I went through a whole range of emotions as I ran down the garden and away into the night - I was partly $***ing myself because my father was so angry - but then gasping with laughter the more I thought about what I’d just done and seen!
1 Like
Back in the early 60s (yes I am that old!) I lived in a shared house in a small village just south of Staines. There were about 6 regular residents and then the odd short term one would appear. One such bloke was a typical Irish Navy they were just thinking about the M3 I think then. He would come in late most nights after having drunk his evening meal and bring loads of cans with him, but he would always complain about the noise (what’s wrong with bagpipes?) and the general goings on of 6 lads living together.
One night we hatched a plan - I had built a home made record player, with big speakers made from tea chests (wi-fi?) and I obtained an EP of steam railway engines and express trains, one Saturday night when he was in a stupor we went into the bedroom above his ground floor room and carefully lowered one of the speakers out of the window until it was exactly outside his window. We then played what was probably The Flying Scotsman passing through Watford Junction at full speed on the highest volume we could.
The result was spectacular! He shot out of his room swearing that the train was about smash through his room (the nearest railway was about 3 miles away) ran out into the dark garden to try and stop it, still swearing and cursing. We quickly hauled the speaker up, and hid in the dark wetting ourselves. He left the following day never to be seen again, the Landlady asked us what had happened, we blamed it on the drink !
Years later they built the M3 Motorway right next to the garden - happy days!
5 Likes
Back in the 'seventies I used to live not far from the Wentworth Estate, home to the likes of Elton John, Diana Dors, Ronnie Corbett and Bruce Forsythe. And also the world famous golf course itself.
One afternoon myself and a friend had a couple of free periods at 6th form college so we bunked off school, borrowed his dad’s golf clubs (he was a member of a less prestigious club) and hacked our way around the middle 7 of the Championship West Course until we were kicked off by a group of members we came upon unexpectedly.
Never played golf before that, or since.
In the early 60’s , when I was 9 or 10, I had a friend called Hugh McPherson. I’d often visit him at his house, and we’d play board games, and model railway stuff in their loft. One summer’s day, when he and his family went on holiday…, I walked past the side of their back garden. I noticed that their strawberries were ripening ( no force-ripened March/April strawberries in those days ). It seemed a shame, I thought briefly, that Hugh and the others were not there to eat them. So I nipped round the side of the hedge, got in amongst them, and picked the nicer ones. I walked past there again the next day, and noticed that some more strawberries had turned a delicious looking red. I again went in, and picked some.
I repeated this for about the next 5 or 6 days, and basically, ate their strawberry garden clean.
At this point I experienced late-onset guilt, and stayed away from Hugh. Also, I’m sure the neighbours must have seen me, and told Hugh’s parents, because I never got invited round again.
Almost 10 years later, by which time my family had long moved far away, I went to university. At my first lecture, seated, and glancing round at the others there, I spotted a long forgotten red haired individual. Hugh McPherson…
As I recall, he and I exchanged grunts as we later walked past each other. Apart from that, nothing.
Long ago, 1980/81, as a freelance computer programmer. I did a contract in the Weybridge area, and rented a flat in Virginia Water. It was an au pair flat, attached to a substantial house named ‘Blossom Falls’ (still there), that almost backed onto the Wentworth Golf Course.
Although the owner was in residence, I didn’t see much of her. I heard in a roundabout way that she was either the widow, or former mistress, of the deceased society hairdresser, Teazy Weazy Raymond.
A couple of months into the 6 month let, I received a letter from the letting agent. The owner had discovered that my car, a Plymouth Satellite, had dropped oil on the tarmac of the drive/parking area. The letter was a cease and desist letter. I looked around the tarmac, and found 2 very, very, small drops of oil. After that, I found somewhere else to park my car.
I never said anything to the owner, and she never said anything to me. I left at the end of the 6 month let. Underneath it all, I was seething that, if there was a problem, the owner could have walked the 20 yards from her front door to my front door to point out the area of difficulty.
But, no.
My little bit of revenge took place at the end of my tenancy. As the nature of my freelance work entailed renting places near the workplaces, I had become accustomed to tardiness from agents when it came to the refund of rental deposits. 3 days after the end of the tenancy, I walked into the estate/letting agents in the middle of the high street in Weybridge, A Saturday afternoon, the place was packed with customers. In a loud, though civil, voice I requested the immediate return of my deposit, pointing out that in my experience it was so difficult to find an agent to be trusted with money…, etc, etc… Slowly, the customers began to leave.
On the following Tuesday, a letter arrived at my new abode. A cheque for the full amount of the deposit.
Virginia Water, Wentworth… glad to get away from the place, really.
1 Like
This was an unfortunate incident rather than mischief , but many years ago I had a Renault Master work van and often took my sons out and about in it, but one cold winters evening we were out in it and my wife had given my youngest son a huge hard apple to eat in the van, but he didn’t want it and he was sitting next to me on the bench seat, so as we were driving along I told my other son to open his window so my youngest could throw the apple onto the grass verge so the animals could eat it, but he said no as it was freezing out and he would get cold while the window was down, so I wound my window down and was going to say to my son ," throw the apple onto the verge when I say go" so I could make sure it was clear to do so , but I got as far as " Throw the apple " and he chucked it out of the window , but there was a car coming the other way and this big hard apple exploded on the car windscreen with a huge bang , the driver done the emergency stop, and I stamped on the accelerator , no one was hurt but the other driver must of had the fright of his life as it went off like a grenade, plus he must of thought that I threw it.
Bl**dy kids 
2 Likes
This topic was automatically closed 30 days after the last reply. New replies are no longer allowed.