Apparently I carved my little brother's name in the plaster of the bathroom wall with a nail file and tried to blame it on him.
Only problem was...................
..........he was too young to know how to write his name :doh:
Fee
XX
When I was 3 or 4 I backed my dads zephry out of the driveway. No keys just took the handbrake off and let it roll into the centre of the road. Managed not to hit the gate posts or any other parked vehicles. Not bad for a young'un
think ive told this story before but for those that didnt get it first time...............
my dad used to go every weekend wildfowling.....today its a sport but then we ate everything he shot ....i was about 4 or 5....i used to wait with his guns drying by the fire until he said it was ok and id strip them down and clean them.......
this 1 day my dad was dozing if i remember rightly and we had an extra lodger in the house (a mouse)......it came out form under the fire and my dad who took it by surprise by dozing ......whipped off 1 of his slippers and felled the rodent with a right handed full slipper toss......
im laughing here now coz i remember we took a photo of my dad....in full hunting outfit with double barrel shotguns under each arm with his foot over the mouse like in a great white hunter shot from the 19th century lol........
yeah...i agree.....i definately need to get out more..... :shock:
Started laughing even before I began to type this!
My cousin Jayne and I were the same age, and real partners in crime. We did everything together, and were always getting into trouble.( Quite funny really, as she now works for the Crown Prosecution service as a Barrister)
We must have been about 10 I suppose, and one of our school friends had a collie cross which had had pups. Although we both had dogs, we really wanted one of these puppies, so we decided to get one, keep it hidden, and it would be our joint dog. We spent a great afternoon carrying this poor puppy around, but then it came close to the time when we had to go home, and the problem of what to do with the puppy raised it's ugly head. In a flash of what we thought was brilliance, we decided to hide it overnight in our Nan's woodshed, as she was away for the week visiting her sister. Puppy duly hidden, off we went home.
At 10 o clock that night I was woken up by my Dad, who was struggling to keep a straight face, who asked if I knew anything about a puppy in Nan's shed. Apparently, the poor little thing had started to howl, a very high-pitched and eerie sound by all accounts, and my Nan's rather nervous and old-maidish next door neighbour had been so frightened by the scary noises coming from next door that she had run down the street in her nightie to the fire station at the bottom of the road to report that there were ghosts in her next door neighbours garden. As it happens, my Dad was a fireman, and the guys on duty knew it was his mother-in-laws house so a couple of them went up to check out the 'ghost'. Once the puppy was discovered they didn't have to be genius's to guess that a certain little brat was at the bottom of it.
Luckily my parents were both so amused by it all that I didn't get into serious trouble, although I had a lot of apologising to do. And we had to take the puppy back :cry:
Getting your wucking mords fuddled . . . .
My father was a very strict disciplinarian. Almost Victorian in attitude. (Born 1909)
As a young boy (7 or 8 ish) I remember one of my older brothers having some Rinstead Pastilles and teasing me with them, but refusing to share.
Being the spoilt brat I was (baby of 9) I was getting quite upset and hyper.
db "Gimme one ! ! !"
brother "No ! ! !"
db "Gimme a rinstead pastille" (We were forced to say what we actually wanted)
After several similar exchanges
db "Gimme a rinstille bastard ! ! !"
Dad - thwaaaaaccccckk ! ! ! ! !
OR . . .
Late 60s. Short trousers. Living in the slums of Sheffield.
I once shit in my pants on the way home from school.
Nearly got away with it. Through underwear away. Washed myself under the yard tap.
But next elder brother revelled in the opportunity to grass me up to Mum. (See spoilt brat comment above)
thwaaaaaccccckk ! ! ! ! !
None too bad. I'd learned to "handle" all that from a very early age.
But - Oh; the indignity ! - Next morning Mum gave me the usual penny to go to school with, then took the fucker back off me for being a "bad, dirty little boy" and gave it my brother for being "honest"
I hated him for years after that ! !
Neither episode was funny at the time, but both make me laugh like a drain when I think of them now.
)........
:lol: :lol: .
uch: 
