Interesting One

#1
Just standing on my doorstep smoking a tab and talking to my mucka on the phone, when a car pulls up music rattling the window's, when a gobby little chav gets out (either pissed up or drugged up) and starts crying about having a slash...

I watch him quite brazenly un-zip his chap and proceed to piss up somes fence, only to be told by his 2 mates (one a girl who lives opposite me, quite fit) what the hell's he doing?

So what does he do? sidesteps a little further and goes for it again, up somebody's front door! :roll: (Again opposite my house)

So instant reaction from me...."What the bloody hell are you doing, pissing there? I live on this street! Use a toilet like everyone else!"

Where i was met with menacing stares and a....What do i have to do to get a piss round here? Use a bog...feckin throbber!

She disappears and 2 lads feck off ski.

What do you reckon? Do i have to look forward to my windows be bricked?

Ever wished in a situation, you should of done more?

What would of you guy's done?
 
#2
Nonchalantly flick your fag butt right onto his old chap, smile pleasantly and walk indoors.
 
#3
Get one of those electric fences sheep farmers use and put it about wee height on your outside wall. It will be worth the leccy bill when some spotty oik ends up with 240v up his jap's eye
 
#4
taffridge said:
Get one of those electric fences sheep farmers use and put it about wee height on your outside wall. It will be worth the leccy bill when some spotty oik ends up with 240v up his jap's eye
Love the idea, but No Win, No Fee would be thrown at me as quick as i could tear the fecker down.
 
#5
You did the right thing, but me thinks you maybe in stall for a brick through the window. How ever if he does make sure you catch the b@stard and throw him through his car window....... Then piss on him.
 
#6
Just wait if there's a brick through the window you can return the favour to the fit lass by throwing a stone at her window thus allowing her to see you stood in all your finery of ski mask and knife
 

Biped

LE
Book Reviewer
#7
Personally, I would have slammed him against said door whilst he was otherwise engaged. To busy trying to put his little toy away whilst covered in p1ss to actually do anything about it. On the other hand, he did know where you lived . . .
 
#10
who was it who said "if they pull out a knife you pull out a gun" and if they pull out anything just make sure what ever you pull out it scared the sh ite out of the little cnut and dont back down as they will make your life there hell. So dont get angry get fcuking even
 
#11
jaybee2786 said:
who was it who said "if they pull out a knife you pull out a gun" and if they pull out anything just make sure what ever you pull out it scared the sh ite out of the little cnut and dont back down as they will make your life there hell. So dont get angry get fcuking even
Right hand man to Elliot Ness - the man who put Capone away...

Sean Connery played him in the film - The Untouchables...
 
#13
Cheer's fella's. Just thumbing through the yellow page's now, looking for window glazer's in my area.
 
#14
Any free add stuff - get her address and add it to everything you can on the web.

Also leave turds on there door steps - sh1t in a bag, or a box, or get a dog turd.... just leave it around the front door vicinity..... obviously when no one is around!!
 
#15
He wont come back. He wont remember that well as you say he was either pissed or drugged up. If he does put said brick through the window then have a little chat with the wee girl across the road and find out where he lives and deliver a right good head bashing.
 
#16
Expect the brick/flaming poo bag through letterbox.
Grab what supplies you can, find a good vantage point (Upstairs balcony would help, opposite roof would do) Expect chav attack sometime after the corner shop closes/stops selling them lighter gas to inhale.

Also I'd park your car on the next street unless you want your hubcaps and numberplates stolen.
 

old_fat_and_hairy

LE
Book Reviewer
Reviews Editor
#17
I had a roughly similar problem with a younger bloke, won't go into details, but the upshot of speaking to him was the worry that something would happen to car/house/dog/cat/ family etc. I made a pre-emptive strike by grabbing him as was getting out of car, then inflicted maximum amount of pain and harm, then advised him that I would hold him personally responsible for anything at all that occurred. Even if it wasn't him, myself and a number of larger freinds would inflict hurt on him.
Has worked so far (3 years).
 
#18
Spot on OFAH
Get in early and let him know that even if a bird sh*ts on your property
Hes going to take the blaim
 
#19
A couple of weeks ago whilst stuck in traffic, I was nonchalantly picking my nose when I spied some young scrote blatantly spray-painting on the wall of a sub-station.

Roll down the window and remonstrate with the 'yoof'.

Reply was marginally intelligable, but ran to the effect that I should do one or suffer the consequences.

Said scrote was aged about ten, maybe seven stone wringing wet and had the stature of a biafran on hunger-strike.

Quick three point turn and I was after the fecker. Followed him through the side-streets for all of two minutes until I lost him.

Grumbling to myself, I u-turned to go back to my traffic-jam and home. "Bugger it", I thought "I'll ring Plod and they can get a helicopter up or something." I explained the situation to a bored sounding operator, all the time wondering if I was just wasting everyone's time. Hung up and prepared to write the whole incident off.

Then I spied this little white face peering through the door of a building not ten yards away. Gotcha.

Turns out this was a childrens' home of some sort. I march up to the front door and jab away at the intercom until a confused looking elderly coloured lady answers. I explained that one of her little darlings was whiling away the hours by defacing the community. More confusion. I demand to speak to someone in authority and off she bimbles.

Ten minutes go by and still no-one appears. Much jabbing at the intercom later, a very angry white lady appears and demands to know "What the fcuk do you want?". I explain once more.

She announces that she is the centre manager and that no-one is allowed off the premises without an escort. She then denies all knowledge of owning a scrote of my description.

"There he is." I point out. "Standing behind you with yellow paint on his tracky top."

"Thankyou very much, we can deal with this." quoth she.

