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This is a question I witnessed a crime

Freddy Woo writes, "A group of us once staggered home so insensible with drink that we failed to notice someone being killed and buried in a shallow grave not more than 50 yards away. A crime unsolved to this day."

Have you witnessed a crime and done bugger all about it? Or are you a have-a-go hero?
Whatever. Tell us about it...

(, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 11:53)
Pages: Latest, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Working in retail in a DIY shop over the road from a half way house for recovering druggies, i've witnessed many many crimes in the way of shoplifting, from the sublime (blokes wanging chainsaws and hedge clippers over the 30ft fence) to teh rididiculous (the smack head so off his tits he walked up to the checkout, looked around to make sure noone was looking (we all were) and stuffed the booty up his jumper before tiptoeing past chuckling staff, not making eye contact so we couldn't see him (!) That was an easy stop. Irony? He was stealing a burglar alarm

The most scary though was the guy who was stealing brass door handles (shiny so must be worth nicking) who when stopped pulled a syring out and tried to stab me in the neck with it. That wasn't nice. I let him go. Plod caught him, he was well known and the description / cctv did the trick.

Thing is, he came back in a few months later, and i recognised him. Before stopping him this time i got a few lads together before getting him. Suffice it to say he left the store this time a little worse for wear, and didn't come back.

More stories for another post i think.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 18:44, Reply)
Not so much a crime, but witnessed none the less...
I lived in Portsmouth when this happened:


Anyone local to the area probably wouldn't have missed the story.

I was just getting off the bus when this happened, a little further up London Road. By the time I'd trundled back to my flat, which almost directly overlooked the accident site, the whole area had been cordoned and cleared.

I know it's not quite on-topic, but a horrific thing to witness all the same.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 18:44, 1 reply)
Oh alright, I'll do a drug one..
Some years ago, before my swift getaway from the sunny shores of blighty I sold a little puff. Well, little is a relative term, to the guy who supplied me I sold a little puff, to the several hundred people I sold too I was the *man*. (It's true, small town, 3 top men and I was one of them, that's a lot of business) For three years I delivered to the door on a weekly basis. Once a month I trekked to the big city to pick up. It was good money, tax free and not particularly hard work. Puff doesn't need to be advertised and the market never gets smaller. A little risky I will admit, 5-7 at HMP Somewhere if you get caught. But I never did. Call it luck, call it damn good sense, call it having nothing too do with twatty 16 year olds, call it what you want. I called it £80000 turnover and £40000 a year profit. The crime.. I was also Mayor of said town and witnessed many blatant lies told to the voter who deserved better.
Then I left the UK and moved to a country where drug dealers get shot, either by the local mafia or by the local old bill. The politicans are still lying bastards though!
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 18:42, 3 replies)
Suffered a crime
I was on my way home from a night out; left early because my friend and I were bored. We were on a road leading towards my house when I woke up in a thorn bush. I distinctly remember somebody shouting at me, my mate saying something (luckily he was strong at the time, but he's got CF ffs!) and being kicked in the head a few more times. They shouted 'PHONE' at me, and I said I don't have one, because I'm deaf. The thing was vibrating in my pocket at the time, funnily enough.

Anyway, my mate afterwards told me we'd been mugged (I hadn't) and that the chavs had beaten him with his own cheap cider bottle (student).
I had no hearing aid as this had fallen off and was in a dark bush.

I phoned the police, who took one look at me (with a jaw deformity) and took me to hospital with a 'broken jaw'.

I was picking fucking thorns out of my arms and legs for months.

The headline cracks me up: Deaf Girl Attacked By Phone Gang

It gave me an image of a lot of mobile phones in burberry attacking somebody.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 18:40, 1 reply)
More Heath Tales
One of the classic crime related stories from my youth i failed to mention this...
me and my mate used to walk down the same road every day on the way home from school and for a few weeks there was a car parked on this road(normally none...ever). inside the car was a large dread-locked rasta looking chap who would exit the car when we were at the bonnet, go to the boot, remove a black leather briefcase and walk into the wood like it was a damn office block...
another day same deal, only this day my mate has had enough. The large dude goes into the woods, stands behind a tree and kind of peeks around it at us walking off.
my mate being the vocal sort screams at the tree 'MATE WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! WE CAN SEE YOU?!'. the guy doesn't move and carries on peeking.
we go home and my mate tells his mum who promptly calls the fuzz...
later that day the Police turn up after paying the gentleman a visit and inform us that he was not only an illegal immigrant, but he had been wanted for flashing for a while! NICE!

technically we didn't witness the crime itself (thank God) but still a worthy post?

sort of...
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 18:02, Reply)
A minor misdemeanour and a serious crime...
1) I could only have been about thirteen at the time, and my sister thus 11. We were at the computer (same one as I type this on) in the back room of our house, which has a big bay window looking out over the back yard. Said back yard had our car in it. I look through the window and see some charver peering through the windows of our car, while his two 'lady' friends stood by the garage door that had previously been closed and locked.
Somehow, he didn't spot us until we knocked on the window and waved cheerily.
The fool also decided it would be a good idea to make his getaway at a walking pace straight down the main road. He ran like fuck when my dad pulled up in front of him as he crossed one of the side streets five minutes later.
So yes, not *really* a crime, but certainly deterred one.

