Tag Archives: life story

Old Man Jim

29 Jul

During my time working as a builders labourer, I did many jobs at Care Centres, Nursing Homes and Mental Institutes. The rules were always the same; never leave any tools unattended, keep the van locked (very annoying), lock yourself in the room you were working in (a pain in the arse in the Summer when ventilation was required) and do not speak to the patients/residents. Obviously, we didn’t adhere to these at all times, be it through laziness or forgetfulness, but nothing bad ever came of it. I did see some interesting sights at these places. At a home in Slough, I witnessed an elderly man escaping into the grounds of the centre, with his trousers and pants around his ankles. As 3 nurses chased him, he bent over, pulled his bum cheeks apart, laughed, and then carried on with his attempted escape.

Another time, I was plastering a new en suite bathroom.. Feeling like I was being watched, I turned around to find an 80-something year old woman with the bulgiest eyes I’ve ever seen, just starting at me, holding a big bit of skirting board in her hand. When I turned to face her, she just handed me the skirting board, turned and walked away shaking her head. I was clipped round the ear by one old man for ‘listening to tripe on the radio’ and a nurse also told me off for playing cards with another elderly fellow during my lunch break. Big deal! (excuse the pun).

 

I hated working at these places. The atmosphere was always horrible, and they all smelled the same. I did however gain a lot of respect for the staff that work there; getting paid a pittance to care for these elderly people, who were either incapable of looking after themselves, were mentally ill, or had just started to lose the plot – and I don’t mean to sound offensive saying that, it was really sad to see people with no recollection of who they were, what day it was, where they were etc. I lost count of the amount of times I saw an elderly person soil themselves. I hated the shouts and screams I’d hear from some of the bedrooms during the day, or seeing people wandering about in a daze. When people truly start ‘lose it’, it is a horrible thing to witness.

 

However much I hated doing building work at these places, it was something I had to do, and more often than not I could try and find some humour in certain situations, which made the days more bearable. My one true highlight though, was Jim.

 

Jim must have been in his late seventies, or early eighties. I first had the pleasure of meeting him on a rainy midweek morning, as I arrived to do a job in Buckinghamshire at a place called Cherry Tree Nursing Home. It was a big job; we were changing every window at the home, as well as knocking a few walls down and laying a huge patio. As I walked down the corridor towards one of the bedrooms that I was going to start in first, I heard a deep, almost Sergeant-like voice say, “What are you up to, boy?”. I glanced to my left, and in the doorway of the bedroom adjacent, stood a elderly fellow dressed immaculately in a grey pinstripe suit. He had white wispy hair, what was left of it combed over into a side parting, and a big crimson nose. I also noticed that he had massive hands – they were like dinner plates.

 

“Just here to start some work”, I replied. I admit I was quite nervous.

 

“And your name?”

 

I told him my name, to which he responded, “Pathetic! I’m going to call you Simon instead”. When I asked him why, he just smiled and said “Because it’s your name”. The conversation was interrupted when a one of the nurses/carers came down the corridor. “Come on Jim, back in your room please”.

 

“Bastards!” Jim muttered, and then turned his back on both of us and walked into his bedroom. The nurse told me to just ‘excuse Jim, he can be a bit of a pain’.

 

Over the coming weeks, I had many conversations with Jim. When I was working near his room, he would come out and speak to me. He always wore a suit. Every time he saw me he would say, “Good day, Simon”, then pat me on the head. It was scary the first couple of times, but I soon realised that Jim was harmless and just wanted a bit of interaction, a bit of banter even. He was one of the grumpiest men I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting; it was done in such an infectious, naive way. He would tell me how most of the staff were ‘boring old farts’, the food was worse than ‘foreign foods like curry’ and that he ‘should be at home still, not stuck in here‘ on a daily (sometimes even hourly) basis. We never went into proper conversation about his life etc, one of the reasons being I didn’t know how much he could remember himself, I just liked listening to him lambasting the care home. I found it funny. I think Jim also liked my company, not that he would ever admit to it. He would often interrupt me mid speech and say, “Simon, it’s been ok. I’ll catch up with you later, boy” and then just walk off.

 

He scared the shit out of me once, by creeping up on me in one of the bedrooms, flinging a pair of black pants (thankfully clean – I think) in my face and shouting “SPIDER!” at me, before chuckling a big hearty laugh and walking out.

