How we didn’t get mugged, raped or murdered I don’t know.

I remember phoning Big Will to enquire whether it was normal for your arsehole to twitch like it had Parkinson’s when you took poppers. He laughed and said that yes it was. He enquired if me and Jon had been pulled by some gays as that’s what they used. I said I didn’t think so but I’d keep him informed.

“I live here!” exclaimed Anna a little too proudly. We had arrived at the bottom of a huge block of flats which might as well have been called Poorcuntsandnofuture House. I guess Poland must be really shit then.

We climbed into the lift and pushed the button for the 17^th floor. We then got back out as it didn’t work.

Knackered we arrived at their floor and went into their flat. I wasn’t expecting Anna and Magda to live alone in this 2 bedroom flat but I really wasn’t expecting there to be about 15 people living there. With their mates.

Me and Jon sat down and I began to wonder how the fuck we had ended up in a Polish squat half way up a tower block in East London at 4 in the morning, pissed and on drugs.

Anyway, we all drank vodka and said nothing as everyone was Polish and jabbering away and most didn’t speak English. I became more concerned when I saw two of the males in the room playing with knives and laughing then pointing to me and Jon. Bugger.

My mind was distracted from this though as Anna grabbed me and lead me off to the privacy of the sofa, whilst Magda took Jon to the bedroom. Jon shouted “There’s 4 more in here!” before the door slammed. He could’ve been about to be killed. I didn’t really care though as Anna had my dick firmly in her mouth.

Some time passed, I don’t know how much as I had lost all sense of reality, and then I received a text from Jon asking me what the fuck was going on. I shouted that I didn’t know. I then saw that most of the boys in the room were watching me and Anna getting busy. This most defiantly did not turn on.

I stood up, pulled my pants up, took a swig of vodka then burst into the bedroom where Jon was getting filthy.

“Jon we’re going!”

“What, I haven’t come yet”

”Fuck that, I don’t want to die here”

“Oh for fucks sake okay”

He got up, also took a swig of vodka then we left making our excuses.

We eventually got back to the luxury of Belsize Park around 6 in the morning where Jon proceeded to get in his car; almost crash whilst leaving the street and then drive back to Reading.

I had a bath and went to work. From which I was promptly sent home from half an hour later as I was “blatantly still drunk.”

I received a text from Anna [yes I am that stupid] a few weeks later saying that she was going back to Poland and she was sad that we hadn’t seen each other again and that she wanted to stay in the country [but I’m not that stupid].

All words by G.

There was no set plan for the holiday, we were to turn up on Saturday, start drinking and would then see what would happen, with more friends due down the following weekend. Everyone was looking forward to meeting up on what turned out to be Cornwalls “Run To The Sun” weekend, the busiest weekend of the year for this part of the country.

The “no set plan” was running smoothly and by the first Monday we still hadn’t left home. This was mainly due to the fact that (d)Runk who was to be our driver for the trip but was fairly nervous as he hadn’t really had a chance to test out his new (when I say new I mean at least 25 years old) Beetle that he had bought. It turns out that he had every right to be nervous, a few days after our return a mechanic giving the car a once over gave a less than settling smirk along with a shake of the head. (d)Runks main issue with the car was starting it, specifically the fact that it didn’t. (I don’t drive myself, however I am told that this can be a fairly major issue!) So the first weekend of our summer holiday was spent watching (d)Runk tinkering with his Mechanno car.

Monday afternoon arrived and so did a new alternator for the Beetle. Hurrah we were now just a few (eight) hours from our destination. The journey from our start point, just outside Bath, to Cornwall should never take more than about three and a half hours, even in a Beetle who’s top speed was about 50 mph. There were no scheduled stops on the journey and all we really wanted to do was just to get there and get our holiday started (holiday meaning drinking). In the run up to the trip we had come to an agreement that none of us would drink until we reached Cornwall as this would be unfair on the driver. Neither myself or Joe have any sort of “telepathic” powers, but we both seemed to sense that this agreement was never going to be respected. I’m fairly sure (d)Runk knew this rule was going to be broken but the speed at which it happened seemed to upset him.

We arrived at Joe’s house and for the first time in his life he was ready, apparently he had been ready since Saturday morning mainly due to the fact that neother myself or (d)Runk had bothered to tell him about the delay (ha ha). As soon as we were on our way the beers came out. (d)Runk turned to see what was going on and smiled, it wasn’t a happy smile, it was the type of smile that suggested he was thinking something along the line of “cunts”. It wasn’t however the type of smile that was going to deter me or Joe from kick starting our holiday.

