Watersports with the kids
My arse was palpitating like a humingbird with a heart condition at an Iron Maiden gig that’d just necked a load of viagra and was also suffering from a stress related ilness caused by an unusually nervous disposition brought on by the effects of live heavy metal music when the police officer enquired: “Haven’t I seen you before?”

I said, nervously: “Hah, no, officer. Never...”

My girlfriend and I had collered the copper near where we live to show him the delightful cock and balls grafitti some little shitrag had put up overnight. My girlfriend wasn’t best pleased and wanted to alert the authorities, going off on one in her typical gobby Cardiff way. I hid behind her (hard to do when she is almost technically a midget), and tried to look like someone else. I had seen the copper before. And it was while I was doing something incredibly childish. So childish it could’ve landed me infront of a judge and left me with a hefty fine, or possibly a short stint at Her Majesty’s pleasure.

Lets go back to the start – I have a little mate named Sam who gets the same bus as me in the morning. He’s eight. I’m thirty-four. But we seem to have alot in common. The first time I saw Sam (imagine an eight year old Maurice Moss out of The IT Crowd), he said: “Awight.” I looked round, standing in my zombie-going-to-work-mode, waiting for the big red bus to take me to the dreaded hellpit also known as my office. I didn’t see anyone, I was half asleep. Then I looked down. It was Sam, stood next to me, grinning, adjusting his wonky glasses. “Nice weather, innit?”

And that’s how I struck up a friendship with Sam – we’d have a little chat every morning for a few minutes while we waited for our bus. He’d tell me what he was going to do at school that day, I’d try and radiate a I’m-not-trying-to-fuck-this-kid aura to the others waiting at the stop while I chatted with the little tyke. He asked me what I did for a living. I told him I was a secret agent, like James Bond, and if I told him anymore than this I’d have to kill him. The little cunt didn’t believe me. He asked me where I was from. I said I was raised by sheep on a hillside in Outer Mongolia. He didn’t believe this either. And this is how I’d wake up every morning, talking to one of my peers – an eight year old boy with quite possibly the worst hair in the history of the world.

Then, at the end of July, Sam wasn’t at the stop anymore. He was on school holidays. I’d wait alone, drooling, trying to keep upright, waiting for the sodding bus. Then during the hot spell we had in London in the first week in August I had a particularly tricky client to deal with – I had to get suited and booted in my best expensive clobber. Posh suit, posh shirt, gleaming shoes, the fucking works. Took me ages to get ready that morning. And as I left my flat and walked towards the bus stop I saw Sam with the 2009 equivalent of the Red Hand Gang; his mates, in civvy cloths. No school uniforms today. And they were tooled up. When Sam saw me he grinned his big shit eating grin, screamed: “Gettim !!!” And he and his mates took aim and fired.

And drenched me to the fucking skin with their high powered super soaker water pistols (these things were fucking HUGE, bigger than my cock, infact).

The... Little... Fucking... BASTARD !!!

Had to go back home, do some frantic Olympic-speed ironing, change my cloths, and rush to fucking work. Could really have done without the hassle.

Then that weekend I spied Sam and his mates hanging round the primary school near where I live. There’s a big wall there where the kids can bounce tennis balls, play footie, and generally arse about away from the prying eyes of would-be kiddie-fiddlers and overbearing parents. REVENGE !!! I went into my flat, filled up the washing up bowl with water, said to my girlfriend: “Just gotta do something, will only be a few minutes.” And then I went outside armed with the water-fighting equivalent of a nuclear-fucking-weapon. I walked the few dozen paces to the school. I could hear Sam and his mates round the corner, chatting. Ooooh, this was FUCKING PERFECT !!! Super-sneak attack mode engaged, I padded quietly closer, hugging the wall, trying my best to stop the water in the bowl sploshing about. After a few agonising seconds I reached the corner, my back against the wall. I could hear Sam and his little gang just round the corner, could just make out their voices.

Then, cat-like, I sprung: “AAAVVVVEEEE IIIITTTTTT !!!”

SSSSS – PPPPPP – LLLLLLL – OOOOO – SSSSSSS - HHHHHH !!!

Then I looked up – revenge, ahh sweet revenge – and saw...

... the back of the local beat copper, sopping wet from head to toe, water pouring down his neck and into his shirt, his tittacular helmet all askew. And Sam and his grubby little mates just on the other side of him, perfectly fucking dry, staring at me wide eyed. The copper turned, saw me, saw my empty bowl. And – being the reasonable, responsible adult that I am, I ran like the fucking wind.

Go back to a couple of weeks ago, the local community copper asks me again: “You sure I don’t know you?”

“Absolutely not, officer.”

Sam’s very pleased with me now. His little gang’s always getting hassled by this plod, apparently. I think Sam may actually believe I have secret services training now, the way I managed to disappear like Bat-fucking-man in a split second on that fateful hot August Saturday...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 10:43, 6 replies)

heeheehee
thats just lovely
(Spazzy, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:39, closed)

Bloody 'ell
imagine having spanky to look up to? poor kid, gonna turn out a bit warped me thinks! funny post and click for you!
(Jelly God, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:43, closed)

That was fantastic..
My MD just clocked me shuddering in (near)silent, ok slightly wheezey mirth at my desk.. gave me a funny look, but it was worth it.

Applauds and clicks.
(AndyC4m Eject Eject [><], Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:43, closed)

YOU
are going to get me fired! Just had to pretend i was choking on my tea you git!
(Lucy Fur, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 11:45, closed)

In a way
I sort of hate Spanky, I mean each story fills me with glee but then we get to the end and realise whos done it and all hope of it being true vanishes and I feel deflated.

You still get a click for being marvelous.
(Eoghan, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 17:07, closed)

Aw...
Bless!
(TheProfessor For all your redbearded intellectual needs, Tue 22 Sep 2009, 18:47, closed)