Cars! Living Rooms! Panic! Destruction!
I was responsible for the destruction of an old lady's living room and front wall.

It wasn't really a conscious piece of vandalism, but the resulting destruction is probably worth mentioning.

I was 15, had moved away from my hometown and was visiting my friend, Ashley. We'd gone into town and bumped into another mate of mine, Steve. Steve's parents were away but had left their credit card so, thus armed, we went and bought 200 fags and a load of Becks, which we drank.

We were a bit pissed by now, and our little gathering was getting louder and more obnoxious. Someone was talking about getting some draw, and a decision was made to purchase some. This was facilitated by the unexpected arrival of a young man called Yorkie.

Yorkie was a 19 year old jobless wonder. Basically a drain on society, plainly headed to jail. All in all, he was a shitbag. Unfortunately, he could get drugs, we were 15, a bit pissed, easily impressed by the wrong things, and our judgement was plainly out the window.

A plan was hatched; we would borrow Steve's Mum's car, drive the half mile needed to score, and then come back and get stoned. Needless to say, things turned out a little differently. We took our positions in the car, and Yorkie got into the drivers seat. Things started badly when he couldn't find reverse gear.

We unfolded ourselves from the car and rolled it backwards onto the road. Warning bells should have been ringing at this point, but despite the unpromising start we started the engine and retook our positions within the vehicle.

It went pretty much as you'd expect if a bunch of half cut kids that couldn't drive got into a car. Yorkie lurched fowards, went round a corner too fast, over-compensated, swerved to avoid an oncoming BMW and then panicked. We were headed off the road and he hit the loud pedal by mistake. As the car accelarated wildly, a rush of adrenalin slowed events down to a crawl; flowers, branches and leaves flew around the vehicle, then, with an almighty crash, we hit the front of a house.

There was a brief hiatus, then I said the first sensible thing of the afternoon: "Fucking leg it!"

We all shot off in different directions, Ash and I, at my instruction, getting the fuck off the road and into a shop. We browsed in comfort as police cars and fire engines roared past. Steve, Laney and Yorkie ran for the sanctuary of home. Not bright really, considering the car was registered there. The Old Bill duly turned up and arrested Steve, after a brief fight. They found Yorkie in the attic, hiding amongst the pipes. Once extricated from the plumbing, he joined the others in the paddy wagon.

Ash and I were away scot free. Until, under the gentlest of interrogation, Laney grassed us up.

It all ended pretty well in the end; despite accruing a fair few charges I got off with a caution (on the condition I didn't get caught nicking any more cars).

And that, briefly, is the story of how I was responsible for the destruction of a 2 year old car, a garden, and the front of a house.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Thu 7 Oct 2010, 13:29, 3 replies)

Like, really isn't the word.
But it was a cracking read and I could feel an 'oh shit' moment arriving! :)
( Evil Bastardo, Thu 7 Oct 2010, 15:23, closed)

and did you learn your lesson?
I.e. punch Laney's head in for grassing you up?
(Kip, Fri 8 Oct 2010, 13:15, closed)

I think it is enough to say we are no longer friendly.
Honestly, the police had no idea who Ash and I were; Yorkie didn't know us, Steve said we were Yorkie's friends, but Laney immediately said who we were, so that we didn't get away with it when he got caught.

The shitbag.

Mind you, we shouldn't have done it so it's hard to complain about getting nicked. Although being grassed (under no pressure, and without being prompted) by a supposed friend was a bit lame. I'd have kept shtum (and have; I always went no comment when asked about accomplices).
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Fri 8 Oct 2010, 13:51, closed)