Violence... and old ladies
Back in the day (1990) when young Davros was a scrawny 19 year old - 28 inch waist, fuck me those were the days - I was also heavily into my Goth phase.

Now, Goths had a bit of a misunderstood reputation back then. I would consider myself a bit of an old school Goth (see profile), none of this modern Marilyn Manson nonsense. Proper big hair, big hats, and liberal sprinklings of flour for that 'dusty, aged look'. Ripped jeans with spandex leggings underneath, plus long leather coats were considered de rigeur back then. And to this day, I still own a long leather coat...

My particular look evolved to include a black and white mohiecan haircut (courtesy of a mate doing a hairdressing course at college - we won a regional competition and came third in the all expenses paid national finals in Blackpool - for which I had to have my hair styled and sit very still in a menacing position for 20 minutes), countered by the aforementioned leather and spandex, plus chains hanging from various 'fashion' statements. Although oddly, at that particular juncture, no piercings - my only concession to that came at age 23, when I got my left ear pierced, and still wear the earring today...

Anyway, the Goth thing kind of had a small foothold in my home town (a small market town which happens to be the most northerly town in England - major clue). By this time I was at college doing graphics (which is why I ended up in the civil service), staying away during the week but returning home at weekends to get my washing done - thanks Mum (RIP). For a small town, me and my mates didn't get a lot of flak - probably because we boosted the town's economy significantly by drinking a lot and also hiring local pubs and hotels for regional bands to play at, thus greatly swelling the coffers.

I'm rambling. I'm slightly pissed...

Anyway, one week, a college mate came up to stay with me and my then GF. The three of us were walking down the high street, in full regalia, and passed a small group of old ladies.

For some reason, panic filled their eyes, and, as we walked past, I was subjected to an almighty clattering to the side of the head from the umberella of one of the group. Now, I would be the first to admit that at the time my appearance may have been somewhat uncomformist and a tad bizarre in a small town, but many who knew me at the time would probably acknowledge that I am, at heart, a gentle soul and one of the least offensive people you could ever meet.

But still. I got assaulted by an old lady. While my so-called-mates rolled around in the gutter, pissing themselves. Apparently she had thought I was going to mug her. Hmmph.




In a seperate incident I was jumped by a bunch of (what would now be classed as chavs) in the same town, who had been thrown out of the pub I had been drinking in for being cunts. Their motive? I had been in the same pub as them.

I took them to court for the assault and won my case.

My reward?





£50 in compensation, paid over 26 week instalments. I felt like a fucking catalogue purchase.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 21 Feb 2008, 0:36, 5 replies)

catalogue purchase...
priceless
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Thu 21 Feb 2008, 2:45, closed)

this reply doesn't exist
when you don't read it.
This reply doesn't exist
when you're not there.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 4:38, closed)

hmmmm
One would think that if said chavs can afford to drink in the pub, and this causes trouble, they could afford to give you the money they would spend there rather than a measly £1.92/week thats only about a pint even up north. (probably couldn't get you a half in London now thats criminal)
(manbear84, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 11:49, closed)

I was once a goth too
I recall once I was coming back from Slimelight (London night out) and was therefore catching a rather crowded bus from Oxford city centre to a small nearby village at about 9.30 AM (Slimelight having chucked out at half seven).

I looked a state, had been up all night dancing badly and was covered in badly-applied bad makeup, badly streaked down me by some excellent sweating. My hair looked like Edward Scissorhands and my eyes were red hooded after too much drink and caffeine. I was clad in leather and chains (yes, it was a look I liked) and had some New Rock boots on with flames halfway up my legs.

A little old lady came on, sat behind me and asked if her grand daughter (who was all of 5) could sit next to me. Of course I readily agreed and sat happily staring out the window 'til my stop arrived.

I asked the youngster to excuse me as I got up and she moved and the gran took my hand and saud the immortal line:

"Thanks love, you looked least like a child molester."

I often wondered how offended the others on that bus must have felt.
( Mockingbird Practitioner of SCIENCE, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 12:03, closed)

Compensation
My brother got £200 quid after being duffed up outside a *cough* travellers' camp.

They pleaded poverty, and he got it in £1 installments over 4 years.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 21 Feb 2008, 12:18, closed)