I’d get a lot of ‘they are definitely up to something in here, Simon’ – what it was though, Jim would never say. I was caught on quite a few occasions talking to him, I couldn’t see the harm in it myself, and each time Jim would just roll his eyes, mutter an obscenity and walk off.
If Jim was losing it, or had indeed already lost it, he would never let on to me. Perhaps he was the sane one? I do miss Jim.

A small boy gets what he deserves…

29 Jul

It was on my first lads holiday that this story happened. My friends and I were being harassed by those little pikey looking kids and old women that sell flowers and ‘lucky’ heather. I could see Steve getting more and more annoyed at one particular kid who would just not leave him alone; he kept pulling on Steve’s arm trying to get him to purchase a manky looking rose.

Despite numerous ‘no thanks’ and then a few ‘not today’s’, the kid would just not give up, and kept thrusting the flower in Steve’s face. We all carried on walking away from him but still he followed us; it was like he was taking enjoyment from winding us up. It was fucking annoying, but I shrugged it off, it happened pretty much every night and I had to admire their resilience as most people told them to fuck off as they approached.

After a good couple of minutes of being subjected to a very bad sales pitch, Steve finally snapped.

“CCCCCCUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNTTTTTT!!!”

He shouted with such ferocity that I thought his eyes would pop out. The little kid almost left the floor; I swear his head tipped back slightly from the force of the actual shout. He was obviously rattled and didn’t know what to do. He stood and stared blankly for what seemed like an eternity, whilst Steve sounded the ‘T’ of ‘cunt’ with fists clenched tightly and eyes closed. Steve was shaking slightly, getting every last bit of pronunciation out.

The kid then turned and ran – straight into a sandwich board outside a club. He hit it from point blank range, and with such a force, that he fell to the ground and the board collapsed on top of him. Steve was still hunched over, now shouting ‘cunt’ at nobody in particular, just the void which the little boy had left. We all started to laugh at the boy (who still had the flower clasped tightly in his hand) and he just lay, wondering what had just happened.

To top it all off, a rather rotund woman then went over to him and pulled him to his feet by his ear, before giving him a swift boot up the arse.

Wardrobe Wank

28 Jul

Jimmy and Dave are dirty fuckers. Although they are mates of mine, I sometimes cringe at some of their behavior on nights out, particularly when they involve the opposite sex in their antics. It is no secret amongst my group of friends that Jimmy and Dave like to go ‘twos-up’ on girls. One of them will meet someone on a night out, invite them back for some horizontal liaisons, and then invite their mate to join in. It shocks me really at how many girls agree to this. Quite why Jimmy and Dave want to share their spoils with one another is anyone’s guess, but I suppose it goes to show how close they are as mates. They always regale their frolics to us the following day, and the story normally involves them hi-fiving each other at some point. Very romantic.
One particular night, Dave had got lucky with a brunette girl and had invited her back to his hotel for sex. She must have been pissed because she agreed to, and at the end of the night, Dave, Jimmy and the girl made their way back to the hotel at which the two boys were staying. Dave had taken a massive shine to this girl, and he’d made it clear to Jimmy that he wasn’t up for sharing, which wasn’t normally in his character at all. He’d met her the previous night, and although nothing had happened, he had spotted her again, chanced his luck, and scored. Now he wanted her all to himself, and no matter how much Jimmy pleaded with him on the way back, Dave wasn’t considering even asking the girl if she’d be up for it.

Although unimpressed by his mate’s lack of generosity, Jimmy agreed to wander around the hotel for a bit, whilst the two lovers got it on – the problem you see, was that they were sharing a room and therefore Dave would have no privacy. When they arrived back at the hotel, the three of them had a drink at the bar, before Dave and his beauty retreated to the bedroom. Jimmy agreed to wait at least an hour before returning, and he stayed at the bar on his own, feeling horny but with no one to help relieve the tension.
Back in the hotel room, things got saucy as soon as the newly acquainted pair fell through the door, and within no time they were rutting like animals; both working up a sweat as they let their inhibitions go. Being drunk, Dave was surprised that he’d actually managed to get an erection, but now he was firm, there was no stopping him and he found himself lasting longer than he’d ever done before. The recipient of his clunge rod was certainly not complaining, and her bacon pocket begged Dave for more and more.
Before long, both Dave and the girl were so hot that they needed to open the patio doors, which led out onto a small balcony. The room was on the top floor of the hotel, so there was little danger of anyone seeing Dave as he slid the doors open with nothing protecting his modesty. As he opened the door, Dave had a brainwave. He called over his lover and asked if she fancied a spot of alfresco sex. She didn’t hesitate and sauntered over to the balcony railing, before grabbing them, bending over so her cunny flaps were winking at Dave.
“Take me from behind”, she ordered.
Dave didn’t need to be asked twice, and he held her by the hips before entering her. This was turning out to be one of the best shags of his life.

