Being a little pr**k as a kid - we all did it.

Presumably this is a video of some young arrsers from back in the early Nokia phone and 56k internet days.

 
I grew up in a house that backed onto one of the tributaries of the river test. Over the bank was a bit of open countryside and woods. As long as I remember we had loads of air guns, a couple of 2.2s a 177 and two or three pistols. In the summer my three cousins used to stay and we had a blast shooting, fishing and getting into trouble. One day I remember looking downriver and an old bloke who lived down there called, let’s say Jim ( for that was his name), was in the river in his waders weeding or generally buggering about. With knowing looks we loaded up and all four of us started blasting away at him. It was like a scene from the junior ok corral. I’m not sure we actually hit him but he turned and started walking up the river towards us. He shouted “are you boys shooting at me” well no shit Sherlock... after a few more volleys we ran off, hid the guns in the shed and laid low for the afternoon. No comebacks so we must have missed him.
RA?
 
Ah, school...

Noting the music master, "Goat" had a thingh about long hair, a good dozen of use wore wigs into one of his lessons. He told a few blokes to get a haircut, and when he turned around we took the wigs off.

He looked genuinely puzzled.

Then Monty, a Fourth Form lad, came into the Sixth Form area, so naturally we dangled him by his feet from the window.

The white ones, between the two towers...

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What larks.
 
Presumably this is a video of some young arrsers from back in the early Nokia phone and 56k internet days.

The depressing thing is, assuming their reference to an '05 Clio dates it correctly, their offspring will now be around a similar age and making similar videos, just in better quality on iPhones.
 
The depressing thing is, assuming their reference to an '05 Clio dates it correctly, their offspring will now be around a similar age and making similar videos, just in better quality on iPhones.
They will be grandparents now.
 
Compared to some of you lot, it seems I was quite a good kid. Looking back, on the rare occasions when I did terrorize and harass somebody, (usually local paedophiles and problem families) they fully deserved it, and I have no regrets.
Mindja, I often had some fcuker after my blood for one reason or another. I would have to avoid certain places, vary my routes until it had blown over. I could also run very fast when I needed to. Keeping up with, and overtaking the fittest and sportiest kids I knew.
Ravers made the right choice, and joined the Royal Navy to get away from all the people he upset back home.
 

anglo

LE
Last one about German class I promise.

One day we were doing some shite role playing exercise about how to get from A to B.

There was a crudely drawn map and we had to get into pairs. Using our best German we’d say:

“What is the fastest way from the library to the swimming pool.”

Your partner then had to check the map, see which mode of transport was most suitable and answer with:

“Taxi is the best way to get from the library to the swimming pool.”

When it got to mine and Doug’s turn we decided to liven things up a little.

“What is the best way from the school to Auschwitz?”

“TRAIN!”

We were both internally suspended for that one and had to write long essays about the Holocaust for the head mistress.
If you had worked hard at school, you could have made something of yourself,
maybe even married into the aristocracy and owned the northern half of England.
It's too late now
:rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl::rofl:
 
I don't know why we did it, but we found this 6ft radius timber cable reel left by some workmen, and being little Scrotes, decided, as it was close to the edge of a hill, overlooking some deserted farm buildings and fields, it would be great to see how far down the track we could get the reel to roll. As it turned out it was bloody exciting seeing that thing gain momentum as it careened faster and faster down the hill, crashing through a gate to an open field before rolling in ever tightening circles and coming to a crashing halt on it's side, Behold, the farm wasn't deserted afterall as the cry of "put my gate back up you little sh---ites". Which we did, then scarpered.
Great Panjandrum walt!
 
I was recently reminded of some more childhood cuntery when a “someone you may know“ popped up on Facebook.

Candice was one of the fittest girls in our year, but was quite stuck up with it. I think her parents were South African or something. She’d done a bit of childhood modelling and whatnot and was probably heading for a career on stage or some other performing arts thing.

As luck would have it, we shared a French class together.

Now French was by far the most doss worthy lesson at school. I’d deliberately put in zero effort so that I’d be placed in the bottom set with my best mate Ben. Most of the kids in there were semi retarded, it’s where the proper dregs went who couldn’t be taught. The teacher didn’t attempt to teach us anything at all, it was merely crowd control for an hour. For the most part she’d just let us get on with messing around as long as we kept the noise down.

Ben and I had this thing going on where we’d flatten a coke can and frisbee it at each other for a laugh. Making a sort of Ninja throwing star.

