Dirty Harry & Dirty Harriet
I think my parents were trying to tell me something... It was a traumatic time, it felt like someone had jammed their hand in my mouth, reached down my throat, worked their way through my body cavity, and were tugging on my ball tubes, playing my testicles like a set of meracas.

I was going home.

The first year of uni had flashed passed in a drunken haze of Morrisons own-brand vodka, various seedy, smokey Manchester bars, and tits. And now here I was, on a train heading for Northampton station and the deary middle-England beyond I’d attempted all my life to escape. I’d never really had a great relationship with my parents. They were ok, but family stuff from years back meant things were, well, a little difficult. I was dreading losing my new-found fredom for a whole summer. But I had fuck all money and the rent was great, the rent was free. Then a thought occured to me. I recall my parents saying they’d moved house round February time – they hadn’t passed on their new address... I HAD NO FUCKING IDEA WHERE I LIVED ANYMORE!!!

Thankfully when I got to the station my old man, looking like some tripped-out veteran from Woodstock, turned up to meet me. This was way before mobile phones. Thankfully he hadn’t forgotten I was due back on the 4:40 train from Manc-land. We gathered up all my worldy possessions – a couple of bin bags stuffed full of various crap, and loaded it in the Talbot Horizon. Then we set off. Heading in a weird direction, going to my parents new house, my new home for the summer until I could escape back up to Manchester to start my second year of arsing about and learning how to be a grown-up. My dad drove me to the quaint little village of Harpole (quaint except for the regular dummy divebombings delivered by the Warthog fighter jets from the local American airbase – they’d fly so low you could almost see what the pilots had eaten for breakfast). Then we pulled into the driveway of a nice little semi. My mum met us at the door and said she’d show me my room. This was all very weird. And it got even weirder.

My mum led me through the house and into the garden, down a path to the end of the garden and: “There you are, Spanky. Home for a couple of months ‘til you go back up North.”

I couldn’t quite believe it: “Erm. Mum. Its a shed.”

My mum shook her head: “No, Spanky – its a summer house.”

“No, mum. Its a shed. Its a shed with curtains but its very much definately a shed. You want me to live in a shed?”

My mum explained that they didn’t need an extra bedroom anymore which is why they’d moved here. And, after a fair bit of negotiation, she finally admitted the tiny wooden structure at the end of her garden with the felt roof was very sheddy in appearance and useage... There was a reason for that:

IT’S BECAUSE IT WAS A FUCKING SHED, THAT’S FUCKING WHY !!!

Anyway, fuck it – it had a bed in it. The spiders were mostly small and the lawnmower didn’t take up too much room – so I moved into my wonderful shed and settled in. I had to get a job quick to save up some cash for when I went back to uni in September. I’m not a buddhist – I can’t live on fresh air and good feelings.

Over the next few days I secured a job (sweeping up blood in an abattoir), I didn’t start ‘til Monday so I had a nice long weekend to relax and unwind. And relax and unwind I did. With my old schoolmates, in our old local. And it was when I came home absolutely shitfaced after a particularly long relaxation and unwinding session that I experienced the neighbours for the first time up close. And my god they were fucking scary – made the good citizens in that Wickerman film seem like decent, normal, well-adjusted members of society. I’d seen a fair bit of curtain twitching going on leading up to this; fair enough – its not everyday you look out your window, peer into your neighbours neighbours garden and see a hairy unwashed youth scratching his balls, fag in mouth, sitting on the step of a garden shed he’d apparently commondeered as a nice little studio apartment. Only wearing his boxers. Hacking up phlegm and pissing in the bushes. I can sort of see why they were a little concerned. I imagine they thought a particualrly nasty transient confidence trixter had duped the new couple who’d moved in next door back in February...

Anyway, I’m staggering back, pissed out of my mind, nursing the full pint of Guiness I’d brought back with me from the pub (quite a feat – my old local was in Northampton town centre, Harpole was about eight miles away after a very bumpy and twisty bus journey). So, I’m quaffing my pint and I get to the front door. Shit, no fucking keys. Lost, left with a mate, given away to some stranger on the bus while saying: “OoooOOOOoooooHHHhhhh, shiney, shiney, shiney!!!” – who fucking knew. It was late, I didn’t want to wake my parents. So –

I went round the back into the little lane and attempted to clamber over the wall. I stopped. Thought it best to actually finish my pint first, then I gave the it another go. Took me a little while to scramble up the fucker, it was a pretty tall wall. I’d managed to clamp my arms round the top, was using a handy dustbin for a leg up, and then –

