I grew up on a farm in the eighties
this meant that my parents bought almost everything on account cos we were skint, and because we were rural, a lot of local traders would visit us at the farm in their vans. As a result, us kids got to be friendly with a lot of adults. A particular favourite was the baker. He was a jolly bloke (hindsight tells me he was probably in his early twenties and probably the owner's son, but at the time he was an Adult with a capital A).
The baker would drive up, the dogs would go wild barking and he'd open the back of the van to show my mum his wares. Pretty soon he was lobbing the dogs a stale bun or two to shut them up, which of course only spurred them on. Now, at some point my brrther and I had a brainwave, and when the baker turned up next we lined up with the dogs and yelped and 'begged' for a bun. Fair play to him, he tossed us a currant bun, and we went away happy.
This became just another part of the weekly ritual, and a great wheeze for free food. Until the day the baker turned up and we acted up for our bun, only for the back door to open and reveal one of my primary school classmates in the back (turns out he was the baker's son).
The cheek-reddening shame of knowing our 'begging' would get spread around school was too much to bear, and even though it never became an issue, the fact that he knew made me cringe inside every time I saw him.
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Mon 7 Jun 2010, 17:21, Reply)