One French lesson we were in full ninja mode, flicking this flattened coke can back and forth around the room when the teacher wasn’t watching.

I was in possession of the can and waited for my moment to strike. With her head buried in a book, the teacher was oblivious to what was going on so I frisbeed the can as hard as I could at Ben.

Except I missed and it hit Candice square in the face, leaving quite a tidy cut between her eyes that required stitches.

A cursory stalk of her Facebook profile reveals that she is still fit and still has a scar between her eyes.
Model? Seffrican? Called Candice?

Not Candice Swanepoel?
images-15.jpeg
 
I've been up to all sorts of mischief in my young age.

Worst thing I ever did (which I DO regret) was being pissed one night on the back of a mates moped and doing a "happy slap" on someone whilst cruising past them ond actually recording it on my phone, you can quite clearly hear the sound of the crack and how he recoils forward with his mate supporting him as me and the biker zoom off into the night...

Now I'm on kind of on the straight and narrow now that I've got kids, a wife to look after, bills to pay and an excellent prospect job which I've been shortlisted for which offers an excellent starting salary and plenty of international travel, no need to contemplate pissing that away, the immaturity can stay on Arrse
 
Another one I remembered was when me and my cousin were about 14 and we went out on mischief night around the village with a couple of lads who were a few years older than us (November 4th round there, and we fully believed the myth that it was the one night of the year when the police turned a blind eye). One of them Steve, who was, and still is a complete reprobate, had bought a bunch of those huge firework boxes that fire volleys of 100 or so screaming rockets from his mate, and had them all in the boot of his Vauxhall Nova. He told us his sophisticated plan with a swift "let's set these big bastards off in Bazza Hakners garden" and so in full stealth mode we sneaked over the fence with our arsenal at probably around 11pm. The Hakners grew flowers for interflora and had a big garden of greenhouses and growing boxes so off we went sneaking around bristling with adrenaline to plant these boxes of fireworks in various places, then once set Steve ran round lighting all the fuses with his fag end before we beat a hasty retreat behind the trees on the slope over the other side of the road. Next thing it looked like that WW2 footage of the Katyushkas firing with dozens of screeching rockets, multi coloured flashes and huge bangs going off. All the lights came on in the house and Bazza came running out shouting obscenities closely followed by his wife while the kids were looking out of the windows from behind the curtains. The fireworks must have gone on for about 15 minutes with every dog in the village barking it's head off while we were laid behind those trees watching and absolutely pissing ourselves at what had unfolded. There was an attempt at finding us with torches but they were looking in the wrong place which added to the thrill of it.

The only feeling that comes close to those levels of mischief these days is doing a CTR on exercise and sneaking around the "enemy" harbour area trying to steal stuff without being caught. I miss being a teenage little shit at times!
 
When the old man was posted to Aden in around '65 - '67 we used to go to the beach which was accessed through the camp. As the beach had a long covered walkway, and I mean long, with a couple of bars selling booze from around lunch time onwards there were always plenty of the squaddies enjoying a libation and perving the pads wives, and WRAC.

The bar used to charge a deposit on bottles so that they would be bought back, that way bar staff didn't have to go around collecting the empties. It was not unknown for gangs of marauding 6, and 7 year olds to go stalking empties to get the deposits to buy sweeties and coloa. It was also not unknown that should a half full bottle be momentarily left unguarded that it may not be there when the owner returned, contents poured and deposit collected.
 
The old man stayed in Aden unaccompanied doing his QM stuff and disposing of kit at sea.

Meanwhile we, the family, were sent back to the UK. We arrived at a collection of married quarters in Branston near Burton on Trent. The only inhabitants were the wives and padbrats with the husbands around various parts of the planet soldiering. It was actually a very nice semi-rural location, conveniently located next to an abandoned barracks with a nearby railway line.

We considered the camp our patch as our dads were in the army, and used to sometimes have running stone fights with the local council estate kids. Other times we were best mates and would come together for the common good. But we had a whole ******* camp, around a dozen of us none of us older than 7, maybe 8. We found an old rope and made a death slide from the top of the fire station tower to one of the other buildings. Den's, and even more secret den's were built all over the place, secret routes, fortified buildings, it was fcuking kiddy heaven.

