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Young Car Journeys

20 Jul

Every Summer, my family would head for Stranraer in Scotland to visit family. It was a tedious six hour journey by car, filled with much shouting between my sisters, and dead arms between my brother and I, as well as the usual mundane games of I-Spy. The family car at the time was a Volvo estate. With my two sisters in the back seats and the whole our family’s luggage in between them, my brother and I were forced to ‘camp’ in the boot. We lined it with duvets and pillows and it was a nice little den for us to chill out in during the journey (obviously the parcel shelf was removed). Highly illegal yes, but we never got pulled over by the rozzers. Nice to see how responsible my parents were.


Such was the length of the journey, boredom would soon set in. We would soon grow tired of drawing or doing puzzles, so to entertain our young minds, my brother and I would hold up signs to other cars on the motorway such as ‘Nice boobies’, ‘I just did a poo’, ‘your face looks like a rat’s face’, ‘we’re being abducted, please call Childline’, ‘your wheel has fallen off’ and ‘finger my bum-hole’. Quite what people thought of this, I have no idea. It was made funnier to us as we had to stifle our laughter from my parents, who would have given us the biggest bollocking had they seen what we were up to.


The reactions from other road users were a particular joy; from the bemused and confused, to the angry and irate or to just plain laughter. It was like a game of roulette in a way; taking turns to pick a victim, write our phrase in thick marker pen and then hold it up to the driver. If we were lucky enough to receive a thumbs up we would woop with joy. On other occasions where we got an angry shake of the fist or nod of the head, we would simply lay down so we couldn’t be seen. In all honesty, I really haven’t grown up much since then.

Where are the toilets?

17 Jul

My old primary school used to open up its outdoor swimming pool for pupils to use during the school holidays. It was simply a case of registering and then you were put on a rota which showed the days and times you were allowed to use the pool. Although the pool was always freezing cold and contained approximately 50 dead flies per square metre, I normally put my name down to use the pool as it was free. Not only this, you were allowed to bring a friend with you and the person supervising (normally parents of children at the school) didn’t give a toss what you got up to. It was not unusual to see a number of kids attempting to run the length of the pool over its cover, and inevitably nearly drowning when their legs got caught amongst the polythene as it began to sink below the surface of the water.

 When I was in year 7, I was on the pool rota during the Summer holidays. One particular day, my brother and I decided to make use of the free facilities as it was particularly warm, and we thought it would be an ideal way to cool down. Our cousin Jake was also with us, and he is the star of this story, for reasons that you will soon find out. We arrived at the pool early in the afternoon to find it pretty much empty; from memory I think that there were only a couple of other children in the pool.  We quickly got changed in the run down changing rooms; for once it wasn’t worth trying to peer through the cracks in the wall which looked directly in the girl’s changing room, as it was vacant.

 The time we spent in the pool was brief. It was rather boring to be honest and after half an hour or so we were already cold and fed up and talking about what else we could be getting up to. A decision was made to get out of the pool, get changed, and go and play some football in the park. In the changing rooms, we all wrapped our towels round our shivering bodies. The sunny weather did nothing to heat up the chilly water and so all three of us were very cold, goose-pimpled from head to toe. One thing I miss about being young was the fact that a towel would easily cover my body like a huge duvet, and I could get snug and warmed up I no time. I was enclosed in my towel and wriggling free of my swim shorts; even though we were family, there was no way that we wanted to see each other’s knobs.  I noticed Jake struggling somewhat in his corner of the changing room, with a concerned look on his face.

 “Are you alright, Jake?” I asked, “Get dressed and you’ll be warm in no time”.

 Jake just looked back at me with a blank expression on his face. He was completely naked, holding his towel out in front of him to protect his modesty. He reminded me of a matador holding up a red rag to a bull, and I smirked at the thought of my brother charging at him, sending them both crashing through the wall of the changing rooms.

 “Erm, lads…where are the…” Jake stopped momentarily and I speculated at what the next word would be. I didn’t have to wait long.