Meanwhile, Jimmy was sat downstairs, very drunk and bored. He had looked at his watch about a hundred times, waiting for an hour to pass so he could go back to the room and get to bed. ‘They best not have done it in my bed’ he thought to himself, although secretly he didn’t mind because at least he’d be able to sniff the sheets. Eventually, after finishing his forth pint in the hotel, over an hour had passed and Jimmy decided to venture back.
When he reached the door to the room, he put his ear to it. He couldn’t hear much and guessed that Dave had finished his business and was asleep. He turned the key in the door and opened it very slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. The first thing he saw was his bed, and he noticed that it was as fresh as how he’d left it. Then he noticed that Dave’s bed was also empty. Looking further ahead of him, Jimmy saw the reason why; Dave’s bare backside was thrusting in and out as he pumped away like a Jack Russell on heat. Jimmy was suddenly turned on at what he was witnessing.

Out on the balcony, Dave was oblivious that he had been caught in the act and carried on with the job in hand, savoring every moment. Just as he was about to spray his milky treat, he heard a noise behind him, coming from inside the room. Without breaking his stride, he peered over his shoulder.

What he saw was a sight he would never be able to forget, no matter how much he tried.

Jimmy was stood just inside the door frame, against the wall. He was partially covered by a curtain but Dave could see that he was leaning against the side of a wardrobe and visibly having a wank, aiming his todger at the gap between the wall and the back of the wardrobe. Dave didn’t say a word; he just braced himself for his own climax and let out a groan of pleasure as he spilt his load. Too afraid, to traipse back inside and confront his mate, Dave was at a loss as to what to do. From behind, he hugged the girl he’d just rogered, grateful that she was unaware what was happening behind them, whilst thinking about what he should do next. Now they’d finished shagging, it was getting quite cold.

Again, Dave peered over his shoulder, and this time the scene wasn’t as bad as expected. Jimmy had finished his wank and was now crashed out on his own bed, so Dave suggested to his bit of skirt that they retire to bed, to which she agreed. She noticed Jimmy as soon as she walked through the door; it was hard not to as he was spread out like a starfish, face down, with his trousers and boxer shorts still pulled down around his ankles. Dave had to reassure her that Jimmy was so drunk he wouldn’t have even noticed them outside.
The next morning, once Dave had ushered his conquest out of the hotel room, he woke Jimmy and asked him what the fuck he was playing at the night before. Jimmy’s head was pounding and his mind was hazy and he struggled to remember much. Dave told him to think hard whilst he went and showered. Ten minutes later, Dave emerged from the bathroom.
“Dave”, said Jimmy.
“Yes mate?”
“Did I have a wank behind the wardrobe last night?
“You know you did you dirty fucker! Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know. I thought it was a dream”
“You are a sick bastard”.

Jimmy has managed to refrain from wanking behind wardrobes since the incident, but one does wonder why he chose such a place to aim his pecker. What a strange man.

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.

 “TOOOIIIIIIILLLLETTTTTTTSSSSSSSS?!”

 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.

Cat Murder

13 Jul

My first proper job was working as a labourer for my uncle, who is a builder. A few months after I’d started, he went off on holiday for two weeks but he found me some work with one of his mates, Spud. Working with Spud was interesting to say the least, with our working day interspersed with about 8 tea-breaks (whereas with my uncle we’d have one at 10am and then a break for lunch), new methods of doing things (instead of using a chainsaw to fell a small tree, he asked me to climb it and repeatedly jump on one side of it until it bent over enough for him to hand saw through the trunk), and all in all a much more laid back working environment. A little spot of rain? That meant it was time to retreat to the van for a tea-break, regardless of whether or not work was actually being affected. Run out of sand or cement? It didn’t matter, we’d drive for more supplies, but go to a builders merchants 10 miles away rather than the one down the road. It surprised me at how much work Spud actually managed to get, but he blagged it somehow, and if I’m honest I did actually like working for him.

