23 Dec 2009
10 Dec 2009
19 Nov 2009
The best one I ever did was to poor little Jason Mitchell's American police car, it was big enough to hold a whole action man and made of tin, working siren and all.
His sister Nichola Mitchell was one of my best friends and a secret crush of mine for years, she was in my class in the last two terms of middle school and was in the year above me.
She was part of the intelligent elite at that time so I never really had much contact with her. It was only when we went to our separate secondary schools that we got to know each other and become good mates. She lived next door to Scott Burnell who's Dad worked at Heathrow, Scott was a very good mate of mine and Nev. Up until he went back to Australia never to be seen again.
So that's when I started getting aquainted with Nikki who would be a part of my life for years. Anyway she had three half siblings, and it was one of these kids toys that was the main attraction for me and my destructive mates on that specific day. He stupidly left it outside his house, and the house being the one that bordered on the path that lead into a small wood that lead onto the rail tracks, it was an easy swipe. We nicked one of his action men as well for good measure.
We never thought we would derail a train, we never put anything on the track that would not disintegrate, we weren't stupid. We never put iron girder's or car axle's on the line, we were not interested in damaging the train we were just interested in the damage it did to small objects, especially if those objects were scaled down versions of everyday human life. So here we are with our brave action man strapped into the large American police car made of tin (which pleased Symond no end the yank hater he was,) we waited for the next train to come. This was by far the biggest toy that had been sacrificed , there was an air of anticipation in our small group. The familiar hiss and pinging sound of an approaching train was soon to be heard. I ran out before it came round the corner, which was about a quarter of a mile down the track on the side heading for London. I placed the car lengthwise on the rail, the action man looking serious, but sort of spaced out as well. I faced him so his back was towards the oncoming train that was going to bring about his untimely demise. I thought it was unfair to let him watch what was going to happen to him, it was probably better that he got it by surprise. I mean one moment your the object and play thing of a young boy that may be a little rough with you at times but still loves and cherishes you and spends more time with you than any other member of his household and the next your dragged away from that and squashed by a train for nothing more then feeding sick teenage minds. "He was just on the wrong porch at the wrong time."
We all lay there excited, not breathing, ready to run like the wind if we heard those brakes screeching. Stopping the evening train to Marylebone is not looked upon as a great laugh by the powers that be. Closer it came, the evening summer sun shining down upon our sacrificial lamb. He seemed totally oblivious to what was about to happen. ? Oh well at least he was going to die a true Action Mans death, cut down in his prime, not left to rot armless and legless in some old cardboard box in the loft, like so many of his Comrades, abandoned and forgotten like real life old soldiers.