I managed to get completely fucking stuck. My t-shirt had somehow snagged over my head, I was blind-drunk with the added bonus of being blind. Fuck... Well, I’ll just dangle here for a bit... Gather my thoughts... See what happens... And then something DID happen, very definately and it was FUCKING PAINFUL ! - THH-WWW-AAA-CCC-KKK !!! ARRRGGGGHHHHHH !!! Something’s just bitten my arse!!! My arse is under attack !!! There’s a wild animal and its trying to fuck me or eat me, or fuck me then eat me !!! Oooohhhh, BOLL-OOO-CCC-KKKK-SSSS !!!

Then I heard the voice: “You just wait there, sonny,” if Clint Eastwood was about ninety and English, this is how he’d sound. I was being attacked anally by Dirty Harry. “My wife’s called the police and they’ll be here soon.”

“I fucking live here!!!” THHH-WWW-AAA-CCC-KKK !!! “Owww!!! Stop fucking hitting me!!!” THHH-WWW-AAA-CCC-KKK !!! “Help me down, for fucks sake you demented old cunt !!!” THHH-WWW-AAA-CCC-KKK !!!

Pause... Silence... Then then menacing old voice: “You gonna do as your told, sonny?”

Being a real manly type man, I considered my options then whimpered, “Yessir...”

And there I remained for a good ten minutes or so until the rozzers turned up. “Well what’s this? Halloween come early this year, har har har!” Turns out the two PC’s had knocked on my parents front door – they were out. Shit! Yes! They were going over to Coventry to visit some of their old hippy mates, to commune with nature, talk about the sixtiees, probably fuck each other ragged while listening to the Mammas & the Pappas.

And to make matters worse... my weird dangling postion meant my jeans had managed to work themselves down my bum crack. I was holding them up at the front in an attempt to hide my hairy balls from the law and the old folks from next door.

“You want us to cut you down, gorgeous?” said the other copper. I said that would be lovely, and they managed to get onto the wall and cut me loose. I came to the ground with a crash, whimpering on the floor like a great big drunken, ashamed daddy long legs with his arse out. The coppers asked me for proof of who I was – I had no proof. They asked me for the address of the property I was attempting to gain entry to – I had no fucking clue (still can’t remember my own flat number and postcode for where I live now, and I’ve been there for two years; this sort of thing isn’t my strong point). They asked me if I could get in contact with my ‘parents’, I said no, I didn’t know where they were, considered saying I had my suspicions they were at a swingers party, but thought this wouldn’t buy me any advantage.

Then I had a brainwave! I turned to the couple from next door, Dirty Harry had now been joined by his wife, Dirty Harriet: “You’ve seen me! I’ve seen you looking out your window at me! You know I’ve been living here for a week or so!” I pleaded.

Then the old fuckers, almost in tandem, replied: “We’ve never seen this young man before in our lives...”

“Yes you have!!!” The lying wrinkled-up cumbuckets!!! I’d locked eyes with them through their twitching windows on at least half a dozen occasions. “You fuckers!” Remember – I was drunk, very, very, VERY drunk. On a sliding scale of 1 to 10 I was the entire England rugby team after a win who’d just stopped off at Costcutters to be told: “Help yourselves, boys – everythings been spiked with antifreeze and barbituates too! Knock yerselves out!” Then I said something that I suppose I shouldn’t have, something the coppers picked up on immediately:

“You do know me!!! I live in the SHED!!!”

And with that I was arrested and carted off to the cells for the night.

Fucking uncomfortable, your small village police cell.

And my parents were fucking livid, I mean LIVID when I turned up the next day and told them what had happened. “Yes, we know,” said my mum. “We spoke to Mr and Mrs Smith next door – they thought it was a good idea to teach you a lesson." I was enraged. But my mum cut me dead: “We tended to agree with them.”

Fucking parents...

Fucking neighbours...
( SpankyHanky, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 14:33, 21 replies)

Yeah, nice one, but
"I was dreading loosing my new-found fredom for a whole summer."

Loosing is what you do when firing a bow and arrow; you mean losing.
(thefuckestuppest cheapened this, on, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 14:58, closed)

Again with the spelling Police!!
Loosing is what you do to the neck of someone, who has meticulously corrected the spelling on a messageboard, after they've been hanged from a tree for an hour.

