» The B3TA Confessional

Sorry Sis.
To my sister.

Do you remember running screaming out of your room many years ago?
Sorry, it was me, hiding under your bed, who waited till the lights went out and started scratching at the boards underneath. It was my hand in that sock which grabbed yours as you bravely reached down.

Do you remember your radio you couldn't turn off, or it would turn on in the middle of the night playing dreadful songs? Or weird ghostly voices talking to you and answering your questions?
Sorry, that was also me, after taking a lot of time running speaker cable under the carpet from one end of the house to the other, who attached those wires to your stereo system and could control what you listened to.

BUT


You probably don't remember that time you were tripping your nuts off and went all prang about some bloke following you?
It was me who came out in the middle of the night and drove like a loon to save you. Let alone making up all kinds of excuses to hide your 'ahem' MASSIVE DRUGS.

You were too young to remember when you fell in the pond and I was just big enough to hold your head above the water long enough to stop you drowning.

Funny how things balance out isn't it?

Love, big bruv.
(Thu 26th Aug 2010, 16:53, More)

» Schadenfreude

Coming off the ferry at Dover
As you disembark from the ferry, there's multiple lanes which filter together as you go past customs. Lots of holiday makers all patiently filtering and making good, except for the Dutch/German (can't remember which now) BMW driver who thought filtering was for losers. He barged, he honked, he bullied. He ended up being the car in front of us going through customs- who had seen the wanker doing his thing- only to be waved down by an officer who, with a nice big grin to us, pulled the twat in for a search! There was much cheering and gesticulating from all the other drivers around as they passed, the sight of his angry red face only spurning them further into mirth. Oh happy days, regardless of the lack of banana skins.
(Thu 17th Dec 2009, 13:16, More)

» Lies that got out of control

I'd had a letter from the police...
Due to me being witness to a crime. On the top of the letter was the Met badge et al. The letter went in my wallet and was forgotten about.

Some time later my (huge as in tall and broad) friend and I were going to get royally plastered. We chose a bad pub to be in if it kicked off, and all knew it. Four pints of guinness ordered (two to be poured during the drinking of the first two) and I opened my wallet to pay. Mr barkeep spotted the letterhead and asks if we were police.

Simultaneously;
Me "No!"
Friend "Yes!"

A moment later;
Me "Yes!"
Friend "No!"

Barkeep; "Well, have these on me before you decide."
(Thu 12th Aug 2010, 15:00, More)

» Dad stories

The burden on my shoulders.
My first born must have been around eighteen months at the time, he was so into cars it was his first word. (Followed closely by 'ta' which was for motorbike. Good lad)
I had him on my shoulders as we went into a shop. Said seaside shop had one of those twenty pence ride on tractors out the front, and I usually let him have a go to see the joy on his face.
So as we went into the shop, he saw the tractor and called out in his little piercing voice,
"CA! CA!"
The bloke in front of me was just going through the door but instantly dropped to the floor like a stone, cowering and covering his head. He cautiously got up and turned around to look at me in disgust,
"Thought it was a seagull attacking me!"

Needless to say, my pride at his first jape was boundless.
(Tue 30th Nov 2010, 16:37, More)

» Narrow Escapes

Yes... Not really proud of this one.
It was about twenty years ago, some friends and I were in the airport going to Malta of all places for a bit of a lash.
I was (cough use of past tense cough) a bit of a smoker back then, and really didn't want to go the two weeks without a bifta, so came up with a cunning plan. I packed about a quarter into a little tube about the size of my finger, and parcel taped it to my thigh, as high up as possible.
Going through customs to get to the 'plane, the guy points at me.
"Mind stepping over here sir?"
You know that feeling when your stomach gets lodged in your mouth, and you can see the hole opening up in front of you?
"Just a quick search, sir" as he starts to pat me down.
Under the arms, down the sides of the body, then to the turn ups and up the legs.
As he got closer, I knew I was bound for a dirty life as some crim's bitch. I could see the look on my parent's faces, the life I could have had washing away from me with every pat.
Past the knee, and at the thigh I was literally preparing the "It's a fair cop guv'" speech when he touched the tube. He looked up at me, no doubt seeing the panic break out on my face, and pulled back sharpish.
"(Something garbled)"
My mind didn't comprehend. I knew I'd been busted, in the most stupid way I could have chosen. This was stupid. I stood there, waiting for the officers to wrestle me down and ping the rubber gloves on the ends of their fingers.
"(More garble) you go sir."
Tears started to well up in me as the reality struck home and I knew home was somewhere I'd be dreaming of for a while.
"I said you can go sir."
The inner workings of my brain finally kicked in. I said nothing, but stumbled through to the departure lounge where I shakily lit up a Marlborough. (Yes, and you could smoke 'em on the 'planes back then as well!)
I can only surmise he thought he'd touched my dick and was as shocked as I was.

Now, before you start, I am fully aware of just how stupid I was, even so, any flaming may well be justified. I learnt a lot of lessons that holiday, and hopefully grew up a fair bit in the process. I mean, Malta? I may as well have been taking snow to the Arctic.
(Thu 19th Aug 2010, 16:42, More)