Get off my land!
I was about 9 when my mum arranged to send me on a farm holiday with one of her friends who had a daughter the same age as me.

They had hired a cottage on a working farm in Wales and during the day we were free to explore the surrounding land and help the farmer out with stuff like collecting chicken eggs from the barn, herding cattle into the sheds and other agricultural bollocks nonsense.

One day the farmer took me for a spin on his quad bike. He gunned the engine and bombed it through the fields surrounding the outbuildings. I was well impressed. I loved the speed and power of the bike and decided the next day was rural TWOC day. I nicked the bike.

I got the keys, took it out of the shed and walked it all the way to a field with sheep in.

The big moment. I knew I was going to get in some deep deep merde but fuck it, it felt good. Hopped on, switched the ignition on and revved the throttle just like I'd seen the farmer do.

The bike shot off up the natural incline of the field with my scrawny 9 year old hands gripping the handles, trying to control the direction. Sheep scattered in panic as the bike veered off to the right accelerating even more.

I came around to the sight of the farmer, my mums friend and her daughter standing over me . The quad bike lay on its side in the middle of the dirt track which ran along the field. I had somehow gone through or over the hedge seperating field and track and had blacked out.

My mums friend and her daughter never spoke to us again.
( prem1um is full of life, Sat 12 Jan 2008, 22:04, Reply)