Welcome to ignore.
( TheFinch is getting to grips with the complex plane on, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 16:04, closed)

ITYM
Loosing is what you do to the rope around the neck of someone etc. etc.
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 16:59, closed)

FFS
LMAO!!!!
( TheFinch is getting to grips with the complex plane on, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 18:06, closed)

and another thing whilst I'm whining...
Isn't the correct verb to shoot an arrow rather than to loose one?

rant rant rant etc.
( TheFinch is getting to grips with the complex plane on, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 18:08, closed)

Pedant
and twat.
(lkjshaglkasjdhglkhjz lkcvl; g;aodh;owih, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 16:29, closed)

Hehe
*Click*
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 15:39, closed)

hahahahahahahahahaha
a shed? a fuckin' shed? click!
(Errin C, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 15:49, closed)

I feel your pain ...
... and so can't click "I like this"

I can imagine it happening to me - except that my parent's have just told me they are moving to France, next spring, but they they're not really sure where too.

Are they trying to escape?
(Biff..., Tue 6 Oct 2009, 16:12, closed)

Ah the joys of the shed
experienced the shed reguarly from the age of 14 until I left - my trick to try & be let in to the house (this was often after an HGV trailer load of booze) was to throw lots of stones at the large oil tank (for the central heating) that was directly underneath my parents bedroom window... BOOM! BOOM! etc until I was either let in or threatened with the rozzers unless I went in to the shed. I even eventually got used to the smell of goat shit that had permiated the wooden walls.
(lkjshaglkasjdhglkhjz lkcvl; g;aodh;owih, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 16:26, closed)

A shed brother !
Fucking excellent - I thought this form of weird child abuse was reserved for yours truly.... Then again, they were very nice curtains. Very nice indeed.
( SpankyHanky, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 16:32, closed)

You had curtains!
Pah! That's luxury mate. I used to dream of curtains (admitedly a different type of curtain). I think we should form the International Brotherhood of Teenage Shedism & the logo should be one of those little sticks for stirring paint that all decent sheds should contain.
(lkjshaglkasjdhglkhjz lkcvl; g;aodh;owih, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 16:50, closed)

Sounds like a fucking plan, mate
The worst shed-related outrage of that summer was when my dad decided to varnish the fucker one bright and sunny Saturday morning. While I was asleep inside. I swear I thought I was Jesus when I woke up. And the grass was slithering like a serpent. And the sky was a strange shade of pink with purple and vermillion blotches.

Closest I'll ever get to a Jimi Hendrix experience, that was...
( SpankyHanky, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 16:56, closed)

I have such a stick!
I couldn't live without it.

I have a shed as well but my son is only 2 so it might be a bit cruel to keep him in there.
( SpikeyPickle wishes he was mabazaritchie, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 16:57, closed)

I'll be honest, I thought you had waned a little in recent posts,
but this is back to your best.

AND without and sexual antics.

Cheers mate
(TheColonel, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 17:25, closed)

A shed? Truly you were nuzzled by lady luck herself
I wasn't allowed to reside in any permanent part of the house when I was forced to move back in with the parents. Admittedly with girlfriend in tow. I had to live in a tent. For over eight months.
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Tue 6 Oct 2009, 23:27, closed)

I see....
So your holier-than-thou neighbours decided that besides you having NOT broken the law, that they would lie to the police to teach you a lesson for NOT having broken the law, whilst they willingly and addmitedly committed the illegal act of assault.

Perhaps you should burgle them; gives them something to 'teach you a lesson' for, retrospectively, plus, when they call the police (should they show up for burglery) you can claim that they have never laid eyes on you - if they protest and say that they know it was you living next door, then their honesty is bought into question as they will be known 'police liars' and you can claim that they did it for the insurance themselves.

Thats what I'd do - honest.
(dchurch bah, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 8:18, closed)

I believed you until
this bit "over the next few days I secured a job (sweeping up blood in an abattoir)". Good yarn though.
(Lo Pan is in big trouble, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 13:02, closed)

Belvoir foods in Northampton
Near where the Doc Martens factory used to be... god, I wish I had made that up... was like being knee deep in a scene from Saw for an entire summer.
( SpankyHanky, Wed 7 Oct 2009, 13:06, closed)

The spiders were mostly small...
Conkers would've seen them off (sorry, just jumping on the zeitgeist bandwagon...)
(SonoraAeroClub "OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!", Wed 7 Oct 2009, 13:28, closed)

Clicked
I tried to live in the shed but they found me. At 3.30 am. Mind I was only ten. Good work.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Wed 7 Oct 2009, 22:08, closed)