Really very weird moment.
This is back when I lived in New Cross Gate, not an area known for its pleasantness at the best of times, let alone at 3am.

Returning from a night out with Mrs. Doom, we were wobbling back to our flat, and on the corner of our road, on a patch of grass there was a studenty looking girl, obviously completely pissed. She'd pulled her trousers and knickers down and had her legs waving in the air but not shouting or anything.

At the time I just thought she was being drunk and obnoxious, but as the years go by, Mrs Doom is getting more and more convinced that she saw someone there with her. I was certain I didn't but now I'm starting to wonder.... Even if there wasn't another person there, she wasn't exactly trying to avoid any attention so we should really have popped her back on her feet, got her dressed and sent her off home / given her some coffee...

The only thing that makes me think we didn't just ignore something terrible is that no yellow incident boards went up around there for ages (rare in SE London I can assure you - they're like the logo of Lewisham Borough Council). But we'll never know for certain...
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:50, 3 replies)

It's an Ideal World
I worked at one of those TV Home Shopping Channels...

That's not the crime. But there were dozens.

It all started when the place burned to the ground. then, like a phoenix from the ashes, the management team rebuilt it. But, during the period of reconstruction things had to be done on the cheap.

One charitable broadcast engineer brought in camera equipment to help get us back on the air. What a guy. Except one of the tapes he loaned contained home made child pron. He was thenceforth spake of as Father Ped.

In my department one of the employees went AWOL. He was new anyway, but as staff were thin on the ground his absence was felt. We chased and chased him. Left messages on his mobile. But he didn't want to be found. The police came and spoke to us. 'What was he like?' 'Did he talk about relatives he might have visited?' His whereabouts were appealed for on CrimeWatch. Turns out he'd bludgeoned his landlady to death rolled her up in a rug and left her in his shed.

One of the Assistant Producers disappered under shadow of night. Apparently, he'd enjoyed the company of prostitutes and owed a debt of more than just gratitude to some of their associates.
(All Hell's Breaking Loose Down at Little Kathy Wilson's Place, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:45, 2 replies)

Another “too busy bizzies” story
Just before Christmas ’06, I made the mistake of trying to cross a road in Manchester at a crossing. How silly of me. When I got halfway across the road, a car screams away from being parked on the pavement (as is the norm in Manchester) and runs the red light at the crossing, striking me in the process. Car screeches to a halt immediately, but pushes me about 6 feet back.

Car then makes an attempt at driving away, but strikes me a second time with the wing mirror, hard enough to shatter the wing mirror.

Car stops 20 feet up the road and Manc twat scally jumps out the passenger seat and shouts “what you doing smashing the fucking car”, while coming towards me with his arms out in a “trying to look big” stylee. Me, being half cut and never one to back down, square up to the cunt and say “It was your dickhead mate running the red light that smashed the car”. He seem taken aback a touch by this and takes a pace away from me. I do the same, thinking the whole thing was over.

At this point, he belts me in the head with the bottle that he had produced from somewhere about his person (he didn’t have it in his hand when he got out the car, I looked). Bottle breaks against the side of my head, staggering me a touch. Guy does a runner before I can retaliate.

Police are called. This was on the Friday night. All over the weekend, any attempt to get the Police to come out was met with the reply “we’re a bit busy, but will be with you as soon as we can”. I went the station on the Monday to make a statement and to give the names and addresses of the witnesses (as an aside, the copper from Merseyside police sat and watched the Liverpool game with my witness mate while “taking his statement”).

I’ve given up hearing anything back, despite the fact that there were half a dozen independent witnesses, all of whom saw me get hit by the car (twice) and hit in the head with a bottle (once) and all of whom got the registration number of the car (which wasn’t stolen, I checked that as well) and a good look at the driver (who got out just after the passenger, evidently). Too busy still, no doubt.