2) I've seen Hard Fi live.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 17:45, 2 replies)
My drug tale..
A few years ago in Leeds I got arrested for having a ruck with a few chavs who I ended up living next to for a year (which was nice, although they didn't recognise me. Knew there was a good reason to grow my hair)

Anyhoo, was arrested and as they're putting the cuffs on they ask if I've been in bother before 'no' says I. 'Unless you count those five years I got for smack dealing, ha ha!'

I thought that was pretty funny, considering I was very drunk and not having full control of my faculties. It wasnt funny when I got into the jam jar though and remembered what I had in my pockets..4 pills and £60 in ten pound notes. Oh dear.

So, get to the custody desk empty my pockets and leave my jacket (where the stash was) on the floor by the desk. Now heres a good reason not to give rozzers lip when you get nicked, if you play them fair and matey they forget they've nicked you. As I'm getting taken into the cell I turn round and say 'whoops! Lads I've left me jacket there, can you put it with the rest of my stuff please?'

I was sweating it until they brought me into the interview room. I was still sweating it when I got into the cop car to get a lift home. I checked my jacket. the beans were still there and as soon as I got home, boshed one and bopped round my house laughing at getting one over the coppers.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 17:32, 1 reply)
Chicken (in very posh frocks)
Slaughter has reminded me of the day when my normally meek and retiring Clark Kent persona slipped revealing the bad, bad person underneath.

I'd agreed to go over to the recently widowed mother of a friend's house and sort out some brambles, trim a few trees and other acts of foliage genocide.

I had put it off for a bit being a lazy git, but she kept being pestered by pikey tree surgeons, so I nipped over after work one fine evening.

Incidentally, what rat-hole do these vermin slither out of, as they always seem to find the recently bereaved and try to rip them off. Which, by the way, is exactly what I will be doing to their soft dangly organs if I ever get my hands on them. Fucking £200 to trim a hedge? *cough*

Aaaanyway at the time I had a shiny winky-extending German death machine (work) and a thoroughly shagged out Trooper 4x4 V6(mine), and as I knew that I'd effectively be parking in a bush I'd save the paintwork and take the big fuckoff truck.

This planet destroying baby seal drowning vehicle was (a) scruffy (b) filled with empty shotgun cartridge boxes (c) equipped with authentically rusty full kiddy crushing bullbars and (d) loud as fuck as it had been LPG converted and I'd had to fit a cone filter to avoid it backfiring and blowing the air filter off. Which is a good party trick but not advisable when you pull up next to a copper. Anyway, full on Deliverance type Redneck Wagen, or as close as you can get in Cheshire.

So off I grumble, find me doomed brambles and trees, hackity hack, rip chop slash etc until all was as smooth as a very smoooth thing. Off I rumble into the sunset, good deed done, etcetera.

Now the Bubba-mobile had one minor niggle. Call it a glitch. It didn't like indicating right. Not a bit of it. Several mechanics had over time driven themselves into secure mental units trying to work out what in the name of Bob Flipping Christ on a Bike was wrong with the thing. Now the lack of right hand flashy things is a bit of a downer when joining a fast dual carriageway in a vehicle with the aerodynamics of a breezeblock, especially with Eddie Stobart and pals going for the land speed record and adopting the 'Deathrace 2000' mode of HGV pilotage.

(And doubly especially when the bloody filter box explodes off again, but thats bye the bye)

So to finally get to something resembling the point, I head into Chester. Rumble rumble vroom vroom etc. Past the Racecourse. Oooh what was that pretty sign? Races today?


Now a characteristic of Chester Races is that every proto-scrote from the entire Wirral peninsula and the more genetically challenged areas of the North Wales coast descends in their squillions. All dressed up 'posh' of course. More silly hats than the Greek army.

Now by the time the races are chucking out, there is a steady trail of pissed up, urine soaked Scally Slappers meandering through the city, glowing orange when they weren't being sick in a doorway, silk knickers trailing elegantly from one ankle, and turning into permatanned hat-wearing harpies at the drop of a Breezer, causing Cheshire Constabulary to call out the Mounted Hitting People Unit.

And that was just the men.

No, not really. However they tended to revert to proto-chav and ditch the suit jackets, ties etc, and escort their shrieking Chardonnays in the direction of the station, occasionally rolling eyes heavenward as they endure the frenetic squawking, in the vain hope of parking their winky in Medusa's ladybits at a later time.

