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You're walking home. It's late. Your mates have gone off in different directions at the end of the night, so you're alone. It's been a good Friday night. No drink, just plenty of smoking and having a laugh with a few friends. It's cold. You pull out a packet of cigarettes and spark one up, inhaling the thick, deadly smoke. The chill of the wind pushes you to walk faster. You pass a bus shelter, and as you do you spot people inside it, sitting in the dark, cans of cheap beer lying on the floor.
"'Ere, gi's a tab!" one demands.
"It's me last one," is your reply, and you walk right on past without a second thought.
That just sets them off. You hear them moving about, as if they're getting up, so your brisk walk almost becomes a jog. Before you know it, you're a good 50 metres away from the bus shelter, but then they shout out.
"Oi!" they cry.
You keep walking, even faster now, so fast your legs ache. To a passer by it must look ridiculous, your legs moving so fast, but to you it's the best way out of there. They start to run towards you. Do you run away? What if they're faster than you? What if they catch you and decide to fill you in just for running? What if you run and they chase, how long will they follow you? Will you have to hide somewhere?
You decide to try and save face and don't run, instead you continue with your marathon winning walk. They're on you now, three of them, with a couple of figures further behind, they look like girls.
"Give us a tab!" the leader once again demands, but this time in a more relaxed tone.
"It's my last one," you repeat.
The banter goes back and forth. You know full well you have about two or three more left in the packet which is secure in your inside pocket, but since you didn't want to stop and give them one back at the bus stop, you have to stick to your guns. You're in a public place. It may be night, but surely nothing can happen to you walking along a road, next to a load of shops. They're still walking behind you, you ask them to leave you alone.
"I told you I don't have any left!" you plead.
"Well, ah knaw, but you didn't have to be a dick about it. Yuh could've said 'Na, sorry mate, ah don't have one' but you're a cocky little dick, aren't you?"
There's no answer you can give which will please them.
"Aw, howay, don't do this," you tell them.
You're only ten minutes away from home, how long are they going to be walking along side you? Will you have to keep on walking right past your house? You don't want them knowing where you live. It all runs through your head, but it's more the inconvenience than the threat of danger.
"I don't want to be fighting tonight." he tells you.
"I don't want to be fighting either, howay, just let me go."
You try to keep a mental image of where they all are. There's three lads, each bigger than you. You think you might recognise one or two of them, but you only get quick glimpses of them as you turn your head every so often. They're all around you. You see that there's still one or two people further behind, and you definitely recognise one of them as being in your year at school, a girl. You see somebody on the other side of the road, walking the opposite way with a dog. Do you ask him for help? No, chances are he'd just walk on by. Besides, what do you say? "Hi, these kids are following me... care to do something about it?" BANG! You stagger a bit, and stop walking. What happened? Then it registers in your mind that you've just been punched in the side of your face. Your right cheek goes numb, your head rattles. BANG! Another one, right next to it, you stagger again. BANG! a third punch, this time to the back of the head. You see him land in front of you. The kid had jumped at you to get extra force behind his fist. It couldn't have taken anymore than two seconds, but to you, it seemed like two minutes. Your entire head aches and your right eye seems to close a little. You can't even mutter any words. Fighting back is the last thing on your mind. They walk off, the way you were heading, laughing. The girl you recognised is laughing too. Actually pointing and laughing at you. You don't know what to do. You stand on the path for a few seconds, before realising you'd better get home.
You can't go the way they're going, that's for sure. You head back the way you came, still unsure about what just happened, replaying it through your mind again and again, asking yourself what you could've done to avoid it. You walk home a different way, down a dark muddy walkway, surrounded by bushes, somewhere you didn't want to walk down in the first place, but now it's your saviour. You reach your street, and you put your hand to your cheek. There's blood on your fingers, just a little, but enough to get you in a flap. You look at yourself in the reflection of a nearby car. You're a mess. Your entire right cheek is swollen and your eye is half closed. It hurts like hell. You go inside and go to bed.
Next day, you have two sovereign marks on your face and a whopping black eye. You tell your parents you tripped, but they see right through your lie. They accuse you of fighting, but in the end, you explain what happened.
At school the following Monday, you're in English, and the girl from Friday night is there.
"What happened to you?" your teacher asks when she sees your face.
"Nothing,"
The girl is right next to you, looking sort of embarrassed, and walks off.
This happened to me about three years ago, when I was 15, and the kids who did it were the notorious "Bells", two brothers and one friend who all shared the same surname. I was lucky, if they'd wanted to, they could've kicked me into a coma. They did it for fun.
