The Ipswich 2
My older brother is a chemistry fanatic, and in his youth used to make all sorts of explosives. He once managed to explosively remove all his facial hair while making nitroglycerin.

When i "came of age" he dutifully taught me how to make pipe bombs - a mixture of Sodium Chlorate weedkiller, charcoal and sulphur, packed down into a metal pipe. These were pretty explosive, and as i lived out in the country i used to go out and blow things up all the time. Consequently i had a fair stash of these bombs, along with lots of the ingredients for making them.

At this time, my brother was staying in a hostel, and decided to relive the days of his youth by making a few bombs himself. Enthusiastic as ever, he told one of the hostel workers what he was doing, obviously imagining that she would share his fascination with all things explosive. She promptly went to the police, who sectioned off the whole street that the hostel was on, and came in force to liberate the bombs from my rather surprised brother.

Eventually they were persuaded that he wasn't an international terrorist, and asked him if there were any other bombs. He said he had a few ingredients at my parents house (where i was living - i was only 14) in the shed.

So one sunny morning, i was hanging out of my bedroom window, smoking a doob when three police cars and a bomb squad van pull up in front of me. Hastily disposing of the smokage and stashing my bomb ingredients, i rather shakily answered the door (my folks were both out). The bomb squad searched the shed (defusing suits and all) and found nothing. The police had a nosey round our house, with me shitting it about the bomb stash.
Thanks be to the gods, they found nothing, but i'd have to say it's the most traumatic post-spliff experience i've had.
( 100% Cock Raw like carrots., Thu 8 Jan 2004, 11:30, Reply)