Now, one particularly endearing aspect of the pished-up Scally, Ned or Chav, is their complete and utter disregard of traffic laws, the laws of physics, and the fact that getting run over might smart a smidge. And there is one particular set of lights, just up from the racecourse, where the entire Chester traffic system is comprehensively buggered by these morons staggering across in defiance of those funny lighty-uppy green and red thingies.

(Nice bar on the corner, though. I'll have a large G&T)

Now, I ambled in a vehicular manner towards the crossing of doom, to be faced with an average of one car getting across per cycle of the lights, as we're dead nice in Chester and don't actually run people over (Except in Blacon). Brightly dressed twats and twatettes staggering uphill, bladdered into pondweed IQ territory by hideously over-priced champers, bling glinting in the setting sun. Bear in mind I didn't have A/C, it has been a long hot day, I had just been chopping stuff down, and I was in medical need of cold beer. I wanted through in a calm and orderly manner, as befits a tired and sweaty Scots Gentleman at the end of his day's hard labour. Eventually I get to the front. Lights go green..................(mutters)............(drums fingers)............(finds horn doesn't work either)..........(grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr).....FUCKIT. VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMYABASTARDS.

It was like the parting of the Red Sea as half the capacity of Chester Racecourse scattered in front of the mighty bullbars (which to be honest were held on with gaffa tape and could be better described as mousebars). A biblical moment as I cleaved through the crowd, with a convoy of other vehicles right behind me, feeling like a Pied Piper.

Didn't even slightly damage one of them, if you exclude soiling yourself. Although I thought the one particular genius who decided to run up the road in front of me to escape, rather than head for the pavement showed a negative flair that should be appreciated more.

Oh, the crime? Well if you exclude suicidal road-crossing while under the influence, leaving a machete, axe and saw on the passenger seat (oops), the horn was an MOT failure. Master criminal, me.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 17:18, 4 replies)
All these drug stories remind me -
I was once sitting in my mate's car outside the West Indian center in Leeds, having a spliff with a good friend. The windows were up and the car was full of smoke.

Suddenly a jam sandwich pulled up behind us with its lights flashing. Oops.

Only the coppers got out and walked right past us. And returned 10 minutes later with a lad in handcuffs.

Turns out he had stabbed someone.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 16:37, 1 reply)
all these drugs stories
I was recently traveling by train from Birmingham to Swansea, a trip that requires a stop-over in Shrewsbury to change trains. On the first leg of the journey, the conductor mentioned that my next train had been canceled and i'd have a long wait. No problem, thought I, so I popped into the train loo to skin up a few splifties to see me over the break.

Upon arrival at shrewsbury I looked about for a nice place near the station for a smoke. There was, nearby, a big building with a few benches outside and lovely views over the river, from were I could still hear the train announcements over the tannoy. Perfect.

So i'm having a lovely smoke, its good stuff if a little over pungent but i'm thinking, in this day and age no one really cares right?

I'm snapped out of this reverie by a police van which pulls up right in front of me and empties a load of armed policemen... oh shit...

but they walk straight past me, and as i watch, enter the FUCKING PRISON who's walls I have been leaning against.

Ooops. Maybe I should be more observant.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 16:22, Reply)
Car stereos
I knew a lad who, sick of having his very expensive car stereos nicked and wouldnt back down on buying them, came up with a rather brilliant plan.

Not willing to compromise on sound quality, but willing to on other things, he had all the seats re-upholstered - in sky blue denim complete with white 'stitch' trimmings, installed a pink furry steering wheel cover and chucked a few teddy bears on the back shelf.

Despite parking it in some of the roughest estates known to chav, he never had so much as a scratch after that. The stereo, now worth at least 4 times the value of the car (its overall value having recently plummeted), remained intact until this very day. The local car thieves were obviously dismissing the car as a girls car, and a very girlie car at that, and wrongly but understandably assuming that the stereo was shit. Genius really.

(Apart from having to be seen in it of course but he got over that, people just assumed it was his girlfriends car we thought).
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 16:08, 2 replies)
How to order food in New York
On a recent work trip to New York myself and a colleague had numerous refreshments on the flight over from London and consequently felt the need to get a nutritious burger and chips (or fries as the locals call them) upon arrival.

So at around one in the morning on some dark side street somewhere in NYC myself (tall, lanky northerner and my colleague short, fat cockney) find ourselves paying somewhat extortianate prices for the crappest burger and chips you've ever seen.
We'd just been served when a blinged up gang with baseball bats walks in and demands the cashier hands over some fries, which he promptly does. However the leader of the gang was not impressed with the number of the fries and demands more, and some ketchup, and in order to ensure that he gets them says to the cashier "come on man, Jesus is watching you!".

Clearly afraid that the son of God has now joined a street gang and is willing to use his powers to ensure his homies get more chips and condiments the cashier hands more over.