At least it gives me an excuse to do me “You never knocked me down” / Raging Bull impression…
(ScousersPet, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:42, 2 replies)

Shit Car Thief
I used to live down the road from my school, so I could go home for anything I'd forgotten to bring for the afternoon. One such lunchtime I was walking back up my road to school. It was about 12.30, sunny spring day, not many people about.

Near to the school I could see someone standing next to a car parked in the road. They seemed to be struggling with something. I saw them open the car door, and as soon as they did the alarm went off. I stopped and watched as the young bloke got in, reached down, started the car and drove off, all with the alarm going off. He just went straight down the road with the alarm blazing.

Not that I could have done anything, but I didn't really bother. He was driving straight towards the police station.
(Fuiru Sting, where is thy death?, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:36, Reply)

Assualt
I'd love to tell you my story about the guy I witnessed doing some serious damage to someone got put away for 15 months. However, I discovered later that it was solely on the strength of my witness statement as I was the only sober witness. It then transpires that he found my name on the court documents,added 2 & 2 together after looking me up in the phone book and that my house is opposite where it took place and rang me up for a chat about it. Thanks Avon & Somerset Witness Protection. Great fucking job - can I have my fucking tax money back as a refund?

I would tell more of the gory details but his sentence is almost up and I'm not moving out for another month and really don't want to tempt fate that the ginger psychopath might be bright enough to use Google.
(pev, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:36, 3 replies)

Out on a days bike ride with a friend, we had a few pints and adjourned to the local adventure playground to chill
Some chav twats decided it would be fun to drive their car right through the middle of the play area, through lots of young kids out with their parents. They did this a few times, and fuelled partly by righteous anger, but mostly lager, I remonstrated with them. Quite politely I might add - "Scuse me lads, you do know you shouldn't be driving your car round all these kids, why don't you drive over the car park (not a hundred yars away)" "Yeah mate, sorry" they chorused. Before doing it again. I have another word like, same response before they do it again!

So I phone the bizzies - these lads were drinkin, smoking and what not, and the way they were going, I could see some little kid getting run over. Screw that.

Anyway, as I'm on my phone talking to the old bill, asking if they could send a car over, this car full of lads rev their engine up, and head towards me at a rate of knots. Wtf! I (sensibly) think. 3 lads get out, one pulls a knife on me. "I'm gonna stab you, foo!" he exclaims, not counting on my burly as fuck mate, who promptly picks up his bike, and wielding it like some huge mace, clouts this ne'er do well round the noggin.

By this point, my mate and I figure retreat is the best course of action, so we make our way off quick sharp, while fallen chav gets picked by his mates, and on the way back to the main road, come past the police who are responding to my call. Gave them a description of the chav scum, and their chav mobile, and left it to them.
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:36, Reply)

Chavvy little twunges.
When I was about 16 I witnessed a foreign student getting beaten up by 4 or 5 chavs near the Opera House nightclub just outside Bournemouth, who proceeded to then jump up and down on his head while he lay crumpled up on the floor.

Witnesses? Approximately 150 I'd say. Anyone do anything? Nah.
(irv made you eat your parents in a chilli on, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:33, 2 replies)

Gawd Bless Manchester
The old Ian Skelly dealership if anyone remembers it. A couple of scrotes, sorry nice young chaps clad in the finest polyseter, pull up in an MR2, and ask for a testdrive in a GTi. Now we always check the swapper as it'll give you an idea if they're going to be sensible.

Someone driving a 1.0 Fiesta is NOT getting the keys to a VR6. Crash-test dummy I am not.

So, MR2 to GTi is reasonable. They have their test drive, and arrive back at the dealership.

As per standard tealeaf-repelling drills, the young sales lad stays in the vehicle until the driver has got out. Unfortunately, not noticing that he'd left the keys in the ignition. So as YSL heads around the car from the passenger side, scrote dives in and VRooooooM.

Pity YSL was underneath the car at the time, really.

To be fair, he was only under the door getting dragged not under the wheels, but it did make a mess of his suit.

MR2 was nicked of course, and the GTi was last seen heading off towards Enzyme's neighbourhood.

