routine arrest
At the age of about fifteen, I first started going out of an evening. That is to say, I didn't spent my Friday and Saturday nights in with my parents watching films anymore and then going upstairs to masturbate myself into oblivion. I started to go out with mates and hang around places like the Aldi car park, an old ornamental fountain in the town centre and the aqueduct round the back of the leisure centre. A few of my mates were the "artistic" type, insofar as they would get older kids to buy them spraypaint cans from Wikinsons and then stir up some shit by vandalising the fuck out of any wall or surface available.

Me, being the nervous type, didn't spraypaint much. I would only do it if I was certain no-one was around and had at least two mates on watch for me. Sometimes we'd go out late at night at about 1am to desecrate things like church halls and the like.

When we ran out of spraypaint, we'd turn to permanent markers to daub any obscene shit on the fountain where we lazily sat for hours. Foolish and young as we were, we'd write our names and the music we liked and all that stuff all over the place. This soon backfired on us.

A few weeks later, I walked home from school to find my mother standing angrily in the hallway.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"Where do you think I've been?" I asked, still clad in school uniform, "Africa or something?"

"Don't be clever with me, the police have been here, you've got to go to the station and get arrested tonight for vandalism."

Bollocks. My heart sank so far that I'm sure it fell out my arse and went to cower in the garden. My father came home, hurled his briefcase across the room and proceeded to give me the biggest bollocking of my life. When he'd calmed down, he accompanied me to the station to get formally arrested.

In the Sergeant's office, I was told to stand behind a white line and answer some questions. Nothing heavy at the moment, just name, age, address. Since the name of the street where I lived is a bit of a tricky name to spell, I leaned over the line and put my elbows on the Sergeant's desk.

"DON'T LEAN ON THAT!" shouted the witness officer, which I acknowledged by standing bolt upright behind the line. "It's just that.." the officer said, now in a cool smooth tone ".... people with hepatitis have leaned on that."

I was escorted to the interview room, with my father as I was under the legal age to be interviewed alone. My father, his attitude turned now from furious parent to concerned protector, was told to shut up in the interview, something he had terrible trouble with. The interview consisted mainly of the police trying to get me to grass on my friends, and to confirm exactly which graffiti I'd produced. One of my works of art was written in permanent marker over a victorian landmark (I am not proud of this) which read "Wash This Off Pig Fuckers". It was worth it though, just to hear this policeman read it out loud for the benefit of the interview tape. Oh, I almost forgot, the charges againsyt me (a fifteen year old boy, remember) were officially "Vandalism, Criminal Damage, and Conspiracy (because there were more than four of us)." It was part of a huge clean-up act the Police were doing around our area called "Operation Instanbul", which made it sound cool and as though drugs were involved somehow.

The interview concluded with the officer getting me to ensure him I wouldn't be vandalising anymore, and that I was going to go to university and settle down with my girlfriend and be a good citizen. I was released on bail and on my return to the police station I was released on the condition that I cleaned up some of the bigger, more offensive graffiti on road signs and pub walls. I didn't, but I never vandalised again, unless you count having a piss off a pier and smashing a toilet.
(Hernandez Fiendish probably won't be here until at least, say, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 9:55, 4 replies)

Vandalism is for attention whores.
"One of my works of art was written in permanent marker over a victorian landmark"

Twat.

"I was released on the condition that I cleaned up some of the bigger, more offensive graffiti on road signs and pub walls. I didn't..."

Why not?

"But I never vandalised again"

Good for you.
(Spaff_Quaffer Wise fwom your gwave., Fri 4 Jun 2010, 17:14, closed)

thanks for your input!
Honestly, and you may not believe me, I didn't think at that age that I would be typing this story up years later on an online board to be called a "twat". I'm not defending what I did, it's a story of an idiotic 15 year old who, like many other kids around the country, caused a nuisance and created some eyesores. I was scared shitless in the interview and I am happy to say it's been my only run-in with the law and for very silly reasons. I would never scrawl over public walls or anything now. I didn't clean up the graffiti because I didn't do it (the bigger, more offensive stuff), that was another part of our "clique" that I didn't know too well. The permanent marker (as everyone who has had a cock n' balls drawn on them with one in the past knows) washes off pretty easily, and it came off the landmark about a week later.

What I'm saying is that I was just a snotty bored teenager upto no good. Given that I know of many people my age who were in school with me in prison for GBH, murder and rape, I count myself lucky that I was given a scare by the police and only vandalised a little bit. It wasn't done for attention either, I think you're getting graffiti and self-harm confused.
(Hernandez Fiendish probably won't be here until at least, say, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 15:44, closed)

Pissing off a pier caused the toilet to smash?

( BrokenCoccyx doesn't mind if you grope on, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 18:33, closed)

well now
I pissed off the pier dor a dare at university, and smashed a toilet at a warehouse I worked by pushing the loading trolley too far in the wrong direction. Slightly less interesting stories, there.
(Hernandez Fiendish probably won't be here until at least, say, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 15:45, closed)