 

He asked me to do all manner of things during the two weeks (and subsequent times) I worked for him, including driving a JCB and a dump truck even though I had no previous experience of doing so, he allowed me to lay the inner block course of a porch with no level, insisting that ‘the plasterers would level it up’ and of course constantly asking me to go and check out the home owners top drawer. The one time that really sticks in my mind though is when he asked me to cover up the murder of a cat. We were working on an extension on a house, and the owners had two cats on which they doted. We were under strict instructions to not let the cats out of the kitchen at any time, which was a bit of a pain in the arse as they would make a break for freedom as soon as I opened the patio doors which separated the kitchen from the extension we were working on. They escaped 2 or 3 times, but they would come casually strolling back a while later, and thankfully when the owners were still at work. One time however, I noticed that one of the cats was missing.

 

Spud and I were putting new flooring down , running from the kitchen through to the extension, and of course we had to have the doors open so it ran all the way through. The cats were wandering to and from the garden and not really going off too far, so we thought it safe to carry on as we were. In the afternoon, after our 6th tea-break of the day, we came back from the van to continue work. The first thing Spud had to do was nail down a few floorboards which he’d lifted so that he could get to some radiator pipes. Once done, we carried on laying the flooring. It wasn’t until an hour or so later that I saw one of the cats, come in from the garden, and I remarked that I hadn’t seen the other cat for a long while. Spud went quite pale. I heard him whisper ‘fuck fuck fuck’ to himself, and then, still knelt on the floor, he turned his face to look at me.

 

“You know yesterday when I was emptying the bags of rubbish into the skip? Well when I tipped one of them out, one of the cats fell out. The little bugger had been snooping inside it. I didn’t even realise it was in there.”

 

“But I’ve seen both the cats today, Spud”, said I, starting to panic just because of the look on Spud’s face.

 

“Yes, but I emptied a few more earlier, and one definitely felt heavier than the others. Fuck!”

 

It was at this point I remembered that the skip had been collected during our tea-break. Shit!

 

“Right, this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to rip up the flooring we’ve done so far, and we’ll shut the doors again and work in the new extension. We’ll say we haven’t been inside the kitchen at all today. Can you do that for me?”.

 

Before I had time to respond, Spud was already busy with a jemmy, lifting up a good few hours of work. He was actually asking me to cover up the disappearance of the cat, and I knew the owners would find it hard to believe that we hadn’t been in the kitchen at all.

 

“Oh, FUCK”, I heard Spud shout again. This time he was looking at the radiator which he’d disconnected earlier. “FUUCCCK!”

 

We sat there wondering what to do. I suggested coming clean but Spud was adamant we couldn’t and told me under no circumstance should I say what had happened. We had about an hour to decide what to do. We downed tools and sat racking our brains, the other cat seemed to be mocking us; rubbing it’s face against my knee as I sat in silence on the floor, thinking about what the owners would say when they got back from work to find their ‘baby’ missing. Spud meanwhile, was visibly sweating. Ten minutes passed and still we couldn’t come to an agreement on what to say. The cat that was mocking us did a feint ‘meow’, and then another. Only it wasn’t coming from his mouth.

 

“Spud, listen!” I shouted. We both waited again, and there it was, another feint meow.

 

“It’s a cat ghost!”, Spud exclaimed, now perking up. “Where is the little fucker?”.

 

It took us about 15 minutes of listening intently to work out where the noise was coming from. Spud grabbed the jemmy and lifted the floorboards under the radiator which he’d disconnected earlier that day. To our enormous relief, the most dusty looking cat I’d ever seen jumped out, looking like a massive mothball. Spud called it a furry twat, and then proceeded to lay flooring like a man possessed. It had been a lucky escape.

Taxi Abuse

13 Jul

Taxi drivers tend to get a bad press but I’ve never had a major problem with them. Yes, some of them do try and rip people off, but on the whole they’re ok. I’ve only ever had one bad experience in a taxi, and that is the topic of this post. It happened on a Friday night on my way back from the delightful town of Aylesbury. Both myself and my best mate Rowley, who was with me at the time, had consumed a lot of alcohol on this particular night. We’d decided enough was enough and felt it was time to call it a night. We sauntered out of the bar we were in and headed straight for the kebab van. It’s an unwritten rule that greasy food must be consumed after drinking anything above 6 pints of alcohol, and we were both eager to get something quite rotten into us before heading home.