At this point the leader of the gang turns to myself and my colleague and says:

"That's how it's done in New York"
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 16:00, 1 reply)
Actually, that reminds me of another drug story.
I had a saturday job when I was about 17. I worked with a rather cute young lady who and we used to wander out at lunch time and have a quick smoke in a usually pretty empty multi-storey car park round the corner.

We were sitting there and I was rolling up when a police car pulled up right next to us, how I didn't spot it approaching I don't know but I didn't.

the copper was looking at me as he rolled down the window while I was (probably fairly unsubtly) trying to shove the rizlas and puff under my leg out of sight.

Expecting to be arrested I waited for the policeman to start the earbashing. In some bizarre twist on the goood cop/bad cop thing he clearly decided to try surreality.

"Do you two know anything about water balloons?"

"Oh you sadistic bastard," I thought, "Just get on with it and arrest me if you're going to."

"what?" we asked.

"Water balloons. Someone has been throwing them from up here at passing traffic."

We looked around and noticed puddles of water, burst balloons and all sorts. Bloody kids.

"No, we're just hiding during our lunch break, having a chat about personal stuff."

"Oh, OK then, keep an eye out."

And he drove off.

Man did I need a spliff after that little scare.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 15:15, Reply)
Speaking of drugs, as so many have been
I was once sitting outside the Old Leather Bottle pub in Wimbledon chatting to a mate. My mate had a spliff. We were so busy talking rubbish and so on we didn't notice the police car pull up about 6 feet in front of us (we were sitting out the front by the main road).

In the ten seconds it took the policeman to get out of the car, my mate had stubbed out the joint and stuck it down a crack in the cellar doors we were sitting on, hidden his stash in a hole in the wall behind him and had rolled up, lit and was busy smoking a perfectly normal cigarette.

It was amazing technique and still one of the most impressive things I have ever seen.

Another time with the same guy, we had no drugs so we decided to see if we could get pulled by the police. Before leaving a friend's house to go to the pub we sat and rolled up a tobacco cigarette using 27 small skins. This thing was about 2 foot long. We were passe dby at least 2 police cars as we walked down the road, conspicuously passing this thing to each other and they paid no attention whatsoever.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 15:08, 1 reply)
Chester Genious
I was just outside HMV in Chester when the alarms went off and a local man of the Chav agency came storming out the doors followed by 2 huge security guards.
Im aim of distracting his followers the Chav threw the stolen DVD in the air, which then landed at my feet. The security guards then chased the chap down and gave him a jolly good seeing too.

What DVD did he steal? £10 Rambo Boxset
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 14:37, Reply)
JCB ram raid
I didnt actually witness the crime but did drive past our local petrol station to see the staff standing on the forecourt looking at the rather large hole where their cash machine used to be.

It turns out that a JCB was hotwired from a building site down the road and used to remove the cash machine. I think if i had been looking in the right direction when i went past i would have seen it disappearing into the distance. It looked like they nearly brought the whole canopy down with it.

A few days later in the local rag it appears that the machine didnt actually have any money in it.

Oh well, i guess its the thought that counts!
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 14:14, 1 reply)
ever seen the Brazilian documentary, Bus 174 (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0340468/)? When we lived in Brazil my mother was stuck in the traffic jam behind the hijacked bus.

Weirdly despite living in Brazil, the home of the worlds most attractive victims of carjacking, assault and murder (to quote the Onion), I never really saw a crime with my own eyes (possibly because I was pretty drunk most of the time). I did see numerous TV reports of crazy stuff - such as an RPG being missaimed and going through the window of an apartment block and killing a family at dinner. I also heard numerous gunshots (some of them far too close for comfort). Did see a lot of aftermath of crime though - bodies, once part of a brain, a few burnt out cars, bullet holes in the wall of a bank. Oh and a few knife fights in the Sao Januario football stadium (where a woman also tried to sell my 9 and 11 year old sisters cocaine and a pistol in the ladies toilets).

I did see two crimes in South America though, both in Buenos Aires and both within a week of each other. The first one was rather boring - two men breaking a car window and stealing the radio. We did nothing as they had a gun. Secondly I was walking with an American guy, both of us quite tall, and this very short kid comes up to us, with no weapon of any kind, and demands money. The American just punched him in the face without even stopping in his stride.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 13:18, 4 replies)
I saw it all
When I was living in Nice back in the mid 80s, I had a job for a while as a look-out man for a criminal.

No, it wasn't outside the bank as he went in with a balaclava and a sawn-off, it was on the sea front.

Jean-Claude was a modern day Fagin of the Cote D'Azure. He made caramel coated peanuts and sold them in little bags on the beach at Nice and he also had a small band of foreign chaps wandering the beach with an 'eskie' full of 'boisson freches' [that's cold drinks to you]. My job was to walk along the top of the promanade, which was about 20 feet above the beach, keeping a look-out for les flics, as he didn't have a licence to sell.