To be fair to Manchester, it's not just Manc scrotes who try similar shenanigans. If you took a high performance Golf or similar out in the late 90s Darrrn Sarrf, and you were a couple of blokes and the sales monkey was a little on the small side, you'd be on a very strictly defined test drive route.

Why? So we would know where to come and find the sales bloke after he'd been twatted and decanted by the roadside.

If the Sales Manager had you clocked as a dodgepot beforehand, I would get a bit of excitement as I'd be about 70 yards behind you trying to keep up.

Exactly what he thought I was going to do... get stabbed to maintain his departmental profit margin?
(osok Rebel without a clue, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:33, 3 replies)

Massive cigarette robbery, and I did nothing.
I used to work near a Tesco convenience store, and use to pop down far too often for a bottle of Coke, or a packet of cheese and onion. One day, I came in and there were about four burly blokes, unmasked, loading all cigarettes from the display behind the counter in to plastic carrier bags.

As soon as the one doing the loading filled a bag, he casually tossed to his mate, who was standing in front of the door to the till area. The other two were just standing there. One said something about robbing the place, and was quite jokey about it, but the Tesco employee behind the till looked sweaty and harassed.

I assumed they were being robbed, had hidden weapons and were not worried about their faces being recognised. Furthermore, the were, for some reason, forcing the poor till-jockey to continue serving.

I waited in line, not making any sudden movements (because the guys had to be armed), paid for my Diet Coke and left back to work. I didn't call the police, and when I went back to the shop a few hours later, I discovered that they were not robbing the place, but were just replacing the display unit. Just as well I didn't do anything, or I would have felt a right fool.
(lardaholics anonymous, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:30, Reply)

What am I doing wrong (right)?
I've never witnessed a real crime, nor been a victim of one (yet). I grew up in Sheffield, lived in Maidstone for a while, passed among the smack addicts of Brighton for a while and lived in a town in Poland famous for mafia and drugs.

Am I just lucky?
(frankspencer, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:26, 5 replies)

What fucks me off about certain crimes,
is the terms used for them.

"Happy slapping", it's not happy; it's assault, filming it, then posting it so gimps can have a laugh. Hope those 3 little shits just convicted get the sodding book at them.
"Joy riding", it's not joyous, it's car theft. Then stupid, dangerous driving, and torching it.

Me personally, probably not have a go type. I'd be very British, look the other way, mumble and presume someone else will do something. Then have a game of office cricket.
(Bear Pookie The Frankly Challenged. Halloween is coming to town., Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:22, 3 replies)

This time
I'm not saying anything about Liverpool.
(frankspencer, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:20, 1 reply)

Outside the same pub as previously, a few years later
I saw one man chase another with a fuck off big carving knife. Out the door of the pub they ran, the unarmed fella fleeing ahead of the knife weilding looney. Seconds later they return, and unarmed man has been upgraded with a hatchet. Where the fuck he got it from, I've no idea.

So, tables turned, hatchet man chases knife boy off down the street. This is getting interesting I think, when seconds later, both assailants come chargin back down the street, pursued by the cops, lights flashing, siren going, and disappear off up the original street the unarmed man was escaping down. If I'd got it on film (this was 16 years ago, so no fancy camera phone alas), it would have perfectly suited the Benny Hill theme tune.
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:16, 1 reply)

stolen goods
About a year ago, on my way home I spotted a handbag lying on the ground, a few yards up a bin alley.

Aha! I thought. Obviously some scrote has nicked this, emptied it of cash and valuables and then flung it away to avoid detection.

I opened it up* and sure enough, there's a book, some lipsticks, a purse with a Blockbuster's card, etc in it... nothing worth any money, but a few personal effects. My suspicions were correct.

So, I thought - I had my bag nicked a while ago, and I was really grateful when the police found it and gave it back to me - even though the bastards had taken everything valuable, it was nice to know that my personal stuff wasn't sitting in the corner of some crack den in Bethnal Green. Maybe this person would feel the same way. I'm sure they will have reported the theft and the police could track them down. I'll take it home, and hand it in to the police station this weekend.