 We both purchased chips with cheese and chicken meat, with burger sauce and of course, salad. The salad helps balance out the bad food and makes for a more healthy dining experience. We considered tucking in before heading home, but then spotted a waiting taxi and decided to jump in before someone else grabbed it.

 “No eating in here please”, said the taxi driver as we got in.

 It wasn’t an issue; we’d eat when we got home. It was something to look forward to. We told the driver where we needed to go and I carried on the conversation with the traditional questions that all taxi drivers have to be asked:

 ‘Been busy tonight?’

‘What time do you finish?’

‘What football team do you support?’

‘Has a girl ever given you a blow job instead of payment?’

 The driver responded with a few grunts and we were on our way. I say ‘on our way’ – we were actually fucking flying. The driver was either The Stig, or on some sort of time trial mission.; he had his foot to the floor and we were screeching round bends and overtaking other cars a terrifying speed. Even in our drunken state we realised that the driver was crazy. We pulled our seat belts tighter to us and held on tight. I looked at my friend and mouthed ‘Fuck-Ing-Hell.’

 “Do you think you could slow down a bit, mate?” Rowley asked quietly. The drivers eyes looked up into the rear view mirror.

 “I’ll drive how the fuck I want”

 “Well can we get out then?”

 The driver ignored us and just carried on driving. He had a death wish.

 Once again I looked at Rowley. I whispered,

 “I’m not paying this cunt. Shall we run?”

 “Yes. We’ll run. He is a massive cunt”

 We were now only a few minutes from my house.

 “Can you drop us off at the parade of shops please?” I asked.

 The driver merely nodded. The shops were only a short walk from my house and I didn’t want the driver to know where I lived so it was an ideal drop spot. We would be able to do a runner from the taxi and then head behind the shops to a small alleyway that led to a cul-de-sac. I had the plan all set out in my head, but as I’d never actually done a runner before, I was quite nervous. I sensed Rowley felt the same; we both sat in silence ready to leap from the taxi. My heart was thumping against my chest and I had sobered up a lot. One of my hands clung to the seat in front, the other gripped the carrier bag in which I had my food. I nudged Rowley and told him not to run straight away, just to follow my lead, and he gave me a knowing look back. We pulled up outside the shops; the drive from Hell was over; for now.

 “How much do we owe you?”

 “Eighteen quid”

 I reached into my pockets as if to get the cash.

 “My bloody jeans are tight, I need to stand up to get my money”, I said, laughing nervously. I opened the door as I spoke.

 Rowley was reaching for his door handle as well. Then I snapped.

 “YOU FUCKING WAAAANNNNNKKKERRRRRR!” I shouted furiously, flinging my food around my head and releasing it so that it flew towards the drivers face. The bag exploded against the windscreen, showering the driver in chips and salad. The burger sauce had covered the dashboard and lettuce and tomato hung from the air vents. I was already running away and Rowley was a few paces behind me.

 Suddenly, Rowley stopped running and turned back towards the taxi. He opened the front passenger door and launched his food into the car.

 “TA-DA BOB!” His face was contorted with rage. Once again he turned to run in the direction I was heading.  I was laughing and it was hindering my speed somewhat. We darted through an opening between two shops and peered through the gap. The driver was sat, dumbfounded and dazed in his taxi, with food hanging off him. He was an absolute mess.

 We watched and waited in silence, waiting for the taxi driver to decide what he was going to do. Rowley was stood slightly in front of me and I could see his shoulders moving up and down. I peered round and he was struggling to hold back his laughter. This set me off, and I had to bite my fist. Tears filled my eyes and I kept snorting, trying to fight the urge to erupt into a full on guffaw. A couple of minutes passed and the driver started to move off. He drove a couple of yards slowly before speeding off again into the night. We laughed loudly, it was nice being able to release it after holding it all in.

 Eventually we calmed ourselves down and emerged from our hiding place. We made our way across the road towards my house, keeping a look out for the mental taxi driver.

 “Rowley?”

 “Yes mate?”

 “I’m fucking starving”

 We both began pissing ourselves again.

Never again have I done a runner from a taxi, nor do I intend to, but trust me, this one deserved it. As I’ve said, every other taxi driver has been a decent bloke, this one was just, well, weird.

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