The beers were flowing nicely and as always, when beer flows nicely so does the urine. This resulted in the need to take a piss every 20 minutes, not that this was a problem as we were stopping each and every time paranoid (d)Runk heard a suspicious bump or knock coming from his beloved Beetle. Anyone who has ever been in a Beetle will know that it sounds similar to a lawn mower and to (d)Runk every sound seemed to be a cause for concern. The journey seemed never ending. Indeed it took us an hour and a half to get to Bridgewater which should have taken half that time. (d)Runk announced that the car was about to overheat and we would need to wait at least half an hour before we could move on. Joe and myself were fairly dis-heartened by this announcement, we were nearly out of beer and after a brief recon mission to Bridgewater services we discovered a distinct lack of alcoholic drinks, with the chances of (d)Runk driving to find us more fairly remote, especially given the fact the we were here for what seemed to be ”fucking ages”.

Eventually we were on the road again, spirits were high, there was no/not much stopping us now. We had been informed that the weather for the first part of our week was going to be uninterrupted sunshine. Everyone was smiling. After roughly five minutes it started to rain. It wasn’t heavy and didn’t even warrant windscreen wipers. Five more minutes and the wipers were on. After about ten minutes the wipers were switched off, not because it had stopped raining but because they were proving useless against the monsoon we were in the middle of. The car was leaking and I was getting wet. The amount of rain was ridiculous although it didn’t really bother us too much as there was no way the weather was going to hold us up, that task would be left to our paranoid driver and his two incontinent passengers.

A further 5 hours of this retarded stop start voyage and we were nearing our destination. A quick phone call to Hepper brother No.1 was made to determine directions.  This proved pointless as it turned out that he and John were battered/shit faced/bored of waiting for us to turn up. After a brief argument and the Hepper brothers informing each other that in fact they were the twat, it was decided the best idea would be to meet up in Truto City centre. Truro City isn’t what you call a big city centre and it wasn’t hard for us to find our two hosts for the evening, especially as they were in the middle of the main road running through Truro, trousers around ankles bent over slapping their arses. We were in for a classy evening.

 I can’t remember the car being parked but I do remember being in the most exclusive (only) club in the less than sprawling metropolis of Truro, where our driver (d)Runk, trying to play catch up with myself and Joe, decided it was a good idea to order three Tequilla Vodka and Redbulls and down them one after the other. This didn’t result in catching me or Joe up, but he did manage to see the £12 he had spent on the drinks re-appearing in puke format shortly afterwards.

The night continued after the club back at Hepper brother number 1′s house, drinking well into the morning while discussing the many gentleman’s art (porn) magazines that were lying around.

The next morning/afternoon we awoke and went in search of breakfast. It was decided that the best and cheapest option was going to be Littlewoods who operated an 8 item breakfast for around £2.50. It was the type of place where you grab a plate and a tray and a waiter behind the counter is ready to dish out whatever 8 items that you fancied. As it turned out I would have quite happily paid the £2.50 cover fee just to see “Chris” the breakfast waiter in action. This dude was something else. I’m not sure, if under equal opportunities legislation big companies such as Littlewoods have to employ a certain percentage of retards and other members of the community who have learning difficulties, but I’m sure if they did then Chris filled the “Div” quoter for this companies entire South-West operation. At first glance you wouldn’t have suspected there was anything wrong with Chris, but only a retard could have given so much effort and enthusiasm over an egg. Chris would give a running commentary and plenty of encouragement over your whole breakfast decision process.  If your first choice was a sausage Chris would commend you on your selection whilst informing you of the number of choices that you had remaining, “Excellent choice sir, well done, seven items left sir, that’s seven items left.” “May I recommend the tomatoes as your next item?”  At several points I found myself laughing directly in Chris’ face. He didn’t seem surprised by this, probably because he was all too used to it.

 Directly after breakfast we went to the supermarket to buy a crate of beer for to see us through to the evening. As I mentioned previously Truro isn’t the biggest of cities and so at night we were often forced into places simply because they were the only venues open to get a late drink. These sort of places were frequented by the usual type of people you would expect to see out on a Tuesday night in a small town. They step out of their house thinking they is no way they are unable to pull, and even if there was the slightest chance that their charisma wasn’t good enough to sway the opposite sex then their new Lonsdale or Donnay garment would surely do the trick. Yes that’s right these were townie cunts. Everyday would follow this pattern of hangover cured by breakfast serving special needs bloke, followed by crate of beer followed by Townie hangout, I was loving it, it was everything I expected the holiday to bewith the added bonus of being  served breakfast by a retard each morning.