A warm glow of smuggery ensued.

Never did it. In fact, about 6 months later I moved out of that shared house, and as I did I noted the bag was still sitting on the hall table. I can still see it through the front door window whenever I walk past. One day someone's going to wonder who it belongs to, open it and be very confused indeed.





*may I just say, I'm not in the habit of ferreting around in bin alleys. I don't know what prompted me to be so nosy/charitable but it obviously wore off pretty quickly.
(no way hose is staring unemployment in the face on, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:15, Reply)

Living opposite a pub that was well liked by the local Hells Angel community was often amusing
Not only were they locals at the pub, some of the Angels had bought a house a few doors down from the pub. Raucous parties were often held there, drinking and shouting till the early hours and the like

Well, being a nipper, I always found their antics highly amusing - watching them from my bedroom window, gather en masse outside the pub, comparing bikes, revving engines etc. Until one night, a rival gang (so the papers said) took it upon themselves to fire bomb the Angel's house next door to the pub.

Nee naw, nee naw, all the sirens woke me up late one night, and looking out my window I saw a congregation of fire engines dousing this 4 story, burning house, while motorbikes were being frantically moved out of harms way.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, the whole tale was in the following weeks local paper along with reports that, a few days after the fire, the local bobbies had taken a shufty through the burnt remains of the cellar of the house, to collect evidence. And they'd found a human scalp. Yep, a human frickin' scalp.

In case of any HA reading, I saw, and told, nuffink. Nuffink.
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:15, Reply)

Re: the opener about being none the wiser





I was once caught short on my way home from an after closing time drink-in at a mates flat. I wandered down a maze of alleyways and took a slash. I could hear voices nearby complaining about have to be standing about in the cold and wet for the night. I took no further interest now that my bladder was empty and went home. I opened the newspaper the following morning to discover that the voices I'd heard were coppers standing guard over the body of a murdered woman. As far as I know she was one of those part-time prostitute/good time drunk types and that the killer was never caught.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:08, Reply)

Gorton (part 2)
Running through my part of Manchester is a network of foot/ cycle paths that follow the route of what I presume was once a railway. Every so often there is a large metal gate, and access to the paths also requires passing metal bollards. All this is to prevent joyriding. It ought to be impossible to get a car up there.

One of these paths passes not far from my house. Shortly after I moved in, I arrived home from the office to see a pall of black smoke obscuring the sky. I hopped on my bike to investigate: the smoke seemed to be coming from close to where the path leads.

Not just close, as it turns out. I have no idea how it was possible, but someone had managed to get a silver BMW onto the path, driven it to the spot where the path passed over the A57, and torched it. I and a crowd of others arrived before the emergency services, and we watched watched as the melting rubber of the tyres dripped onto the smouldering asphalt and the interior was cremated.

We may have flinched a little as the fuel tank exploded.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:07, Reply)

what happened to Mix Tapes?
I was just getting warmed up?
(The Goat www.cuttingthroughthematrix.com, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:04, 1 reply)

Ultimate insult
When I was 16 I got my first bike (a Yamaha RD50). My pride and joy, first taste of freedom and independence and all that.

One weekend I was at my Dad's, bike chained to his (VFR 750) for safe keeping.

Came down in the morning, chain cut, Honda gone, my bike left sat there with a broken chain hanging limply from the front wheel and looking rather forlorn.

Fussy bastards.
(Penguins_Made_Me_Do_It is a dolt ... and she don't care, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 14:00, 3 replies)

utter crap
I witnessed Meatloaf try to perform at Ashton Gate in Bristol last summer. That was an awful crime!
( SteveFrench Cardio is for homo's. do you even lift bro?, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:56, 2 replies)

Is it me?
Or do you just have to look at the England section of the BBC News website to see the kind of fucked up society we live in today...

