» Tantrums

Before my sister was born...
...life was grand, I ruled the roost, there was nothing my parents wouldn't do for me, I was their one and only, the twinkle in their eyes, life was good.

Then my mum got pregnant and as any toddler will attest, to me, this just wasn't on, in fact it was crushing.

Suddenly the days of unparalleled love started to wane, my parents time was taken up with painting MY play room pink, moving my toys into my room, rubbing my mum's tummy more than mine, mum not having the energy to chase me around the house as I squealed with joy, basically they stop loving me and caring that I existed.

I knew the good days were up, but I wasn't prepared to let my now neglecting parents off the hook so easily, so one day whilst out doing the weekly shop with my very pregnant mum (she says that my sister was born a couple of weeks after this incident, so she must have been very pregnant - an also very negligent) I made sure she started making time for me again and that others would help fight my cause.

As we queued up to pay I put my plan into action. I threw myself to the floor making sure I slide a good few feet, slid onto my back, reached one arm into the air and pointed my finger at my mum. Mum says that at that moment the world slowed down and just as it sped up again I uttered the words that would be the fatal blow of my plan:

"She pushed me..."

The horror on people's faces I can only imagine, but it worked, a little old lady spun on her heels and said to my mum:

"Just because you're having another one, doesn't mean you should forget about the other"

Win, win, win, win - don't mess with me!
(Fri 20th Jul 2012, 17:22, More)

» Self-Inflicted injuries

Fireworks Night Fun
A few years back whilst I was at university a friend and I were massive smokers and during our sessions smoking out the house we from time to time came across a video on YouTube that would spark in us some motivation.

The video on this particular occasion was off some Americans out in a field with a potato canon firing spuds hundreds of yards at a time. The perfect project for a couple of stoners.

So off we set to Plumbase to buy the relevant materials. When asked by the guy behind the counter what we were making he nearly died laughing and insisted that we should use it for firing shit at people.

Anyway, pipes and glue in hand we headed back to Harry's to put it all together.

After a couple of hours of cutting plastic piping and gluing it together the canon was built. We'd even cleverly developed an electric trigger for it using a hob lighter that would ignite the aerosol in the chamber and fire the potato into oblivion.

So smug were we with our achievements we lit up another doobie and basked in our glory. It was at that moment I decided to admire our handy work and check the ignition system by looking down the barrel and pulling the trigger.

The chamber was empty, no aerosol sprayed in, no potato, so everything should be fine right?

Wrong! We had cut the piping with a hack saw and not bothered to clean off the cutting shavings, the tubing was then glued together with epoxy resin. Who'd have though that the fumes from the glue would ignite in the chamber when the trigger was pulled, not me that's for sure. In a flash I was blown into the air and hot melted plastic blasted into my eye socket.

It's amazing how quickly smug stoned turns into blind panic, quite literally. I rushed down tot he bathroom and start rinsing my eye out and pulled several pieces on melted plastic from under my eye lid. Harry came in and we wrapped my head in a wet tea towel and made our way to A&E.

In all the excitement we had completely forgotten it was Fireworks Night and so when we finally rocked up at A&E in complete fear that I was going to lose my eye, there was absolutely no sympathy from the nurses or doctors on duty. In fact, whilst I was waiting to be seen they made me tell the story of what had happened to every person that passed us as a warning not to fuck around with explosives, especially on Fireworks Night. I think the nursers and doctors actually enjoyed watching me retell the tale over and over - it certainly helped the message sink in!

Luckily the damage wasn't permanent and I still enjoy the use of both of my eyes, but I certainly won't be dicking about with explosives for a while.
(Fri 29th Nov 2013, 16:34, More)

» I should have been arrested

Car running that nearly went wrong
A few summers ago some friends and I were out enjoying the long evening on Wimbledon Common. We'd been drinking for much of the day and as the sun light faded we decided it was time to move on.

We decided that rather than walk down Wimbledon Hill, we'd take a back street then nip over the railway bridge to take us to Wimbledon Chase for a pint or two. No point going through town if we didn't need to.

So the back road we decided to take was a pretty steep hill and about half way down I hit on the idea that we should go car running. Now, for those unfamiliar with this game, the idea is simple. One person takes each side of the road and lines up behind a parked car, then both people run as fast as they can over the tops of all the cars on their side of the road to the end of the road, the first there is the winner. Simple.

That is until you add a massive hill, a soft top car and a scaredy cat opponent who bails as you speed off running over every car in front of you.

As I neared the bottom of the hill, some 20 cars later and loud shout came from the road behind. Running down the road behind were two incredibly burly guys. In fact they weren't shouting, they were screaming blue murder in our - I mean, my - direction.

Our group started bombing it down the hill and at the bottom where there is a t junction most went right, whilst a friend and I took the left. We thought running left at the bottom of the hill was the smartest idea, we'd still be able to get to the railway bridge and avoid capture.

The plan was being executed perfectly until the amount of alcohol in my system kicked in and my running turned into a jog. The burly men caught up with us in no time, swung me round on my heels and produced black wallets from no-where.

'We're cops, and you've just f*cked up my soft top!'

A bit of poo ran down my leg. We were busted good and proper. All I could think was how I was going to explain this to my girlfriend when she found out, she always finds out.

Then my friend had what can only be called a moment of total clarity and produced the best time reponse possible...

'Can I see those badges again?'

Our assailants went white, they had tried to scam us and get us to go back with them to get a kicking and somehow the tables had been turned.

I was guilty of trashing their car for sure, but they weren't cops, for all they knew we were just two guys running late one evening whilst battered. A small exchange followed in which we protested our innocence, we were just out running.

'These aren't the droids you're looking for...' and all that. They bought it, god knows why. Maybe it was the fact they had tried the old 'we're cops, you're coming with us' routine and it had back fired. Who cares!

As we turned around, neither of us could believe what had just happened. We gingerly walked off and over the railway bridge in search of another pub and beer to calm our beating hearts.
(Wed 1st Feb 2012, 14:02, More)