We worked out a cunning system of signals...well, not really that cunning. What I'd do if I spotted the cops was to wave at the guys down below and shout "Hey John!" in my best English - for all the world just another tourist looking for, and finding his pals on the beach. At the signal, Jean-Claude and the others would sit down and hide their mechandise behind them, i.e. towards the sea.

The cops would have a quick look, see nothing and go. So I was paid a small sum for walking along the promanade at Nice, ogling the topless lovelies, topping up the tan and shouting "Hey John" a couple of times a day.

...hey, it's a dirty job, but someone had to do it.

The only hitch was when Joe had strolled too far up the beach and didn't see me frantically waving and shouting for all I was worth that one time. Still, they let him go with a caution after confiscating his drinks.

C'est la vie!
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 13:04, Reply)
Nothing like a good old fashioned stabbing...
I've always been a record collector and a couple of years back I used to do a bit of DJing in good old Wolverhampton (the shithole I call home). Anyway I used to mostly play old school 90's hip hop at a little bar tucked away down a side street; we always got a few studenty types dropping in and mostly we were playing to a couple of dozen people just vibing off the tunes and enjoying a yeasty beverage. We DJed for free beer and it was just a friendly arrangement.

Unfortunately the organisers decided that what the night really needed was some hardcore drum n' bass to be played alongside us in a room upstairs. The club was known for having a relaxed dress code and pretty soon Blazin' Squad-esque knobheads from the surrounding area began to descend on the place en masse. Thankfully most of them made a beeline up to the DnB room leaving us lot downstairs in peace.

We co-existed quite peacefully for a few weeks until one night there was some kind of big argument going on in the staircase. Next thing you know a massive surge of people come running down the stairs and out the back door. This is followed by a guy stumbling down the stairs clutching his stomach who proceeds to collapse about 1 metre from where I'm standing. It didn't take us long to realise that he'd been stabbed in the stomach by someone upstairs.

As you can imagine the night got shut down instantaneously... yet bizarrely drum and bass nights remained widespread in Wolvo, yet we could never find another venue for our chilled out hip hop night because the bar owners all said it attracted the "wrong type of crowd".
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 12:59, 1 reply)
more or less on topic...

After a trip to the Jazz Cafe in Camden to see one of the top Jazz piano/organ players in action - no idea who he was - and having drunk a large amount of lager because it was so godawful, I headed home to the salubrious area of London known as Shepherd's Bush.

Arming myself with a greasy and limp kebab I wandered down the Goldhawk Road back to my flat...
Turning the corner I was asked for the time by some shadowy youth. Not thinking anything I of course got my phone and told him it was 2am.
Young hooded scoundrel grabs the phone and two of his mates surround me and relieve me of my wallet and abscond into the estate.

Anyways, I live 1 minute up the road so I jump in my car, grab my work phone and call the police. Not really thinking, I start the engine, reverse out and start following two of the said scoundrels, whilst on the phone to the coppers.

I manage to rendezvous with a foot patrol, and they jump in the car and we have a drive round the estate to try and catch up to the thieves who have long since legged it down a passage...

I then realise that I'm about 5 pints over the limit and have two of Her Majesty's finest in the back seat.

Luckily, the search was fruitless and I drop them off on the Uxbridge Road with them non the wiser and me sweating like the guilty man I am.

Thieves escape with my phone and wallet, but I escape with my driving licence and kebab.

I think I won overall.
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 12:47, 1 reply)
I know someone posted below about there being little crime in sheffield and a lot of people have posted about the police doing feck all, so here's a bit of reassurance.

I've been living in some student halls since september this academic year, I've not been in Sheffield long but with the particular street we live on we've witnessed plenty of petty crime(in no particular order):

Fireworks being fired at us and our building (by a FAMILY of chavs no less, mother and father included)

Cars being broken into and radios nicked

Students being attacked by bricks being thrown

A gang of 12 chavs or so robbing booze from netto and storming out the locked tills (but then getting caught and beaten by shop managers and staff and then threatening to beat them up for stopping them from nicking stuff. The chavs wanted to know "what the fuck they were doing and what their problem was" - i thought stopping theft was pretty self-explanatory)

Students attacked by groups of chavs with 2x4's with nails in

A chav beating up his gf all the way down the road and then a major arguemtn between them and some neighbours when they got back.

