My One and Only 'Jackie Chan' Moment...
One night, a few years ago, the girlfriend of the time and I were walking back to my house after a long shift in the restaurant. It was about 1 o’clock in the morning, and the cold Yorkshire night wrapped around us, a light fog coating the air.

The house I lived in at the time was a huge Georgian affair; it had seven bedrooms and seven students living in it. It was also conveniently placed at the rear of Manygates Student Village, so a quick leap over the fence meant we could get to the union bar nice and quickly. Anyway, the house was at the bottom of a long, rough lane, which had no lamplights or any other such luxuries.

As I mentioned before, there were seven people living in the house, and as such there were quite a few cars parked on the drive outside. There had been a spate of thefts from these cars – only days earlier my window had been put in and my CD’s stolen.

Coming around the gate, I noticed that the door to one of my flatmates car was open. This wasn’t immediately unusual; there was often some kind of late night shenanigans going on at the weekend. She was probably grabbing something out of there before heading back in. I crept up to the car, planning to scare the living bejesus out of her, and poked my head in the doorway.

Just as I was drawing breath to yell, I saw that it wasn’t my flatmate rummaging around on the back seat. It was a young, bald male rifling through her things.

As I’ve said before, I’m not the violent type. But thieving really disgusts me, and I saw red. I pulled my head out of the car, gripped the roof with both hands, and swung my feet inside and kicked the fucker twice, once in the kidneys and one (I think) in the back of the neck.

I stepped out of the car, and took stock of the situation. I had kicked someone – and he would be mad, and possibly have all kinds of strange and interesting weaponry about him. At this point, he unfolded himself from the car.

My resolve faded. Not only was he bigger than me, he looked pissed. There was a tense stand off as we stared at each other; I could see his hands twitching as he contemplated whether it would be worth the scrap or not. In the end, after what felt like an hour, I shouted:

“Well? FUCK OFF, THEN!”

And he did. I ran inside, called the police, and to their credit they were at the house in less than 10 minutes (to the backdrop of seven students manically trying to hide the dope). They took a description, and less than half an hour later, they were back with him in the back seat of their car, for me to identify him.

There’s a couple of post-scripts to this story. Firstly, the guy who was doing the thieving pressed assault charges on me, though thankfully they were later dropped. The cunt, he got what he deserved. Secondly, a year later, he was caught breaking in to cars in the student campus next door. Strangely, I was involved again, and this time I found out he was armed, as he tried to stab a friend of mine who was pinning him down until security turned up. The police came (again), and we never saw him again after that.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:02, 2 replies)

He was armed
the second time cause some cunt kicked him while he was doing a job!

Nah! Well done mate.
(nsp, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:11, closed)

Well? Fuck off, then!
Brilliant, this really deserves a click. I'd love to have been there.
( RiverBlues Hello, Thu 14 Feb 2008, 13:12, closed)