Current stories include a woman being raped in the middle of the road while cars drove past and ignored her;

A car being stolen with a baby in the back seat;

Some bloke being hospitalised for yelling at a bunch of chavs pissing against his car;

A body being found inside a suitcase;

and a girl filming some bloke being happy slapped who then died...

I have a feeling that if the QOTW was renamed "What crime have you NOT witnessed", the number of posts would be minimal or non-existant...
(Nuclear Ninja like a radioactive Chuck Norris..., Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:52, 2 replies)

Flying Saucer Theft
I was hanging around late one night in the local park(age at time of story approx 17, I'm not allowed to hang around in parks anymore) when a group of shady looking lads appeared near the swings, they set about the flying saucer climbing frame, crouching down, looking busy. So we sidled over to see what they were up to.

They were going at it with ratchet spanners, actually unbolting it from the floor. We of course helped, and ended up with about 8 lads carrying a massive blue + yellow tubular steel affair accross the playing field, where we then attempted to get it onto the pavillion roof.

Couldn't get it up in the end, but made the local paper - woo !
(Reverend Samson Fapohunda B3tan, B3tan, B3tan, B3tan, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:50, 1 reply)

Drunken Lorry Driver
We followed a lorry one night who was speeding a little, but he was swerving all over the road, winding lanes with few or no streetlamps. This was just in the next county to where we live, so I waited until we got close to the border (sounds a bit American, sorry) and called my local rozzers.

Me: "There's this lorry, going a bit fast, a bit all over the place, driving it like he's nicked it. Are you interested?"
Police "Yeah, OK, give us the details, we'll look into it."

Thought nothing more and followed it for a few more miles as we went home. My phone rang and I answered it (I'm the passenger) and it was the police

Police: "Alright love, It's Debs here from the police station [honest, that's what she said, remember it really well, like she was my mate] Are you still behind him?"
Me: "Yes, why?"
Police: "We're sending a car to take a look, they might need your help to identify him. What car are you in?"
Me: "I'm in a red saloon, he's the big white artic, swerving like a nutter and going fast, you can't miss it, but I can't see your car..."

Whoosh, out of nowhere, and we had a good mile and a half view of the road, three fast response cars come up beside us as if they'd dropped from the sky.

Police: "I think they're beside you now. Can you indicate which vehicle it is?"
Me: "Yes, it's the big white artic that's going fast and swerving, directly in front of the small blue van that's in front of me."

Anyway, lorry gets pulled after about another two miles- he didn't want to stop- and we carry on to the next roundabout, turn round, where we see two motorway patrol cars waiting to block him off, and go back down the road we've just come up, where we see the three cars, plus a motorbike, and a van and another car coming up. All for one lorry that was a bit swervy. Next morning, this lorry was still parked up on the road, so I can only guess he was drunk or something.

So there's my crime, and if ever the police say that there's no-one available, it's because it's not interesting- they came out in force for a potential chase! Just tell them that your window was broken and the person made off in a fast car or a slightly swervy lorry and they'll be there for you.
(randomstupidname would really like this signature field to be bigge, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:50, Reply)

"witness"...?
Got home from holiday one morning to find our road cordoned off and armed police at either end.

Someone had been shot outside our front door.

Went to bed to get over the jetlag. Woke up in the afternoon, went outside, neighbour told me what had happened in some detail. Walked down the road to get paper, milk etc.

Local news team stop me and ask if I'd seen/heard anything.

I tell them no, but I relate the story from the neighbour. They ask me if I can tell the story again, when they've got the camera and sound set up, but this time tell it from a first person point of view. As if I was a witness. To a gang/drugs related shooting. Outside my front door. So I can be on telly. Telling the story. When I was actually out of the country when it happened.

Did I do it?

Did I bollocks...
(Professor Yaffle now with added sodium, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:45, Reply)

It (Probably) Should have been me......
Oh so many years ago when Mrs Matter and I were just staring orf on the courting thing I'd had her around at my place for the first time ever to have my wicked way with her.