 As Jake said the word ‘toilets’, the pitch of his voice went up a few octaves.  He began pissing instantly, his frantic hands clambering to control his penis which was snaking in the air in a frenzied manner; such was the force of his release. The power and ferocity with which he was urinating meant that he couldn’t get a proper grip of his member and so instead he picked up his towel and held it in front of him, soaking up his salty spray. Still he pissed, a torrent of liquid soaking the towel that Jake held in his outstretched arms. My brother and I were pissing ourselves too, only with laughter as we watched in amazement at the amount of piss that Jake was spraying around the place; his chipolata flapping around like a fireman’s hose with no one holding the end. I swear I saw his stomach shrink inwards as his bladder emptied, and I saw all life and energy drain from Jake’s body

 Eventually he stopped and his tired, naked body stumbled backwards against the wall of the changing room before sliding down it so that he was sitting on a bench that ran all the way around the inside wall. I was struggling to breathe as I was laughing so much, and my brother was on the floor holding his sides which were aching.  Jake’s sodden towel, which he had dropped as he staggered backwards, was in a pile on the floor, and the urine that had missed the towel had formed a large damp patch on the carpet. We all looked at each other and then at the mess on the floor and exploded into laughter in synchronisation.  My brother was the first to start speaking,

 “Ha-ha-ha! You’ve pissed everywhere! HAAAAA!”

 Yes, he’d stated the obvious, but what else was there to possibly say in this situation? Jake was grinning,

 “I just couldn’t hold it in”

 “You’d need a cork to keep that in”, I retorted.

 After a good hearty laugh, we eventually managed to get ourselves dressed, being careful not to tread in the spillage. Jake had to pack his smelly towel in to a plastic bag before putting it in his rucksack. We laughed about the incident all the way home that afternoon. Never before, nor since, have a seen a piss like it.

Bum is the answer…

8 Jul

Like many of my childhood stories, this one happened in the Summer Holidays. I’m not sure what it is about them that meant that as kids we felt compelled to get up to mischief. Perhaps it was the sense of adventure we felt, spending all day in the park and woods, with no other cares in the world.


My brother, cousin, our friend Ash and I were all heading up to the woods. It was the norm for us to bare our backsides at passing cars as we walked along the roads and today was no different. Quite what the drivers and passengers of the vehicles that we flashed our pale white arses at thought of us is anyone’s guess, but I doubt many were impressed. Ash in particular was having a ball, taking the opportunity to be a real daredevil and keep his bum exposed for as long as possible.


The road on the hill leading up to the entrance of the woods we were going to was (and still is) very steep, so our jovial antics ceased whilst we walked the mile or so up it, mainly because we were too knackered to run away should a car stop. We walked in single file, deliberately trying to trip one another up; when from behind us we heard a car coming. We stepped off the road and onto a grass verge so that the car could pass easier, but the car didn’t pass, it slowed right down and then came to a complete stop a few metres ahead of us.


We were all thinking the same thing. Was this some disgruntled driver that we had exposed ourselves to that had come to tell us off? We carried on walking, heads bowed, in silence.


“Excuse me boys, I’m looking for the Plough pub. Do you know where it is?”


Phew! I felt relief at the fact that we weren’t going to get a bollocking. I looked at the driver, it was a middle aged gentlemen. Being the oldest I stepped forward to respond. I knew exactly where the pub was, it was only a few hundred yards up the road and on the right hand side. I was about to open my mouth when Ash sprung forward in front of me.


In one swift motion, he dropped his shorts and pants, bent forwards so that his crumpled ring piece was facing the driver, and pulled his bum cheeks apart. They were spread quite impressively.


“THERE’S YOUR ANSWER”, he bellowed, his beaming face looking at the driver from between his legs. The rest of us were already at full pelt, running for the sanctity of the woods. Trying to run whilst you’re pissing yourself laughing is a very hard thing to do, but when running uphill, it’s even more complex.


My brother, cousin and I made it to a small path just off from the road and waited for Ashley. We were all in hysterics, in awe of what we’d just witnessed. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably closer to a minute, Ash arrived; out of breath, but in good spirits, waiting to receive our plaudits.


“What did he say?”asked my cousin.


“Nothing. He just sat there and looked a bit shaken” said Ash.


We lingered where we were for another five minutes, hoping the car would drive pass, but it never did. After a while, we braved venturing out and we walked the rest of the way to the woods. I’m not sure what the driver did, I can only assume he turned back on himself. One thing I often wonder though is what the fuck were we doing? I do miss those times.