A year or so later, they attacked somebody with a metal pole and put him in hospital. He's now in a wheelchair, with a keyboard for "Yes" and "No" since he can no longer speak properly. You know why they attacked him? They mistook him for somebody else. They wrecked some young man's life for absolutely no reason. And they didn't go to prison for it. Ironically, one of them ended up in prison for 9 months for something he didn't do. I was pleased when I found out. The day he got out, he was out drinking, and since their girlfriends were friends with my friends, I met him and his brother for the first time since they'd attacked me. When I first saw them, Darren, the one who'd done all the talking that night, started on me. He didn't recognise me, he just saw me and walked right up to have a go at me. One of the girls with us told him that I was okay. Wayne, the one who'd just got out, hadn't touched beer for 9 months, and got off his face on drink and lungs. He couldn't stand, he couldn't talk. He was on the ultimate bad trip, on his hands and knees on my mate's patio. I had the perfect opportunity to kick the living crap out of him for what he'd done to me, and everything he'd done to the dozens of other people over the years. It'd been a long time, I'd grown bigger, I'd been working out, hitting punch bags and getting fit. I could've broken his face on the floor. But I didn't. I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I actually helped him out by giving him water and talking to him as he lay in my mate's garden, out of his skull.
I'm not a violent person. I had a reason to attack him, but still couldn't. They had no reason, yet did it for a laugh. I see it every day on the way home from work, and throughout the last few years when I used to walk the same way home almost every night after a drinking session. You can get your face smashed in for looking at them. LOOKING at them for Christ's sake! Think about how many people look at you each day, do you attack them for it? These radgies, charvers, townies, whatever you want to call them, they're subhuman in my opinion. I could go into all the sociological reasons as to why they're like that, why they think violence is okay, but I won't bother. I'll just say that they're scum. Society needs to change, as more and more kids are ending up like that. I see children as young as eight swearing their heads off, getting into fights for no reason and basically being criminals. Criminals nowadays aren't Robin Hood characters, they aren't rebels, they aren't defying the system. They're bored little kids with nothing better to do. What gives them the right to attack innocent people and not face any consequences?
Nothing gives them that right.
"'Ere, gi's a tab!" one demands.
"It's me last one," is your reply, and you walk right on past without a second thought.
That just sets them off. You hear them moving about, as if they're getting up, so your brisk walk almost becomes a jog. Before you know it, you're a good 50 metres away from the bus shelter, but then they shout out.
"Oi!" they cry.
You keep walking, even faster now, so fast your legs ache. To a passer by it must look ridiculous, your legs moving so fast, but to you it's the best way out of there. They start to run towards you. Do you run away? What if they're faster than you? What if they catch you and decide to fill you in just for running? What if you run and they chase, how long will they follow you? Will you have to hide somewhere?
You decide to try and save face and don't run, instead you continue with your marathon winning walk. They're on you now, three of them, with a couple of figures further behind, they look like girls.
"Give us a tab!" the leader once again demands, but this time in a more relaxed tone.
"It's my last one," you repeat.
The banter goes back and forth. You know full well you have about two or three more left in the packet which is secure in your inside pocket, but since you didn't want to stop and give them one back at the bus stop, you have to stick to your guns. You're in a public place. It may be night, but surely nothing can happen to you walking along a road, next to a load of shops. They're still walking behind you, you ask them to leave you alone.
"I told you I don't have any left!" you plead.
"Well, ah knaw, but you didn't have to be a dick about it. Yuh could've said 'Na, sorry mate, ah don't have one' but you're a cocky little dick, aren't you?"
There's no answer you can give which will please them.
"Aw, howay, don't do this," you tell them.
You're only ten minutes away from home, how long are they going to be walking along side you? Will you have to keep on walking right past your house? You don't want them knowing where you live. It all runs through your head, but it's more the inconvenience than the threat of danger.
"I don't want to be fighting tonight." he tells you.
"I don't want to be fighting either, howay, just let me go."
You try to keep a mental image of where they all are. There's three lads, each bigger than you. You think you might recognise one or two of them, but you only get quick glimpses of them as you turn your head every so often. They're all around you. You see that there's still one or two people further behind, and you definitely recognise one of them as being in your year at school, a girl. You see somebody on the other side of the road, walking the opposite way with a dog. Do you ask him for help? No, chances are he'd just walk on by. Besides, what do you say? "Hi, these kids are following me... care to do something about it?" BANG! You stagger a bit, and stop walking. What happened? Then it registers in your mind that you've just been punched in the side of your face. Your right cheek goes numb, your head rattles. BANG! Another one, right next to it, you stagger again. BANG! a third punch, this time to the back of the head. You see him land in front of you. The kid had jumped at you to get extra force behind his fist. It couldn't have taken anymore than two seconds, but to you, it seemed like two minutes. Your entire head aches and your right eye seems to close a little. You can't even mutter any words. Fighting back is the last thing on your mind. They walk off, the way you were heading, laughing. The girl you recognised is laughing too. Actually pointing and laughing at you. You don't know what to do. You stand on the path for a few seconds, before realising you'd better get home.