At the time I lived in a big detached place with big shared gardens and a cellar. Whilst we were building up for round two my dog at the time decides to come a wandering into the bedroom and starts growing like fcuk as she did when strangers were about. I advised the future Mrs Matter that all would be fine as the dog was doing what it was paid to do and that it had probably just been a neighbour walking by.

However after 5 mins of this even I'm getting distracted from the task in hand. Then suddenly there is a large crashing sound from the cellars down below. So being really pissed off from having to get off mid shag I duly pull on some trackies, trainers and a top and head for the door. Now being a chap on modest build I thinks to myself "stuff being a hero and promptly grab a 1/2 inch cold chisel and a torch from my tool box on the way out of the door and off down the stairs I shoot chisel and torch in hand.

At the stairs leading into the cellars the torch goes on and I can see a pair of feet at the back of the cellars trying to pretend they are part of the rear wall, "right cnut, get your arse out here now" cries I, and shit that's what the feet start to do. So as the "clumsy one" walks towards me I start doing a hands face hands face thing with the torch. Check hands for weapons, blind the fu*ker with the torch....... Straight away I twig he has nowt in his hands so being a good sort I look at the chisel and think "if I hit him with this "I'll" get nicked" and promptly shove said chisel into my back pocket.

When the "Clumsy One" was fully out in the open I tell him to stop, but "oh no" he keeps on walking towards me, no mad rush or last minute charge, just the slow inevitable walk that brings him into arms reach.

"If I can reach him, he can reach me", thinks I, so at this point I launch what I can only describe as first assault and promptly proceed to rattle him repeatedly in the face with my torch.

Whilst all this had been going on the future Mrs M had had the presence of mind to call the local plods explaining that I was in the process of detaining a burglar, (good girl). So after doing this she comes to the window and looks out only to see the beam from the torch darting about like a mad light sabre as I promptly beat my potential assailant into an early submission. At this point off she runs and now informs the local plods that things have turned fugly and that a dual is taking place outside and that she is alone and afraid..........

Outside I had gained the upper hand and our "burglar" was sitting on the ground in a contrite manner, bleeding amongst other things, when suddenly a blue light came burling into my drive and two of the locals plods finest came running up the garden (it was I believe a quiet night in the old home town).

As they approached the quickly twigged that I was the householder i.e. I didn't try and run off.

So as the grabbed chummy I stepped back onto my chisel which had fallen out during our scuffle, "shit" thinks if they find that I'm stuffed so for the next two or three minutes I describe who had done what and who had been where whilst pivoting around doing my best not to take my foot of the chisel.

After this rather mad dance of mine the local plods fortunately decided to get "chummy" (yes they did call him that) up onto my drive.

Much questioning ensued where it was clear that my bleeding friend was much pissed at what I had done to him but rather than lie down and play injured (and he wouldn't have to have done much considering the black eye and the blood on his face) he took it out on the plods calling them many nasty names and questioning their parentage etc etc.

You can see that this worked to my advantage.

Well eventually we managed to get him to tell us who he was and where he lived which was 25 XXX st. "Stop", says I "that's the garden flats under the front of my house. A young lad had moved in approx 4 months previously and nobody had either met or seen the gent involved," says I. "If your who you say you are, who's your neighbour," thinking it may have been a drunk friend pushing his luck.

His reply was along the lines of "fcuk off cnut".....

Well at this point the local bobbies try to get some id and chummy starts to struggle. So I can only imagine that rather than twat about the plods though "get him down on the deck it will be easier"....

This was not a pretty action however as his hands were safely fastened behind his back by this time, however as I had a gravel drive it did take care of the problem of me having to explain about cuts etc for which I would have struggled to justify, (I was unmarked).

Out comes a wallet and then a bus pass. "Lets see your torch" says one of the plods. He takes the torch and duly examines chummy and the bus pass.

"Can I have a word sir" he says to me, so I step aside to talk. "Just to let you know that you have just kicked fcuk out of your next door neighbour. What do you want us to do now"?