When the following Satrurday finally arrived we were all feeling totally knackered. We knew that this was to be the last night so we all found the energy from somewhere to continue. Saturday was blazing hot so we all headed to the beach. I decided to invest all money into more beer and proceeded to drink it all day in the scorching heat, this meant that I was totally drunk, dehydrated and sun stroked IN THE FACE! By the time Saturday evening had arrived I was having difficulty standing. We headed to Newquay. (d)Runk, Joe and myself caught a lift with Big Will in his Big Maverick truck with even Bigger sound system. It was only about a twenty minute journey from our base in Truro but we decided to get something to eat and of course, a few more beers, on the way. As we got into Newquay the excitement was growing.  The place was packed, inside the truck it was nothing but party tunes (nothing but straight up club bangers, if you’re Tim Westwood.) Heads turned as we passed and then it came time for us to get out of the truck and into the partying town.  Myself and (d)Runk jumped out of the truck with everyone was looking at us, we were the centre of attention. Back in the truck Eddie Van Halen had just started his guitar solo on Michael Jacksons Beat It. We were walking like we had one leg longer than the other, pimps without the outfits (or the girls.) Joe on the other hand wasn’t looking so cool. What neither me or (d)Runk had realised was that our “something to eat” and a few more beers had made a mess, we also didn’t hear Will say, “Get that shit out of my truck,” before we jumped out. Joe did, and was now stumbling down the road dropping Stella cans and fish and chip wrappers behind two wanna be pimps as he went looking like a tramp, or a twat.

I thought about my situation then decided the best way to proceed would be to continue drinking, just deal with it and have a good time. (d)Runk, Joe and the others seemed to be enjoying themselves so there was no reason why I shouldn’t.  We went to a few bars drank plenty more and in the end decided to go one of the busiest nightclubs in town called Bertie’s. The club was attached to a hotel, I’m not certain if the club was part of the hotel but it seemed to be. It was taking all my concentration to walk in a straight line and I was worried that I wouldn’t get passed the bouncers at the door. (d)Runk and Joe were in front of me in the line, as soon as they got to the bouncers (d)Runk got searched and during the pat down mentioned something along the lines of “oooohhhh I like that shit, chubby” The bouncer (being a bouncer) wasn’t the smartest, turned to his bouncer mate to make sure that (d)Runk was actually taking the piss and as soon as this was verified then informed them both to “Fuck off”. “Fuck You, I’m going in” came (d)Runk’s response. They then got taken to aside to continue the argument.  I had found the whole thing hilarious and by (d)Runk acting up I was able to get past the bouncers without any problem.

Apparently the argument outside between the bouncers and (d)Runk continued for some time and when the bouncer finally had enough, he told them to either “fuck off” or he was going to “beat the shit out of them!” (d)Runk then told the bouncer that “You can’t touch us, there’s nothing you can do” and at this point Joe stepped in and told (d)Runk that although “technically” the bouncer couldn’t touch them, he probably was going to because he looked really pissed off (even for a bouncer).

 Now as most people would think, (d)Runk and Joe weren’t faced with much choice, I mean, what were they supposed to do? It’s not as if they were going to run around to the back of the hotel, pull up a big wheelie bin skip, jump on top of the big wheelie bin skip, pull themselves up on the the fire escape, run to the top of the fire escape, edge across a window ledge about five inches wide, five foot long, five stories high, climb into the adjoining hotel’s grand dining room, creep around aformentioned hotel’s grand dining room trying not to get caught, have all the lights in the grand dining room come on and getting caught, explain to the hotels security that they were “lost” and “we were just in the club”, be told that “there’s no way you could have got in here from the club”, and get escorted into the club by the hotel security and told to behave and stay in the club for the rest of the night? As it turns out (d)Runk and Joe aren’t most people and this is exactly what happened.

When I saw them in the club and they told me about their spectacular entrance I didn’t disbelieve them for a second. I instead said something along the lines of “cool, who’s buying me a drink then?” I can’t remember anything about the rest of the night apart from tipping a drink over some girl who was annoying me and getting picked up in Will’s car, Hepper brother number 1. shutting my head in the car window and shouting “I’m not Drunk” all the way home.

The Holiday was a success! We had achieved everything we had set out to do and more. Upon returning to Cornwall some years later, myself and (d)Runk got talking to some people in a club in Falmouth, we were trading drunk stories trying to impress each other, when one of the people that we were speaking with suddenly mentioned “It’s probably bollocks, but I did hear of this story once where a couple of guys got refused entry and actually climbed into a club somehow in Newquay!” “That was me” said (d)Runk and after recounting the story he didn’t have to buy a drink for the rest of the night.

