I was the age of
19 at the time, not long before I turned 20.

It was the summer of 1995, and for the duration of that season, come friday afternoon I sprinted out of my vacation job when it came to 'down tools time' (2pm) in order to make the fairly short journey to the god-forsaken hertfordshire satellite town in which I 'studied' for the rest of the year.

The purpose of this was a weekend of carousing at the house of a friend who was living there over that summer, which every week involved a trip to a municipal theatre in which was held an insipid indie night, an event we attended religiously during term time.

Every week, without fail, we got drunk on cheap, awful lager, bought at least one strange 'cocktail' with a name akin to 'bloody arse-fuck', (of which there where about a dozen, although for some reason they all consisted of snakebite and black plus a shot of something you'd only previously seen in your grandparents' sideboard, covered in dust) and fail to pull, which we would crown with the short walk home, which involved talking too loudly, knocking over bins, and maybe a burger.

On the third weekend of summer, our evening's 'merriment' at an end, smelling of too much dry ice, menthol cigarettes and lynx, we headed off for just that burger.

At around the same time, about half one in the morning, a middle aged couple took the unusual decision to walk their dog.

Meanwhile I, in my stupoured sate, desired change. I saw something, and licking the ketchup from my fingers, decided I was going to do it, and by that I meant do in the "in inverted commas" way.

"You see that?" said I.
"What about it?" said my friend.
"I'm going to FUCK THAT HEARSE!" I bellowed, and at that point charged across the road, took an astounding flying leap, and landed on the bonnet of the undertaker's vehicle.

With all of my weight on one knee. The knee that promptly dislocated and then relocated very quickly. It would dislocate properly a few weeks later, but that is unimportant. What IS important was that it hurt like fuck.

I slithered off the bonnet into a screaming pile on the floor.

My friend rushed over, inquiring into my wellbeing, and laughing a bit. He stood over me and offered me his hand as a means to elevate myself from the unforgiving tarmacadam of the road.

At this point the couple with the dog walked past. They looked with an understandable mixture of bemusement and mild terror at the twin figures in the road, one standing over the other's crumpled frame.

"I reckon they think I've decked you" remarked my friend as they drew near. Seeing his distress at this, I rectified the situation by speaking thusly to the couple as they passed:

"Don't worry, he hasn't hit me. He's helping me up because I dislocated my knee trying to fuck that hearse."

They then executed the subtle but perceptible change in ambulatory speed that one performs if you believe yourself to be being followed, while I mused that maybe that hadn't been the best thing to say.

Somewhere in this process I was dared to do something.
(cs1ca, Mon 5 Nov 2007, 6:07, 2 replies)

hoho
Ha ha I loved this.
(sirolimus, Mon 5 Nov 2007, 19:43, closed)

LOL
"smelling of too much dry ice, menthol cigarettes and lynx"
( buffet_the_appetite_slayer ٩(●̮̃•)۶ jacked in to the ICE on, Tue 6 Nov 2007, 23:11, closed)