After the OOK moment I thought to myself, well fcuk it he shouldn't have been there so plods were instructed to cart him orf and charge him, which they did allowing me to get back to the hot new gf.

When we later met and I asked what the hell he had been doing etc rather than just saying at the time he just shrugged and wanderd off.

I still dont know what he was up to till this day.

Length 240hrs Community Service for Breach, Breaking and Entering and Placing a Person in a State Of Fear For Their Safety (that one is down to the Mrs).
(Dark Matter All The Wonders In The World & We Invent Boredom, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:44, 3 replies)

Army justice
About 10 years ago, a mate of mine, lets call him Brian, was set upon by a bunch of about 6 or 7 scabby little shits at a bank machine right in the middle of town. Brian is a well meaning, quiet, weedy little bloke who wouldn't dare offend anyone, much less hurt someone else, you know the type. They knicked his money - fair enough. Then they kicked seven colours of shite out of him which really wasn't called for. He had to go to A&E and was in quite a bad way really for a few days afterwards.

Anyway, what the scabby little minks didn't realise was that Brian was mates with a bunch of huge burly army cadets who went to the same engineering class as him in university, and they were right put out at the injustice of it all.

So, cut to about a week or two later, Ed, one of the cadets, was driving through town about 3 or 4 miles from where the mugging happened with Brian in his passenger seat and Brian spots the chavs walking along the side of the road on their way into town. He tells Ed that they're the guys and Ed and his cadet mates swing into action with top fucking military precision.

Ed gets straight on his mobile to all his mates, who drop what they're doing from all over town and jump in the nearest car full of vengeful muscle bound soldiers and speed towards the scene.

Ed drops Brian home telling him he really doesn't want to see what happens next, and being a well meaning chap, he really didn't. Meanwhile Ed's in constant contact with the rest of the army who are keeping the chavs under surveillance, but wait for Ed and the rest of their mates to get there as none of them want to miss this.

They really went to town on those little fuckers, using hurling sticks and the like. Must have sent most of them to the A&E in a far worse state than Brian.

EDIT: Which part of this I witnessed is left as an exercise for the reader
(mousehats, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:40, 2 replies)

Not quite a witness but...
First post, be gentle with me...

My parents live in Ipswich which until quite recently, I did too. Now I’m sure most of you must have heard and seen about the trial of Steve "the Suffolk strangler" Wright who currently is in court for the alleged murder of 5 prostitutes.

Well he lived in a flat in the Red Light District, with my house just a few doors away. It just so happens that my dad's brother lives in the street too, the other flat in the same building as the accused as it so happens! Now none of us are great fans of these ladies of the night, who seem to take great pleasure in assaulting my sister and setting fire to our wheelie bin (as a distraction technique so they can steal bills from the paper recycling bin at back of house is the theory) but I would hope that none of us would be capable of such heinous crimes!

Any who on the day of his arrest, journo's from across the land descended on Ipswich, and in an attempt to find out who lived in the house where the arrest was made, they asked all the neighbours who lived in said house. At this point, the name of the arrested hadn't been officially announced and unfortunately my uncle's name came up more than once and so for a few hours, he was unofficially named as the Suffolk strangler...

Cue fits of hysteria and panic from my grandma and my aunty as a few journo's found out where they worked and were questioned on what it’s like to be the mother/partner of an accused serial killer? Meanwhile Uncle Dave is happily painting away at work, completely oblivious to the fact he’d just been arrested and was currently sitting in a cell.

Didn’t quite witness the crimes, but we saw the accused wash his car once, does that count? We should have known it was a bad area to live in when on the second night after moving in, a police search descended on our garden which resulted in the finding of a man hiding in our shed at 3 in the morning...
(dangleberries, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:39, Reply)

and another thing
overheard this in Altrincham yesterday, a group of teens, i dunno, 17 ish, can never tell. One of the 'clone' groups of teens that seem to pervade these days.