I can guarantee you that in every single work training session that involves some kind of condescending “brainstorm” exercise, these words will have been said and they are the reason work training is so pointless, the words are “There Are No Wrong Answers”, so in other words then, the polar fucking opposite of whenever a girl asks you a question. What a load of shit, if there’s no wrong answer then its not a question worth asking.

The training sessions themselves are always for the most absurd topics and situations; “Today we are going to learn the correct manner in which to lift a box”, yeah great, I can’t tell you the amount of box lifting problems I’ve come up against in the last 27 years

Another sentence that will always get a mention is:

“You will only get out what you put in”. Here we have another pile of shit. Next time someone says this take a look around and you will see a group of people ready to get fuck all out of the training sessions that they are attending. Work training sucks so badly that you would rather be doing the job that you usually spend the whole day trying your best to get out of.

The worst training sessions are the ones where nobody knows each other and the prick of a trainer always thinks its a good idea to “Get to know everyone a little bit.” You will then be subjected to a question along the lines of “Why don’t you tell us all something interesting about yourself?” Dear oh dear, given the fact that there are no wrong answers I’m not even going to say what usually flashes through my mind at this point.

The one skill I have acquired from all this training is that I can now successfully get into a small group and nominate someone to write down shitty ideas on flip chart paper and another to present it to the rest of the group, a technique that comes in so very handy in my everyday life.

 All words by K

All words by K

After much sitting around in the canteen, it was decided that coppers should be posted to the schools at home time, just to let the little shits know that although alot of police were in central london, they couldn’t go around causing mayhem as we were still on duty around here.

I was posted with a colleague to Highbury Grove School and hung around for 2 hours whilst pupils, teachers and parents quizzed me about what was going on. Fun. Later that day I was posted to Old Street Tuve station to guard that. That day kicked off two months of a ridiculous amount of overtime and much fun was had by me and my mates.

Fast forward a year. I was scheduled to close Upper Street for a two minute national silence to comemorate those that had died in the attacks. I again was not meant to be on the streets but me, along with most of my team, had been drafted in to help.

I was crewed on a response vehicle and started the morning off with a fight. Some bloke who was a bit radio and had beaten the shit out of his wife. Turned on us. Whoops for him.

Later that morning a call came out over the radio that a pupil was beating up a teacher at a school. Guess where? Yup, Highbury Grove. We smacked on the blues and twos and blatted our way to the call. As we got there the driver, Brett, thought that the entrance to the school was along a different road than it actually was, causing us to overshoot the turning to the school. He slammed it in reverse and promptly rammed an Audi TT driving forwards. BANG!!!

At first I thought I was okay. Then I got out of the car and immedeatly felt dizzy and sick. I then sat down and my neck started to hurt.

20 minutes later I was in the Whittington Hospital strapped down to a bed, my head in a stiff brace and foam blocks on either side of my head. Dave, a colleague had come to the hospital with me and tried to reassure me by pretending to hit me in the nuts. He mis-judged it and actually smacked me in the nuts. My day was going well.

A short time later the nurse was re-strapping me down with some powerful tape. She went to tear it with a lot of force but her hand slipped and the tape dispenser smacked me in my eye. I was now looking to sue for bad driving, police brutality and medical negligence.

I was then x-rayed about 15 times and then wheeled back to A&E. I thought this sort of thing only happened in films, but they didn’t realise that a the double doors weren’t open, so promptly opened them with my head! I felt like i was in an episode of fawlty towers.

I was then left to lay there for 2 hours, having nothing to look at except the ceiling, as they discussed whether I had broken my back or neck and should I be having a CT scan. I was pondering entering wheelchair tennis. The ball’s allowed to bounce twice you know?

They came to a descision and it was to x-ray me. WHAT?! I politley informed them that I had, had x rays already. “Oh!” they said, “Are you sure?” Erm, I think so. I was now thinking that I had head injuries and amensia.

After they realsied that I had already had my dose of radiation for the next 5 years they decided to physically check my spin. Four nurses, all male, all brutal, slowly stripped me and turned me on my side. Not what I had in mind for my nursey fantasy. The doc then felt my spine. All was good. He wasn’t finished…

Gloves on. Lube out. WHAT THE FUCK! It was to check that the base of my spine was okay. mummy.

I thought my day was bad enough. Fight with a mental, car crash, smacked in the bollocks, smacked in the eye, head smacked into a door. And now, finally, I had been fingered by a doctor.

I finally got discharged about 6 hours after being admitted and got told to go home and rest.

Good day.

If a call comes out next year on 7/7 that involves Highbury Grove school, I might think twice about it.

All words by G.