It was the early 1980s, and I was seven years old.
I was given 10p to buy some sweets from the Post Office.

But I saw a packet of Polos, and lo! I coveted them.

So, while kindly Mr Greaves was measuring out my 10ps worth of teddy bears, I took the Polos.

I paid for my bears, and off I went.

But my heart was made heavy with my sin, for I knew I had Done Wrong.

So I resolved to return them.

Turning on my heel, I returned to the Post Office.

"Yes young Vagabond" said Mr Greaves, smilingly, "How can I help you? Did I not count out your teddy bears correctly?" he laughed, and started to return behind the counter.

This was my opportunity, so I took the Polos out of my pocket, and reached over to replace them and ...

BUSTED.

Mr Greaves wasn't as kindly towards me after that.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 7 Nov 2013, 12:53, 1 reply)

Did you put jazz mags in the Sunday paper too

(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Thu 7 Nov 2013, 13:10, closed)