Bricks being thrown at our building

A girl being mugged on the way home at 4am

Now, this may not sound like much in comparison to what is on here, but the difference is, the police have been very good with it all. Two of the cars that were witnessed being broken into, the blokes were caught from the descriptions and were in court within 3 weeks of the theft, turned out they were repeat offenders and got sentenced. Each time there was a fight or assualt we always had at LEAST one police car round with a few officers within half hour of any incident, one time we had a riot van, another time we had 4 squad cars and a dog van - it all depended on the severity and numbers of people reported to be involved. Through various descriptions they were always able to figure out which locals it was and rather than say they had tried and couldn't do anyhting they suggested that they just needed a few more incidents and they could get the troublemakers in the area evicted and under orders not to come back in that area. True to their word, this is exactly what happened. Considering I've only been here about 7 months and this has already happened and that family has been evicted, I am quite pleased and impressed with the quality of the local cops.

But seriously, besides the few local families here that have now been removed, i've seen very little crime in sheffield and am impressed with the police presence and they always have those city ambassadors about to report stuff. We even have loads of police on bikes! They always pre-empt football matches too and fill the city centre with cops. Most days in Sheffield I will see some police at some point in the day, but have never witnessed crime in the city centre areas at all!
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 12:38, 12 replies)
Rat of the Week
My local newspaper is a great source of misinformation - mixed-up playgroup and Woman's Institute times, surnames spelled incorrectly, photos of local councillors shaking the hands of travel agents, local magistrate court listings, details of pharmacy rotas...

Anyway, one of the things they liked to do each week is run a column called "Rat of the Week" where the most heinous and morally corrupt crimes would feature. This spot was usually reserved for people who conned the electricity money from old ladies and the suchlike, but one week it was different.

"Rat of the Week," it pronounced, "is the person who stole the RSPCA collection box that was chained up outside outside the local shopping centre. If anyone sees anything suspicious such as someone carrying a three foot plastic sheepdog bearing the RSPCA logo then they should contact the police station."
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 12:30, 1 reply)
In which Teenage Chickenlady does not swear or run away
Many years ago when I was still at school I had the misfortune to witness a rather unpleasant crime.

I was in the Sixth form and allowed to leave the school grounds early if all my classes for the day had finished – this was a very strict girls’ convent school and therefore we were not permitted to come and go as we pleased – imagine Prisoner Cell Block H with posh Home Counties accents and marginally better haircuts.

So one Friday afternoon I was waiting outside the school for the bus into town. I was alone, in uniform - my very sexy pea-green uniform which could usually kill all teenage desire at sixty paces. The main road was deserted.

A boy from the local comprehensive school walked up to the bus stop and stood next to me. He was truly something to behold – remember Plug from The Bash Street Kids in the Beano? This lad was his ugly brother – buck teeth, protruding ears, googly eyes and all in all a face only a mother or a plastic surgeon could love.

He stands there next to me with a sports bag held in front of him…and then it starts….the furtive tugging. I knew exactly what he was doing and had to try very hard not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it – here at a bus stop, on a main road, in broad daylight right outside a convent school!

But also I felt a little fear and hope that he would stop or go away or the bus would pull up right now.

It didn’t.

He spoke to me, “Can I kiss you?” Said as he moved the bag away to reveal an open fly but the mouse had run back to its hole.

“No! Go away! Leave me alone!” I replied with all the indignation and arrogance of a sixteen year old Chickenlady. He stepped forward and put his hand on my backside.

He was about the same age and height as me but must have weighed around six or seven stone to my nine – if I’d roundhoused him with my school bag I could have at least winded him if not done some serious damage…but I was a nice catholic schoolgirl, privately educated and brought up to believe that the pen is mightier than the sword – perhaps I should have stabbed him with my left handed osmiroid fountain pen.

But instead I did what any good girl does,
“Stop it please or I’ll scream. Now leave me alone!” and stepped away.

Why didn’t I run back into school? Well then I’d miss my bus and this oik was not going to make me miss my bus!

He stepped back and resumed the frantic tugging behind his bag whilst leering at me.

Like a magician he removed the bag again but rather than announcing “Tah Dah!” he drooled, “I fancy you.”

And there it hung, the second erect penis I had ever seen (I’m not counting the ‘plumber’ flasher as I thought that was pink piping).

I looked at it.

I looked at him.

He looked pleadingly at me.

“Go away! Leave me alone! I’ll scream!” I shouted at him – no swearing and no running away – I still find that odd looking back at my younger self.

We stood like that for what seemed like hours – every so often he would deflate like a bouncy castle at the end of the day, the bag would go back in place, his eyes would glaze over and his right arm would pump like a barmaid at a beer festival, except faster. Then the bag would be removed and I would tell him to go away.

It was a Kafka-esque Freudian nightmare with a side order of misplaced class hatred – I was at the private school on a scholarship and not a rich bitch – if he’d looked at my shoes he’d have seen that…but then again that could have sent him off into further paroxysms of desire.

Anyway, at last the bus pulled up and he shuffled off into the nearby bushes. I got on, paid my fare and sat down. I didn’t mention a word to the driver, any passengers or even my parents when I got home. I sat shaking on the bus, screaming in my head, I was incredulous – how could any of these people not realise what had just happened?