The tops of the buildings were sheathed in this soft metal sheeting that you could rip up and easily fold and work (lead). The old cook house still had the skeletons of some really heavy duty cookers so we decided to go into metal smelting, as you do after watching a documentary on British Steel at school. A couple of old tins with handles intact were found, a metal bar shoved through the handle, red hot glowing fires lit in the bottom of an old stove, a can suspended over the heat and the metal was dropped in - fcuk me, it melted, we were in business. We had some of those clay breeze block type things with, conveniently, 3 ingot sized cavity holes in. Stood up on the floor, a couple of us lifted the can with the melted metal up and another tipped it so that it poured into a cavity - the first one leaked out of the bottom, boy did we move at the speed of light with molten metal running around everywhere. Second time we had sand piled up around the bottom and that kept it in.

So, after a long summer holiday we had a vault full of out treasure ingots. Why? Not a fcuking clue other than; because we could. Anyway, one of the gang had taken one home to his MQ where it was pinged by a visiting relative. Do you know he paid us 2/6d per ingot. Right proper pikeys we were. The Tonibel van and the local sweetie shop never had as much business as we gave them that summer.
 
Used to take bottles back to the Offie and collect the deposit.
Then the following night go over the wall of the stock area, nick the same bottles and take them back again. Was a decent earner until a German Shepherd appeared on the scene.

The Red Rose Inn, Lees New Rd, Oldham, must have cost the landlord a fortune between nicked bottles and dog food.
Same.
 
Way back in the early 80s ( a time long ago before xbox and playstation to keep obnoxious shitz occupied) there was an old farm house near the housing estate where i then lived. In said farmhouse lived a miserable old toerag called Jack. Jack didnt like the estate kids being near his farm and would shout abuse at us if we went near.
Now. In them days no self respecting 13yr old didnt come out for a mooch round unless he was tooled up with either a throwing arrow, a gadder ( catapult) or a gat gun.
Anyhoo, some genius had seen Zulu and we mutually decided we would all rock up at Jacks gaff, form line, load,present and fire a volley of weaponary at his roof. (Most of us were tooled up with gadders and 1 inch steel ball bearings nicked from the local engineering works. ) much smashed slates and hilarity amongst the spotty halfwits.
Now. This continued on and off for about a fortnight. Till the following happened.

We was just at the present stage when Jack burst out of the adjacent hedge with the cry of "got you now you little kuntz!"

He had a shot gun.

Loaded with rock salt.

Ask me how i know it was rock salt?

Being spread eagled over the kitchen table whilst my dad, inbetween crying with laughter and trying to tell you off whilst digging said rock salt and bits of jean out of my arse and thighs with his pocket knife was most informative and educational.
We used to hunt each other with air rifles I had an advantage-- Webley MK3.
 
Another one I remembered was when me and my cousin were about 14 and we went out on mischief night around the village with a couple of lads who were a few years older than us (November 4th round there, and we fully believed the myth that it was the one night of the year when the police turned a blind eye). One of them Steve, who was, and still is a complete reprobate, had bought a bunch of those huge firework boxes that fire volleys of 100 or so screaming rockets from his mate, and had them all in the boot of his Vauxhall Nova. He told us his sophisticated plan with a swift "let's set these big bastards off in Bazza Hakners garden" and so in full stealth mode we sneaked over the fence with our arsenal at probably around 11pm. The Hakners grew flowers for interflora and had a big garden of greenhouses and growing boxes so off we went sneaking around bristling with adrenaline to plant these boxes of fireworks in various places, then once set Steve ran round lighting all the fuses with his fag end before we beat a hasty retreat behind the trees on the slope over the other side of the road. Next thing it looked like that WW2 footage of the Katyushkas firing with dozens of screeching rockets, multi coloured flashes and huge bangs going off. All the lights came on in the house and Bazza came running out shouting obscenities closely followed by his wife while the kids were looking out of the windows from behind the curtains. The fireworks must have gone on for about 15 minutes with every dog in the village barking it's head off while we were laid behind those trees watching and absolutely pissing ourselves at what had unfolded. There was an attempt at finding us with torches but they were looking in the wrong place which added to the thrill of it.

The only feeling that comes close to those levels of mischief these days is doing a CTR on exercise and sneaking around the "enemy" harbour area trying to steal stuff without being caught. I miss being a teenage little shit at times!
Glad I'm not the only one who found childish delight in CTR, some of the sneaking about as a kid probably helped set us up naturally for it in green later on.
 

Ravers

LE
Kit Reviewer
Book Reviewer
I've been up to all sorts of mischief in my young age.

