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» Accidentally Erotic
Bromley Horn
Sitting on the back seat of my Mum's Ford Escort driving down Bromley High Street in the early 80's aged 4, I spotted a mannequin in a leopard print bikini. Got a right old stiffy (probably about 2 inches at the time) and then informed my Mum that 'my willy's gone all hard.'
(Mon 6th Feb 2006, 1:47, More)
Bromley Horn
Sitting on the back seat of my Mum's Ford Escort driving down Bromley High Street in the early 80's aged 4, I spotted a mannequin in a leopard print bikini. Got a right old stiffy (probably about 2 inches at the time) and then informed my Mum that 'my willy's gone all hard.'
(Mon 6th Feb 2006, 1:47, More)
» School fights
Football non-related violence
After watching The Firm (the Gary Oldman one, not the midget scientologists version) my year at school became obsessed with gang violence and the playground was soon divided into two factions, the OCB (Outer City Beefers) and The Establishment (E Army). The OCB had the numbers but the Establishment were game, up for it toe-to-toe, and regularly had the OCB on the run (I was E Army, can’t you tell?).
Every lunchtime gang warfare would erupt with very carefully planned attacks, all-out punch-ups, and of course the deadly bundle. The fights were mostly in good spirit and didn’t cause much injury other than the odd ruptured knacker-sack or severe dead-arm, but they did lead to one of the most talked about nights of violence Surrey has ever seen; ‘The Battle Of Pyrford Woods’. On Halloween 1993 the gangs met down a notoriously rough ‘private’ housing estate and had it out with fireworks, stand-and-clamp bars, eggs, flour, the lot. It was vicious and went on for hours. Tactics such as ‘garden hopping’ were employed to get positional advantage, and plastic drainpipes were adapted into makeshift firework launchers. How nobody was deafened, blinded, serevley burnt or injured is anybodies guess, and the fact that nobody was arrested shows the cunning nature of the gangs leaders by arranging the fight well away from any football ground, and in fact match-day. Even though it went off ‘big-time’ we weren’t interrupted at all by the Woking constabulary, despite around 30 armed and dangerous youths running amok. This either pays credit to the grudging respect the old bill had for us at the time, or their complete inadequacy.
You decide.
I like to think that this story is retold in Fullbrook School’s playgrounds to this day.
But it probably isn’t.
(Thu 16th Mar 2006, 0:37, More)
Football non-related violence
After watching The Firm (the Gary Oldman one, not the midget scientologists version) my year at school became obsessed with gang violence and the playground was soon divided into two factions, the OCB (Outer City Beefers) and The Establishment (E Army). The OCB had the numbers but the Establishment were game, up for it toe-to-toe, and regularly had the OCB on the run (I was E Army, can’t you tell?).
Every lunchtime gang warfare would erupt with very carefully planned attacks, all-out punch-ups, and of course the deadly bundle. The fights were mostly in good spirit and didn’t cause much injury other than the odd ruptured knacker-sack or severe dead-arm, but they did lead to one of the most talked about nights of violence Surrey has ever seen; ‘The Battle Of Pyrford Woods’. On Halloween 1993 the gangs met down a notoriously rough ‘private’ housing estate and had it out with fireworks, stand-and-clamp bars, eggs, flour, the lot. It was vicious and went on for hours. Tactics such as ‘garden hopping’ were employed to get positional advantage, and plastic drainpipes were adapted into makeshift firework launchers. How nobody was deafened, blinded, serevley burnt or injured is anybodies guess, and the fact that nobody was arrested shows the cunning nature of the gangs leaders by arranging the fight well away from any football ground, and in fact match-day. Even though it went off ‘big-time’ we weren’t interrupted at all by the Woking constabulary, despite around 30 armed and dangerous youths running amok. This either pays credit to the grudging respect the old bill had for us at the time, or their complete inadequacy.
You decide.
I like to think that this story is retold in Fullbrook School’s playgrounds to this day.
But it probably isn’t.
(Thu 16th Mar 2006, 0:37, More)
» It's not me, it's the drugs talking
No solid crew
A few years ago me and my mate Grant headed to Ibiza. I was intent on a drugs marathon but Grant didn't partake so he had to put up with my drug-induced antics for a whole week. I kept hassling him to take something, but he wasn't having it. I got it in my mind that he should eat some gear; it would be 'good for him' so I thought. After repeatedly chanting ‘go on, eat some gear’ at him all day, he finally relented. I proceeded to burn a whole 8th of strong Moroccan gear, split it in two and offered him half with the assurance that ‘I would give my Nan that’. Grant reluctantly washed down the gear with Coke thus busting his drug cherry.
We went out for dinner and everything was going fine until we decided to head to a bar. Grant got this really dark look in his eyes and proceeded to shake his head, I was a bit worried and could feel the effects of the gear myself. Turns out it was some festival night and was the streets were full of people who all where, according to Grant, trying to stab and rob him. I knew this was going wrong so I decided to pull my hyperventilating/paranoid mate back to the hotel room.
Once back at the room he made me close the windows as he thought he was going to fall out of the room and was breathing really heavily whilst muttering darkness. Poor fella thought that this was the end. I was losing it myself big-time but managed to hold it together until he passed out. I was knackered by this time and fell into a trippy sleep only to be woken up by a punch in the back; I turned around and faced my mate with full-on evil eyes hyperventilating once again. I will never forget the physcotic look he gave me, pure evil. Luckily he quickly fell back to sleep.
And the good thing was……………… he was so relieved the next morning that it was over he wasn’t pissed off with me.
He stuck to lager after that though
(Tue 20th Dec 2005, 21:38, More)
No solid crew
A few years ago me and my mate Grant headed to Ibiza. I was intent on a drugs marathon but Grant didn't partake so he had to put up with my drug-induced antics for a whole week. I kept hassling him to take something, but he wasn't having it. I got it in my mind that he should eat some gear; it would be 'good for him' so I thought. After repeatedly chanting ‘go on, eat some gear’ at him all day, he finally relented. I proceeded to burn a whole 8th of strong Moroccan gear, split it in two and offered him half with the assurance that ‘I would give my Nan that’. Grant reluctantly washed down the gear with Coke thus busting his drug cherry.
We went out for dinner and everything was going fine until we decided to head to a bar. Grant got this really dark look in his eyes and proceeded to shake his head, I was a bit worried and could feel the effects of the gear myself. Turns out it was some festival night and was the streets were full of people who all where, according to Grant, trying to stab and rob him. I knew this was going wrong so I decided to pull my hyperventilating/paranoid mate back to the hotel room.
Once back at the room he made me close the windows as he thought he was going to fall out of the room and was breathing really heavily whilst muttering darkness. Poor fella thought that this was the end. I was losing it myself big-time but managed to hold it together until he passed out. I was knackered by this time and fell into a trippy sleep only to be woken up by a punch in the back; I turned around and faced my mate with full-on evil eyes hyperventilating once again. I will never forget the physcotic look he gave me, pure evil. Luckily he quickly fell back to sleep.
And the good thing was……………… he was so relieved the next morning that it was over he wasn’t pissed off with me.
He stuck to lager after that though
(Tue 20th Dec 2005, 21:38, More)