Why didn’t I tell anyone then? Because I had a date that night and had I told my parents I would have missed out on the date.

The story does go on and on – as is usual in my life everything is an epic and nothing is straightforward. I saw him again, twice.

If ever there is a QOTW about being in court I’ll recount How Teenage Chickenlady Made a Solicitor Look a Fool – subtitled My Finest Moment.

Apologies for length but he just wouldn’t go away!
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 12:11, 13 replies)
I reckon I'm quite a good kisser...
Long time lurker, first time poster.

Once upon a time I was a bit keen on this girl and asked her out on a first date. She demurely agreed and then asked the dread question of "Where to?".

Now at that point I wasn't earning a lot thus the posh eateries were out so I decided to come over all romantic (and cheap) and went for a Picnic in Hyde Park. It was Summer, nice temperatures, Sun beating through the London Haze...

So a rucksack with some red wine, cheese and other veggie things for her (should have been my first warning about the girl actually - but that's another story) was packed and we set off hand in hand after work(since we worked in the same building - second warning sign). We tubed to Notting Hill gate, dallied along to the entrance, entered the rather crowded park and looked for a semi-secluded place to set down and enjoy ourselves.

Now in Hyde Park there are various stretches of long grass which tends to put off the families and those trying to play football so that seemed like a good bet. Sure enough a nice shady tree and good place for a picnic is found after having gingerly worked our way past various other necking couples lying in the long grass. We have a bit of the red wine and hummus, a light bit of romantic banter and then lean in together for a looooong kiss. Those kisses, that you generally only do at the beginning of relationships, that take about half an hour and are unhurried but you put your full attention into.

In between some nice sensual closed-eye kisses the general park life continues on at a discrete distance, people wandering past, other groups of people out enjoying the sun, the drone of insects and the distant sounds of the city traffic. Other groups come and go and we're almost walked over by a guy before he notices us in the long grass and changes track. Long languid minutes go by.

Then a couple of policemen wander over and start taping off a big square of park. With us inside it. Wuhuh?

A tall copper strides up and asks if we heard the attack.

We are blinking like moles in the sunlight and expressing general ignorance and he says in disbelief that a man has been stabbed here in the last twenty minutes - are we sure we didn't notice *anything*?

A female cop now comes over and is a bit more forthcoming with information about what's happened.

A group of about four Russian men had been about 30 ft away from us under their own tree, drinking, talking and drinking some more. I had indeed seen them as part of the surrounding scenery. Some (quiet) argument had broken out and so one of the men had stabbed another about three times. However they had then all made friends again, stood up drunkenly and headed off home together helping to keep each other up. Apart from one guy who had said his goodbyes and headed off for the further park gate and had in fact been the one who had almost walked over past us earlier. However the one who had been stabbed had almost made it to the park gate before collapsing due to blood loss while the others had then tried to get an ambulance.

In the end the police just let us pick up our stuff and head off under the police tape but seemed astonished that we could have been 30 ft from a murder but not notice because we were too busy snogging.

Now *that's* a romantic first date!
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 10:40, 1 reply)
I got arrested for wearing black jeans
Which wasn't actually any of the minor crimes I had witnesed that night.

One weekend at Uni, a coursemate's brother was coming to visit and we all decided to get together and get wasted. The brother (I completely forget his name, so I shall just call him 'Moron') arrived a bit late and the rest of us had already drunk a 2 or 3 cans, smoked a spliff or two. Minor crime #1.

Moron decided he needed to do a bit of catching up. His chosen method was to neck two bottles of wine in about 3 minutes. Obviously he was suddenly and spectacularly drunk. After a further half hour or so of him being a complete twat, we decided to take him out to get some fresh air and see if that calmed him down at all as he was beginning to feel slightly sick. Before we left, one of the guys gave him a pack of Rennies, of which he ate about 9.

As we popped in to the local petrol station to buy some more skins, Moron collapsed on the floor, screaming in agony and shouting for an ambulance. Afraid that his appendix had just burst or something, we banged on the window and finally managed to get the person working in the petrol station to phone for an ambulance.

After a few minutes of us panicking that he was going to die while waiting for the ambulance to come, Moron suddenly let out an almighty belch as the 9 Rennies kicked in, leapt to his feet saying, "That feels better," and ran off down the road.

So we chased after him. Minor crime #2 - unwitting prank call to the Emergency services.

None of us had been in Bristol all that long, we knew our way around a bit but didn't know all the back streets etc. By the time we caught up with Moron, we were all pretty much lost. By the time we'd stopped him pulling windscreen wipers off random cars - Minor crime #3 - we were completely lost.

We wandered round a bit, trying to find our way to somewhere we recognised. It was getting pretty late by this time. As we sat on a wall, smoking a cigarette and wondering which direction to try next, we spotted a red Sierra with four MASSIVE geezers in it go past. They slowed down, giving us evil stares out of the window as they passed. They stopped just up the road at a phone box and one of these guys unfolded himself from the car to use the phone as another one got out and stared straight at us.