Worst thing I ever did (which I DO regret) was being pissed one night on the back of a mates moped and doing a "happy slap" on someone whilst cruising past them ond actually recording it on my phone, you can quite clearly hear the sound of the crack and how he recoils forward with his mate supporting him as me and the biker zoom off into the night...

Now I'm on kind of on the straight and narrow now that I've got kids, a wife to look after, bills to pay and an excellent prospect job which I've been shortlisted for which offers an excellent starting salary and plenty of international travel, no need to contemplate pissing that away, the immaturity can stay on Arrse
**** me I’d completely forgotten about the happy slap craze.

Those were some brutal times.

I never actually happy slapped someone, but we did do drive by shootings with an air horn.

We’d pull up next to someone and ask them for directions, then once they leaned closer to the car we’d pull out an air horn and give them a blast in the face.

Did some old bloke once and he fell over.

I still feel bad about it now.
 

Yokel

LE
I was well behaved - not that many opportunities to do anything, sadly. Some kids seemed to be able to get away with anything, but just swearing resulted in me being disciplined, or at least threatened with it. Apparently having just been poked with a needle was no excuse.

I also got told off when someone nicked a craft knife and cut me with it. Useless teachers ignoring the real nasty types.
 
Glad I'm not the only one who found childish delight in CTR, some of the sneaking about as a kid probably helped set us up naturally for it in green later on.

There's definitely a childish buzz on a CTR when you're within spitting distance of the target area on your belt buckle in the long grass or woods and the DS keep sending Schermulys up, or you've crawled up under a vehicle in their camp and you're watching them patrolling about (or more likely sat round a camp fire with hip flasks out) while recording everything they say with a dictaphone.

Also just reminded me again of when I was about 14, me and my mate had camped out during the summer holidays one night as it meant we could roam around getting up to mischief in the dead of night without the usual parental curfew. We discovered that the main railway line through the village had been closed off overnight for maintenance work and they had a train parked up with a long line of trucks behind it while a big team of blokes were doing whatever they were doing to the tracks and embankments. We spent hours messing with them, pinging stones off the trucks with our catapults or making noises to get their attention then legging it to a different hiding place and sniggering while they were looking for us. As you say doing shit like this probably set me up perfectly for recce taskings!
 
I had a few moments of lighthearted japes in my early teens without much comeback; stealing the Union Flag from the roof of the Philharmonic Hall in Liverpool and when I was supposed to be in the choir and then being seen on MOTD waving it attached to a 12' pole on the Kop the following Saturday , kidnapping a dozen or so garden gnomes, burying them in a kit bag in the nearby potato field and sending ransom notes to the owners (that made the National TV - well Nationwide anyway)

But the closest I got to my comeuppance was when walking back from a Wednesday cadet night with a couple of mates we'd always call by the chippie and order chips and gravy in a tray. For some reason unknown to me even now, rather than disposing of the gravy smeared chip tray in the litter bin, I said to my mates "You go on ahead, I'm just going to get rid of this" and waltzed up the drive of the next house we passed and I smeared the tray all over the front window.

As I caught my mates up I felt two strong arms grip me in a bear hug from behind. "No you don't you little shit" said the voice behind me, and then then I saw a copper walking towards me and my captor (we were about 200yds from the local nick. "Evening Sarge" said the copper to my captor, "you on shift later?" to which he replied yes.

Oh fuckety, fuckety, **** I thought. I'm well screwed now, I've just trashed the window of the desk Sgt at the nick.

He asks me my name. "Mush" I said.
"Is your dad Mush_senior, plays golf at S&A, snooker at the CMS" he asks.
Double plus fucked I am, he knows my Dad !
"Well I'll be seeing him tomorrow at the club..........Hmmmm, come with me"

He marches me back to his house and makes me wait until he comes out with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge. Then stands and watches whilst I clean the window. After that he sent me on my way. I get back to my mates who are pissing themselves with laughter.

The following night I waited until father_mush arrived home from his game of snooker. I asked if he'd had a good night. "Sure son. Won three, lost one, not bad at all. Apart from that, usual night"
"Cheers Dad, I'm off to bed now, see you tomorrow"
"Sleep well mush, but I'm a bit peckish, I fancy nipping out for a takeaway, do you fancy anything. Chips and gravy perhaps"

And thus my faith in the essential goodness of parents and coppers was born there and then, and I grew up and learnt a valuable life lesson: Don't get get caught!
 

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