Everybody loves a loser!

It`s 02-25 here and I am half sitting, half lying at my comp box, enjoying the benefit of a cool pack taken from the fridge and applied to my left-side lower back. Sure my back has tricked out again and I am in pain (as anybody knows who suffers from the "pita syndrome"or near it?) My co-codomol induced relief has set me into a minor "Fug" where I am flitting between, trying to return to sleep ( my office chair is comfortable enough for me to do so and at least if I manage too I won`t greet the morning like a bear with haemmerhoids) and creating a lucid enough memory for me to return to my childhood in detail, something that I resist doing as it wasn`t a good one ( better than most I guess though, if I am really to think about it)

I find myself at eight years old, at a similar time in the morning, crossing and recrossing my home street, armed with a large roll of packaging string, I`m breathing heavily and lightly shivering in the January night as I creep up to each door knocker and tie the string to it, the road is quiet and I have labouriously connected about twenty knockers so far with their connected ligatures crossing the road at about two feet off the ground at the lowest. I return across to number twenty one and I can hear a car? but it crosses the top of the road and I am safe to continue on. I am getting quite good at negotiating the gates quietly and tying all types of knockers by now and I scold myself quietly for allowing a heavy knocker at number twenty two to slip and kiss lightly on its striking plate as I catch it and finish the tying. I look around again and all is quiet my breath is freezing and there is some frost on the pavement. I pass by Mr Hanks Standard Vangard, his pride and joy, covered in heavy tarpaulin to protect its paintwork, and stealthily move on. A startled cat abruptly woken from its slumber in a cardboard box, squeals and runs grudgingy off as I move the box to get through the next gate.

My string is getting low and I consider returning home to steal another large roll from the factory at the top of my street (which leaves it out in their yard where they wrap their produce with it ) but I have string for another one and as I am crossing the road to the next unsuspecting household a car turns into my road it is swerving a little as the driver, highly intoxicated struggles to keep it straight he has no lights on and is relying upon the street lights to see by. I can hear the sound of the first knocker striking and then the second and third, and decide its time to move. There is no time to return home as the lights are coming on in the houses and front doors are being opened, so I creep along the kerb to Mr Hanks car and climb under the tarpaulin and lie in a void above the highly flared front wing. I recognised the car that set off the whole she-bang, it belonged to a Bookie (bookmaker) that lived at number seventy five which I hadn`t got too yet, he had obviously had a good night at the Dogs! I was breathing heavily and in a state of high elation having nearly been successful in having the whole street awake (much like the Coronation party after which at around four oclock in the morning I tried to carry my father and grandfather up to bed, sure they had a drink or two) the knockers were still firing off and I heard the car finally pull into the side of the road outside number fwenty five, and the knocker action stopped.

I could now hear shouting and groups of people standing and talking someone came out of the Hanks house and stood by the car right next to me. I was frightened and tried to stay still, I was still breathing heavily and heard a femail voice say that it was definitely the work of Robin! another group were talking about going and speaking to my father and they too came over to Mr hanks and off they went to my house to wake my father, Note the fatal floor in my plan, I didn`t connect my house or my friends house with string so they had a pretty good idea, who was to blame.

My father was duly awakened and found that I wasn`t in my room ( Oh yes I had my own room! we lived in a large four story victorian house where my family had a ground floor flat and an attic room , you guessed it, which was mine) I awoke just before dawn from my shivering and troubled sleep under the tarpaulin, cautiously slid out, making sure that I left no trace of my intrusion and went across to my house. I climbed over our back gate ascended the cast steel soil pipe up to my bedroom window, which I found was now locked, I was freezing and starting to really shivering out of control, I slid down the pipe again and took refuge in the outside toilet where I lifted the "carpet" from the floor and gained some protection against the cold awaiting the rising dawn when I knew my father would go off to work at around 07-00.

I was rudely awaikened at 06-30 by my father opening the toilet door and finding me half dead. he carried me into the house and sat me in front of the fire in his favourite chair covered me in blankets and a hot water bottle and made me hot tea with sugar, promising to deal with me when he got home. I didn`t go to school or answer the door that day. My father never did mention the incident, as didn`t I and I guess he was glad that I survived. The dust settled and a few sideways glimpses from the neighbours was all that I suffered plus a comment or two I heard about how my parents weren`t married (Bstard) which I knew them to be, as I had seen the photos?

My back hurts and there is no sign of sleep yet, so More Para-codomol and give it another try
:o(( Everybody loves a looser, or do they? Yawn