In the days when the Chav Chariot of Choice was a 2.0 DOHC Ford Sierra
a pint of Fosters was 1.50, and everyone smoked Rothmans, I turned 17.

At this time, my brother was 28, and being the mature older sibling, took me down the local with some of his mechanic mates for a proper lashing.

And lashing is what happened. I don't know at what point I'd passed out, or whether he'd slipped something in my pint or whether three Fosters really was enough to get me blotto back then, but having a throbbing 2.0 DOHC Ford Sierra underneath your buttocks as it hoons its way in the dark down country lanes is not a nice way to wake up. Especially when you've been gaffer-taped and ratchet-strapped in place, stark bollock naked, and you're at the mercy of a bunch of banger racers who also treat you to a slow victory cruise along Margate Seafront.
( Grrrmachine the indifference engine, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 22:28, 2 replies)

And the unexpected nudity part is?


What? The engine was naked?
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Tue 2 Jun 2009, 1:22, closed)

no wonder you emigrated

( willenium Fist bump for verification, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 9:22, closed)