Swim Class

7 Jul

Picture the scene; a group of 9-10 year olds, all shivering, teeth chattering as the teacher tries to encourage them to swim into the depths of the murky water and retrieve the rubber block from the crusty veruca laden pool floor. The children are pale, and try mercifully to dodge any dead insects that may happen to float past their open mouths as they come hastily to the surface for an intake of oxygen. We’ve all been there, and whether it be the horrible water we were made to swim in, the weird green water we had to stand in before entering the pool, or trying to sneak a peek through the cracks in the changing rooms to catch the opposite sex stark bollock naked, we’ve all got different memories about swim class at school.

I hated swimming – there was no pleasure to be taken from getting into freezing cold water whilst receiving orders from a miserable teacher, who wanted to be inside as much as I did. It was on about my third of fourth swim class of the year that this story happened, and it is one that I look back on with mixed emotions. On this particular day, it was raining and windy, yet we were made to go swimming anyway. The water actually felt warm for once; probably because it was so cold in the old, wooden shack that passed for a changing room. I remember feeling as if I could crimp off a poo before I entered the water, but not wanting to make my excuses to go to the toilet, I kept quiet. ‘It isn’t that strong an urge’ I thought to myself, and so I just clenched as tightly as I could as I tried to do a length of the pool in unison with half of my class mates. This is more difficult when you’re all doing backstoke, and arms and heads are colliding with one another, as well as the sides of the pool. When I finally reached the other end, the ‘slight urge’ to poo, had now become a desperate one.

I still don’t know why I didn’t ask to go to the toilet – probably the fact that everyone would know I was off to lay a brown bog trout, so I stood in the waist high water and crossed my legs, inhaling as much as I could, hoping to suck my ever-nearing poo back up into my anus. I watched as other members of the class were made to dive under the water and fetch a 10p piece, and then I felt it. Reaching around to the back of my shorts, I gently ‘cupped’ the fabric and felt the unmistakable heaviness of a fresh log. It had slipped out without warning, and I had a predicament literally on my hands. I couldn’t waddle out of the pool, with my newly acquired tail protuding proudly from the back of my shorts, so I suppose I did what any 9 year old kid would do – I pulled my shorts to the side and dangled my leg about, until my newborn dropped free. This was harder than I first thought it would be, as my swim shorts had that tight netting-like layer. I thank God that I wasn’t wearing speedos.

My plan was going well. I had released my poo, and the next step was to give it a swift kick to the side and then carry on swimming as normal, except my plan didn’t get this far. To my horror, it floated slowly, agonisingly, to the surface, spinning as it rose in the water. I turned my back on it, hoping to hide it from view. With the realisation that I was ever closer to being caught for dumping in the pool ( it was nearly my turn to dive for the 10p), I turned back to face it, and it one swift motion, scooped it out of the water and discarded it on the side of the pool, where it sat like a giant dehydrated slug until the end of the lesson. I still don’t know how I didn’t get caught, but now I make sure that I always use the toilet prior to getting in a swimming pool.

The Ouija board

7 Jul

Me and my mates were doing a Ouija board in the local park, when we were about 14. I drew a rough version up of a board on paper, with the relevant numbers, letters and ‘yes, no’ sections. We proceeded to try and talk to spirits, using a 2p coin as a guide, asking various questions and seeing where the 2p coin moved. Obviously, nothing happened, we all moved the coin a little, basically it was shit.


“I know, lets tear it up and bury it in the graveyard, and come back in the morning to see if anything has happened to it”, said Spock  (not the brightest). We all agreed that this was the only way to be sure of any ‘contact’ so we did just that. The next morning we went to the same spot, and removed the pile of earth from on top of our ripped up ouija board….


There were screams of terror, one girl even cried. The paper had magically joined itself together, in fact you would never know that it had been torn in the first place.To this day, they all still mention ‘that’ morning.


What i didn’t tell them was that i had drawn up a new version and swapped it that morning, whilst on my paper round…

Young Japes

7 Jul

I’m not sure why we did this, but I suppose it’s just one of those japes that youngsters get up to. There were four of us; my brother, his best friend, my cousin and I, and it happened to be the Summer Hoildays. Being aged 13-14 we had nothing better to do than expose ourselves to numerous passing cars from the safety of the local park, where we could run into the woods and hide if necessary.