We managed to convince Moron that going over to ask directions might not be sensible and we disappeared down an alleyway.

After more wandering we spotted this same car with the same massive geezers going past and giving us evils again. We legged it. we spotted them about 2 or three more times as we walked about so it was obvious that they were driving round looking for us.

Hopelessly lost and getting to about 3am now, we tried flagging down police cars to ask the way home. All the police ignored us (thanks guys - very helfpul).

Finally...we walked round a corner to find ourselves in a place we recognised and knew the way home from. Phew!

Immediately, the first police vehicle, a dog van, which saw us pulled up next to us and the copper jumped out saying something like, "Don't move or I'll let the dog eat you!"

He wouldn't tell us why he was holding us there, just said we had to wait for other police to arrive. then he said, "Move back lads, armed response are coming through."

Which was slightly worrying but fortunately they were just chasing some drug dealers and nothing to do with us. then the red sierra pulled up and the four massive geezers piled out, followed by a police sergeant.

One of them pointed straight at my mate George saying, "That's the man officer!" Then pointed at me saying, "And him too, he's wearing black jeans."

George got handcuffed and slung into the back of a police van, I got cautioned and put in a police car to go make a statement.

It turns out that the guys in the red Sierra were bouncers from a nightclub. They'd seen 6 guys causing a bit of trouble in the club and thrown them out earlier. then they'd heard (but not actually seen) that a few guys had beaten up a few other guys outsiide the club. They assumed it was the same guys they'd thrown out. On their way home they'd seen us, assumed we were the same bunch of guys because one of them was wearing a football scarf and they thought one of them might have been wearing black jeans and phoned the police then went looking for us.

SO... George got arrested for wearing a football scarf, I got arrested for wearing black jeans, Moron got off scott free as they didn't find the 5 or 6 car aerials and windscreen wipers in his jacket pocket and everyone else had to walk about 6 miles home.

A mildly interesting reprise to this story - a couple of months later when my flatmate and I had taken a purple om for breakfast and decided to go into town to play Laser Quest, we were stopped by a copper. Knowing we had nothing on us, we agreed to take part in an ID parade.

I don't know how many other people have experienced this, but coming up on acid, inside a police station, standing in a plain white room in a roomful of people with a number above your head and the whole scene reflected in the one way mirror in front of you is quite interesting and definitely very trippy. Especially when they call your number out. Fortunately they called my number because they were rejecting me from the line up. They did the same to my mate. But they paid us a tenner each, which was handy for Laser Quest.

The copper who gave a tenner each to two guys on acid was the same one who'd threatened to let his dog eat us.

Length? Pretty much real time as it turns out (sorry about that).
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 10:23, 1 reply)
Both 'witnessed' and 'committed'...
Every time the local MiniChavs decide to play chicken with my car, I simply put my foot down.

I once clipped one with my wing mirror doing around 70mph.

Does this make me a bad person?
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 9:44, 17 replies)
Wednesday is teh new Thursday...
This happened to me just the other day.

I am lifetime Spice Girls fan with Sporty being my absolute favouritist. Have seen them play shows all over da world inspiring millions of tweenage girls to embrace the mantra of “girl power” and suck it to the man dat keeps dem down.

I like to think off them as modern day suffragettes with Chlamydia.

Anyway as I previously mentioned Melanie C is by far the best, she can like totally sing and did dat wicked toon with Brian Adams.

I also like Brian Adams, but not as much as Marti Pellow.

Because I love Sporty so much I wanted to go to Cheshire to see where she was from, because I love where she is at innit. So I robbed my mum of some coin and pegged it to da bus stop as I had to get there before closing time so I could find someone to put me up for da night, I aint got no condoms, but I got pregnant once and got rid of it so I can’t never get pregnant again. If I want kids I guess I’ll just buy one like Madonna.

Chillin on the back of da bus I played the S Girls greatest hits on my mobile so everyone could have some girl power in their lives, some old bint asked me to turn it down so I told her to “get fucked”, she aint got no idea what the Spice Girls have done for this country, stupid wrinkly old cow.

Anyway after da disco party bus I got to da station and found out da ticket office, but it was well expensive so went and bought a couple of breezers to sink on the train and jumped the gate instead. The ticket monkey tried to stop me but I screamed that he was trying to touch my minge and I would get Jeremy Kyle to sue him.

Train journey was borin, drank breezers and listened to “two become one” because it is about fucking and I like fucking.

The train arrived in the Cheshire station at about 10:30 and I went off to find a pub before closing, and that is how I made it to Widnes on time.

PS I now have crotch rot do I put yogurt or cheese on it?
(, Wed 20 Feb 2008, 9:24, 12 replies)

This question is now closed.

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