Well on my ride home from work this evening I had to pass the factory car park where for the past ten days a travelling band of delightful bohemian types have parked their caravans and new 4x4's. approaching the entrance I could see five or six scallywags enjoying a casual game of throwing stones at passing traffic, as I closed on them, they each grabbed a handful of road debris and hurled it in my direction. Imagine their disbelief when I u-turned and drove into their recusant encampment and found the matriarch of their clan. I'm not sure who was more surprised, her that a goretex clad and aggravated ulsterman had parked up outside her wheeled abode or me that I had actually entered one of these bivouac settlements without the comforting support of a full transit van of mutual aid officers. So I said my piece, that her offspring were a clear and present danger to the safe passage of simple commuting folk, all the while being shouted over by the eldest scamp, an urchin of maybe 12 or 13 summers who insisted by virtue of the holy Virgin Mary and a wide selection of saints, real and imagined, that he had carried out no such action and that I, yes me, was a perverter of the truth and a fork tongued purveyor of falsehood. Having listened to both sides of the situation, she elicited what I now view as possibly the greatest display of wisdom since the time of Solomon. She simply advised her young charge, that I was a man, and he was naught but a child, as a result it was simple to adduce that he was lying, at which point she left hooked young Padraig on the side of the head, caught hold of a lock of his curly black mullet and deftly boinged his face off the side of a Eldiss Buccaneer. Honour satisfied, I thanked her and rode off after telling Padraig that if I saw him doing it again I'd run him over and probably get away with it as everyone knows the itinerant travelling community are notoriously poor at the green cross code, most likely due to their unique home schooling system not having any substitute for the Tufty Club. Treated myself to a vanilla slice from Greggs as a reward for my social responsibility.
Treated myself to a vanilla slice from Greggs as a reward for my social responsibility. That's the best thing about the above quote! well done for having the balls - not many (me included) would risk it
I think I had a bit of a red mist moment mixed with noble cause Allblade, only really thought wtf am I doing as I switched off and parked outside the van. I do like a vanilla slice though.
Well done that man. Someone had to do it as Paa was probably too busy taarmacin' some poor buggers drive or selling broken Honda ripoff generators.
Beezer, Pete! I'd have done it differently though. Gregg's scone with jam and cream. To the max, bruv!
HRC?? I'm on a fast one Martin, pure black, which also gives me an aura of mystique and is intimidatory to wrong-doers! Can't eat a scone without a cup of tea Lambeth, whereas the slice is a supremely adaptable treat and can be had with or without a brew!
Only asking as several threads yesterday about abuse towards HRC riders, don't blame the offenders in those instances
There's a piece of parenting wisdom that brings a tear to my eye. Carrying on the nostalgic tone from last eve, I can look back at a childhood in which I was a bit of a.......scallywag...quite frankly, and throughout that entire period, my old man never once laid a hand on me. However, the potentiality of such an occurrence guaranteed that skallywaguesque as I was , I never strayed to the the point at with such retribution became an option. Not much planned parenting went on in those days. Grown ups were far too busy for such things, so certain rules were explained, consequences agreed upon and the, almost, nuclear deterrent of father's right hand kept the peace and me and Kevin on nodding terms only with local plod. This period ended, a week or so before my 18th birthday when me and the old man had a ruck, over a motorbike of course, and I ventured that in seven days time it would be none of his business and he came over the top of the sofa at me like a tsunami. Punchy, my old man is. Grew up in the docks of Hull during the last war. Got bombed out three times. Not even Goerring could get on with my nan. Anyway, I backed into the kitchen a few steps then said "you'd better put me down with the first one." He just froze, looking at me, and everything changed between us in that moment. His deterrent was now deemed redundant. I could fight my own corner and take the consequences of my own stupid decisions like a man. From that point onwards we have been two men who are mates with mutual acceptance of our mutual arseholiness and have never shared a crossed word.
Oi Mr Repsol, I heard that !! Well done Pete, you are indeed the bravest of the brave, I tip my hat to you young man.... It must be 'Anti Blade week' out there or summit ?
Nice one Pete!! I've often dreamt of having a high powered rifle, being rested on top of a hill, pointing at those calor gas canisters..... They stole my BMX as a child!
When about 14 or 15 we sat on a hill armed with air riffles and BB guns, we opened fire on the caravans and people outside, shortly after we were chased about 5 miles and then got the shite kicked out of us! But it was worth it
I was once ostracised and, unfairly ignored after writing a letter to the county council explaining an idea I had that would solve the issue of travellers and their right to permanent sites ( which appears to be a paradox to me anyway). My idea was that the land inside the 'roundabout' area of motorway junctions are traditionally difficult to maintain and, in the main, out of the public's gaze save for a few fleeting seconds while entering and exiting the slip roads. This, I postulated made them perfect for permanent sites for those committed to an 'alternative lifestyle'. This would have the added advantage that when their scabby dogs and pustulant kids went out on the rob they would invariably become grill ornaments on some methed up Czech juggernaut driver's MAN. For some unaccountable reason, all those around me, including the county council considered this plan unworkable.