However, the stakes were upped – it soon gets boring flashing your arse, even if you did feel the urge to spread ones cheeks a little. My cousin, Long Neck, came up with a ‘genius’ way of exposing himself. Pulling his shorts down, so that both his arse and cock were free to the world, he then untucked his long T-shirt so that they were hidden from view. Then, he pressed the button on a pelican crossing and waited for the red light.

What came next both shocked and tickled my young mind – he star-jumped across the road in front of the stationary traffic. With every jump, his T-shirt lifted up, exposing his tiny penis as it flapped wildly, the movement it made reminded me of that a worm makes when it’s cut in half. His small sack slapped around the top of his thighs and his scrawny arse shone, reflecting the sunlight. However, the thing I remember most vividly was just how happy he was with himself. Smiling, almost gurning, with delight.

Every pelican crossing I get to now, I always remember him doing this

The Ballet Shoe

8 Dec

When in my early teens, my brother and I would often camp out in a tent – in our own back garden. Quite why we wanted to do this, I’m not sure, after all, sleeping in a tent is one of the most uncomfortable experiences a man can have, alongside snapping ones frenulum and being caught mid-wank. It always started off as a good idea, asking my mum if we could set the tent up and if we could have friends to stay round. We’d plan to stay up all night, enjoying a midnight feast and scaring each other with ghost stories. In reality though it was mostly rubbish; we’d fall asleep early and then wake in the middle of the night freezing our bollocks off. This particular night was different though; as I will go on to explain.

It was getting late, but it was still light as it was summer. My brother, cousin, Ashley and I sat in the tent discussing what sort of mischief we could get up to once my parents had gone to bed. I was scribe and was noting down the best ideas that we managed to come up with. Within half an hour, we had a pretty impressive list together of things that we could do, now we just had to wait for it to get dark. We passed the time taking the piss out of each other, dishing out dead arms, and talking about girls. When midnight eventually came, we unzipped the tent and checked the house: Result! All the lights were off meaning my parents were asleep.

Things started out innocently enough, as we dared each other to creep around the garden in the dead of night. Even though I knew we were in the safety of the back garden, it was quite eerie as any noises sound far scarier when you’re young and outside. We soon got bored of doing this though and decided to move onto the next suggestion; climbing into the neighbours’ gardens. The plan was to clamber over the fence, get into a garden and then return. This was pretty pointless in itself, but quite exciting to our young minds at the time as we were being rebellious and naughty.

Ashley volunteered to go first, and before we had really thought through what we were doing, he was over one fence and into the next garden. Peering over, we watched as he did a little jig on their patio, before scurrying back as quickly and quietly as he could. We dashed for the tent, and once inside, celebrated his achievements. Once we’d calmed down, we took it in turns to repeat the feat, and the adrenaline rush was great – better than eating 4 Slush Puppies in one go. Before long however, the euphoria of simply getting into the next door’s garden had disappeared and we needed something new to quench our new found thirst for being daring.

It was decided between the group that we should climb over not one fence, but over two, and then take something from that garden. We agreed that it was best if we carried out this operation in pairs. Reluctantly, I agreed to go first, and I chose my cousin to join me. We unzipped the tent once more, and felt the now cool night air against our faces. I puffed my cheeks out, ‘Let’s do this!’ I whispered.

 Getting over the first fence was easy. We’d both done it earlier in the night and we slipped over confidently. I felt like a professional burglar as I dropped down effortlessly into the next-door neighbour’s garden. My cousin joined me on the other side of the fence, the sound of him dropping to the ground cushioned by his slippers. We crouched down behind some plants and discussed our next move. On the other side of the fence, my brother and Ashley peered through a crack and watched us.

“Follow me”, I said, and I tiptoed at a good pace across the garden, completing the journey with an army roll as I reached the other side. My cousin obliged and we were now up against the next fence hurdle. The fence wasn’t too high as I could reach the top easily with my hands, but it was very wobbly once I’d pulled myself up. As I tried to scurry over, I made quite a lot of noise as my feet bashed against the wooden fence. I landed with a thump on the other side, and lay down low bracing myself for a light to come on. I could hear my heart thumping inside my chest, but nothing else; I hadn’t disturbed the owners of the garden I was now in.