"Balls." quoth I. "Get him scrubbing or I will pursue the matter with the law."

Cue smug grin, "They can't be bothered, good luck!" Door closes amidst much merriment and gesticulation from scrote and pals.

Cursing and now trembling with rage, I return to the motor.

Enter stage left, Plod doing a Sweeney-stylee handbrake turn into the carpark of the home, lights a-flashing and sirens a-wailing.

I approach the Constables as they leap from the vehicle with all the sprit of Messrs Reagan and Carter they can muster.

"We have received a complaint." was the opening gambit of Plod A.
"I know, I made it." I counter.
Puzzled looks.

Plod B remarks: "This is Private Property. I'm asking you to leave now."

Realisation dawns. The staff in the home have called them to get rid of me.

I explain to them why I'm there. Grins all round. Couple of minutes later they are jabbing the intercom.

Then things get weird.

Whilst Plod A discusses the situation with foul-mothed scrote guardian, Plod B takes down all my particulars. He then strolls back to Plod A and recites my full name and address into his radio at full volume in front of assembled scrotes.

Gnggh.

Still, two weeks later and still no retaliation. Bad news is that despite seven phone-calls to Plod and a strongly worded letter to the authority in charge of the home, no response has been received.

And of course the scrote has returned to finish his masterpiece.

Would I bother again? Yes is the simple answer. I was bought up with morals that were further reinforced through service.

I've intervened in fights; I've thumped someone trying to break into a neighbours home; I've helped strangers to their homes when they were incapable through drink. Every time people tell me I'm a bloody fool.
Next time I still won't think twice about it.

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

Sorry to sound like I'm some sort of crusading Mail reader, but I think I'm preaching to the converted here. If we can't be expected to step in when things are wrong, then what hope for the Country?

Bloody hell, did I write all that?
 

old_fat_and_hairy

LE
Book Reviewer
Reviews Editor
#20
freedomman said:
A couple of weeks ago whilst stuck in traffic, I was nonchalantly picking my nose when I spied some young scrote blatantly spray-painting on the wall of a sub-station.

Roll down the window and remonstrate with the 'yoof'.

Reply was marginally intelligable, but ran to the effect that I should do one or suffer the consequences.

Said scrote was aged about ten, maybe seven stone wringing wet and had the stature of a biafran on hunger-strike.

Quick three point turn and I was after the fecker. Followed him through the side-streets for all of two minutes until I lost him.

Grumbling to myself, I u-turned to go back to my traffic-jam and home. "Bugger it", I thought "I'll ring Plod and they can get a helicopter up or something." I explained the situation to a bored sounding operator, all the time wondering if I was just wasting everyone's time. Hung up and prepared to write the whole incident off.

Then I spied this little white face peering through the door of a building not ten yards away. Gotcha.

Turns out this was a childrens' home of some sort. I march up to the front door and jab away at the intercom until a confused looking elderly coloured lady answers. I explained that one of her little darlings was whiling away the hours by defacing the community. More confusion. I demand to speak to someone in authority and off she bimbles.

Ten minutes go by and still no-one appears. Much jabbing at the intercom later, a very angry white lady appears and demands to know "What the fcuk do you want?". I explain once more.

She announces that she is the centre manager and that no-one is allowed off the premises without an escort. She then denies all knowledge of owning a scrote of my description.

"There he is." I point out. "Standing behind you with yellow paint on his tracky top."

"Thankyou very much, we can deal with this." quoth she.

"Balls." quoth I. "Get him scrubbing or I will pursue the matter with the law."

Cue smug grin, "They can't be bothered, good luck!" Door closes amidst much merriment and gesticulation from scrote and pals.

Cursing and now trembling with rage, I return to the motor.

Enter stage left, Plod doing a Sweeney-stylee handbrake turn into the carpark of the home, lights a-flashing and sirens a-wailing.

I approach the Constables as they leap from the vehicle with all the sprit of Messrs Reagan and Carter they can muster.

"We have received a complaint." was the opening gambit of Plod A.
"I know, I made it." I counter.
Puzzled looks.

Plod B remarks: "This is Private Property. I'm asking you to leave now."

Realisation dawns. The staff in the home have called them to get rid of me.

I explain to them why I'm there. Grins all round. Couple of minutes later they are jabbing the intercom.

Then things get weird.

Whilst Plod A discusses the situation with foul-mothed scrote guardian, Plod B takes down all my particulars. He then strolls back to Plod A and recites my full name and address into his radio at full volume in front of assembled scrotes.

Gnggh.

Still, two weeks later and still no retaliation. Bad news is that despite seven phone-calls to Plod and a strongly worded letter to the authority in charge of the home, no response has been received.

And of course the scrote has returned to finish his masterpiece.

Would I bother again? Yes is the simple answer. I was bought up with morals that were further reinforced through service.

I've intervened in fights; I've thumped someone trying to break into a neighbours home; I've helped strangers to their homes when they were incapable through drink. Every time people tell me I'm a bloody fool.
Next time I still won't think twice about it.

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

Sorry to sound like I'm some sort of crusading Mail reader, but I think I'm preaching to the converted here. If we can't be expected to step in when things are wrong, then what hope for the Country?

Bloody hell, did I write all that?
It's not an unusual situation nowadays. I wrote at length on here a week or so ago of similar situation, albeit a bit more serious. Whatever the citizen does is wrong, no matter how right-minded you may be. Sadly, the authorities have decreed that the law is their trainset, and no-one else is allowed to play with it. All we can do is to keep trying, to keep working at the situation and hope that a little common sense will filter through the fog of 'equlaty and diversity'.
 

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