Girl to boy: "so what did you get done for in the end?"
boy: "oh you remember i stabbed that kid?"
girl": "oh yeah, he was a twat"
boy: "yeah, got done for that, charged with erm, GB something?"
girl" isnt that a drug? GBH?"
boy: "yeah! I'm hungry. Greggs?"

These were not youre common garden variety chavs, these were fairly middle classy looking kids. Just dressed badly.

The casual stabbing by the way - thats the bit i'm talking about. What the fuck?
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:36, 4 replies)

cops and robbers
oooo i have 2 stories!!
Once i was riding back from a friends house (about 4 years ago) at around 2.30 in the morning. I went past my local co-op and the siren was going off. Being the nosey person i am i slowed down to see a white car and three guys holding guns aloft running back to it.... they spotted me. i roled the throttle and bolted as fast as my wee bike would carry me. I escaped and called the cops. The took a stament and promptley forgot about it.

The other time i was a wee whipper snapper (about 14)i was walking home from school and as i came up to my drive there was a whole squad of swat cops with those huge automatic guns all pointing at a white van that was very rudley parked across our drive. i managed to scurry past them ran into the house and watched em round up the baddies out of the van without a single gunshot.

length? i dont know the cop wouldnt let me see.
(Serbitar Has a furry shit canon called Whitey., Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:36, Reply)

A little spot of Troubles
I grew up in Norn Iron and lived in Belfast for years - went to Uni there and stayed on. When I first arrived in the city it was pre-ceasefire (pre-first-collapsing ceasefire) and there were still army foot patrols on the streets. There were no-go areas, there were dodgy dealings, there were "us" and "them", but ironically, it was the safest place possible in terms of street crime. Muggings made the headlines, usually because the muggers had been dealt with and dispatched by paramilitary groups the following day. It was liberating to walk through dimly-lit streets alone at 2am with no fear of danger.

Summers were different. Come marching season, the whole city changed. In NI you get a fortnight's holiday over "The Twelfth" and most people get as far from major towns as is humanly possible, knowing full well the dangers about to kick off.

At the time I lived in an area known as the Holy Land - red-brick terraces in neat rows by the river, each named after a part of the Middle East - Palestine, Jerusalem, Damascus and, perhaps due to some Belfast oddity, Agincourt. It's an area populated by students and spides and the occasional young professional. It's built-up, run down, and situated right by the Lower Ormeau flashpoint.

That summer I decided to stay in Belfast. My parents were none too pleased but I was sure it'd be okay. The afternoon before Drumcree Sunday was hot and stifling. The sky was grey and oppressive, the bricks soaking up the heat, and an eerie stillness over the city. Every shop had the radio or TV on, constant news updates telling us that tensions were rising, unsettled with outbreaks of sporadic violence.

We bought some cheap cider and spent the afternoon on the front steps of our house sitting on sofa cushions and chatting to our neighbours. Helicopters droned monotonously overhead. Someone found a length of clothesline and we started playing skipping games in the street, three pissed girls in their early twenties jumping the rope. As we embarked on yet another version of "Jelly on a plate" we heard a rumbling, and a convoy of massive army Saracens came slowly past. We stood watching, the rope hanging slack in our hands. I felt like an extra from Welcome to Sarajevo.

At 9pm my mate decided to go home before they closed the Ormeau bridge - an attempted march was due the next morning. He phoned from the other side of the river saying that he'd got back okay, but that the whole way along Lower Ormeau there were sofas, deckchairs and sunloungers lining the road and that someone was projecting Braveheart onto a gable wall while the residents followed it avidly and vociferously, drank their carryouts and whipped themselves into an anti-British frenzy.

It all kicked off at dark. I was watching it on the TV when I heard the same noises from outside the window. Sure enough, the BBC camera man was now looking at the same scene as me, and the petrol bombs on my screen were the same ones on my street.

Who cares who's to blame - I loved that city. Peace has changed NI, though not just for the best. Thank god the days of dreading the 6pm news are over, but amid the terror and the cynicism and the fear there was something profoundly beautiful about a city that shoulders its burden and keeps going in its own way.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:35, 3 replies)