“Ok, mate, come over”.

My cousin began his ascent over the fence. I tried to hold it steady to make it as easy as possible for him to get over. As he got one leg up and over the fence, a light came on in the garden he was leaving. We both saw it and instantly shit ourselves, in the metaphorical sense. The huge shock from the light coming on forced my cousin over the fence and he landed on top of me on the other side. He rolled off and we sat in silence, waiting to receive a telling off.  I could hear my brother calling us, so sensing everything was fine, we peered back over the fence. It was a cat that had set off the security light! We were safe, for now.

The next stage of the mission was to find something in the garden that we could take back as a memento from our journey. I spotted a rather impressive garden gnome sat on a raised brick wall which separated the lawn and patio.

“That’ll do”, I said, pointing the gnome out to my cousin, and within seconds I was scurrying off on all fours to retrieve it. The mission was almost complete, now we just had to get back. My cousin clambered back over into the first garden and I passed over the gnome. Once again, I found the wobbly fence hard to scale, and I pretty much fell off the top of it and landed on the other side. We sprinted across the garden to the next fence – we were almost home!

My brother took the gnome from us and we climbed over the fence in unison. Once over, we made for the tent, and as before, we zipped it up and sat quietly, waiting to see if we’d disturbed anyone. The gnome was hid inside a sleeping bag as a safety precaution. Two minutes passed without incident, and we decided it was ok to celebrate. High-fives were dished out and then our prize was unveiled in front of torch light. The gnome was about a foot high, and brightly coloured. He had a joyful look on his face. I decided to name him Simon.  After much deliberation about whether or not we should return Simon, we decided against it, instead challenging my brother and Ashley to repeat our feat as previously agreed. Initially they were both against it, so we told them of the treasures that lay in the garden from where Simon came, and this seemed to the incentive they needed to agree to the challenge. We stepped outside again.

 Ashley was over the first fence in no time at all. He is a very good climber, frog like in technique. My brother soon followed and I was impressed by the speed at which they were going and also at how quietly they were doing it. Being best friends, they seemed to have a telepathic understanding of how they were going to go about their mission. They were quickly across the first garden and now at the wobbly fence. It was hard to make out exactly what they were doing through the crack in our fence which we were watching the events unfold, but I could see Ashley up and over the fence as quickly as before, followed by my brother who looked as if he had stood on something to help him get over. We waited for about two minutes, and then saw them both running back on their return, so we headed for the tent to wait for them. In they scurried, and lay down, laughing to themselves.

“Come on then, let’s see what you managed to get”, my cousin asked.

They looked at one another, and then Ashley revealed their plunder; a solitary silver ballet shoe.

 “Why the fuck did you steal that?” we asked, laughing at what they had brought. “You could have taken one of Simon’s friends!”

“We just saw it and thought it would be funny”, they replied. They looked disappointed at our underwhelming reception of the ballet shoe.

“Well what are we meant to do with one ballet shoe? It’s not even cool like Simon is?”

“Well I’ve got an idea”, my brother piped up, and we listened intently to the plan…

 Ten minutes later, we all emerged from the tent. It was now pitch black and very cold outside, but we continued with our shenanigans regardless. A path led from the garden up the side of the house and out into the front of the house. We crept in single file out onto the drive with Simon the Gnome and ballet show in tow. We decided to walk 5 minutes up the road so that any prank that we now played would be less likely to be traced to us. First of all, the ballet shoe was placed strategically on the front lawn of someone’s garden. In it, we placed a hand written note which read,

‘ CONGRATULATIONS! This ballet shoe has been dropped randomly from the Radio 1 helicopter. If you find this ballet shoe, you are the lucky winner of a holiday of a lifetime. Please phone Radio 1 immediately to claim your prize!’

 Not exactly the prank of a lifetime, but it made us chuckle at the thought of somebody following the instructions left on the ballet shoe through. We then walked further afield and it was time to say goodbye to Simon the Gnome. We opted to leave him right on the doorstep of a house so that he couldn’t be missed by the occupants in the morning. The note however was changed. This time, it simply read;


 Camping is overrated.

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