You can't go the way they're going, that's for sure. You head back the way you came, still unsure about what just happened, replaying it through your mind again and again, asking yourself what you could've done to avoid it. You walk home a different way, down a dark muddy walkway, surrounded by bushes, somewhere you didn't want to walk down in the first place, but now it's your saviour. You reach your street, and you put your hand to your cheek. There's blood on your fingers, just a little, but enough to get you in a flap. You look at yourself in the reflection of a nearby car. You're a mess. Your entire right cheek is swollen and your eye is half closed. It hurts like hell. You go inside and go to bed.
Next day, you have two sovereign marks on your face and a whopping black eye. You tell your parents you tripped, but they see right through your lie. They accuse you of fighting, but in the end, you explain what happened.
At school the following Monday, you're in English, and the girl from Friday night is there.
"What happened to you?" your teacher asks when she sees your face.
"Nothing,"
The girl is right next to you, looking sort of embarrassed, and walks off.
This happened to me about three years ago, when I was 15, and the kids who did it were the notorious "Bells", two brothers and one friend who all shared the same surname. I was lucky, if they'd wanted to, they could've kicked me into a coma. They did it for fun.
A year or so later, they attacked somebody with a metal pole and put him in hospital. He's now in a wheelchair, with a keyboard for "Yes" and "No" since he can no longer speak properly. You know why they attacked him? They mistook him for somebody else. They wrecked some young man's life for absolutely no reason. And they didn't go to prison for it. Ironically, one of them ended up in prison for 9 months for something he didn't do. I was pleased when I found out. The day he got out, he was out drinking, and since their girlfriends were friends with my friends, I met him and his brother for the first time since they'd attacked me. When I first saw them, Darren, the one who'd done all the talking that night, started on me. He didn't recognise me, he just saw me and walked right up to have a go at me. One of the girls with us told him that I was okay. Wayne, the one who'd just got out, hadn't touched beer for 9 months, and got off his face on drink and lungs. He couldn't stand, he couldn't talk. He was on the ultimate bad trip, on his hands and knees on my mate's patio. I had the perfect opportunity to kick the living crap out of him for what he'd done to me, and everything he'd done to the dozens of other people over the years. It'd been a long time, I'd grown bigger, I'd been working out, hitting punch bags and getting fit. I could've broken his face on the floor. But I didn't. I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I actually helped him out by giving him water and talking to him as he lay in my mate's garden, out of his skull.
I'm not a violent person. I had a reason to attack him, but still couldn't. They had no reason, yet did it for a laugh. I see it every day on the way home from work, and throughout the last few years when I used to walk the same way home almost every night after a drinking session. You can get your face smashed in for looking at them. LOOKING at them for Christ's sake! Think about how many people look at you each day, do you attack them for it? These radgies, charvers, townies, whatever you want to call them, they're subhuman in my opinion. I could go into all the sociological reasons as to why they're like that, why they think violence is okay, but I won't bother. I'll just say that they're scum. Society needs to change, as more and more kids are ending up like that. I see children as young as eight swearing their heads off, getting into fights for no reason and basically being criminals. Criminals nowadays aren't Robin Hood characters, they aren't rebels, they aren't defying the system. They're bored little kids with nothing better to do. What gives them the right to attack innocent people and not face any consequences?
Nothing gives them that right.
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My mate lives in Killy, but I don't go there often. It's actually pretty nice there, but I know of at least two dealers who live by Morrisons. Drugs are bad, m'kay? Heh.
MoJoJoJo wrote:
>
> --------
>
> Yep, live in north tyneside, in Benton. It's a nice area, but it has
> Longbenton and Forest Hall on either side of it, and so radgies from
> both those ghetto areas hang around here. I used to dread walking home
> from my mate's, because almost every night there'd be a group of kids
> starting something with me.
Hmmm...small world. I live in Killingworth, used to live in Forest Hall. When I was your age (I assume you're in your teens?) I found that a simple "**** off and die!" response to any one of the charva queries I faced was more than adequate to end the conversation there and then. Mind, I suppose that they were less likely to stab you 10 years ago...
>
> --------
>
> Yep, live in north tyneside, in Benton. It's a nice area, but it has
> Longbenton and Forest Hall on either side of it, and so radgies from
> both those ghetto areas hang around here. I used to dread walking home
> from my mate's, because almost every night there'd be a group of kids
> starting something with me.
Hmmm...small world. I live in Killingworth, used to live in Forest Hall. When I was your age (I assume you're in your teens?) I found that a simple "**** off and die!" response to any one of the charva queries I faced was more than adequate to end the conversation there and then. Mind, I suppose that they were less likely to stab you 10 years ago...
AliBoy wrote:
The police turned up and tried to get them to move on, after a while they just decided to use force and with use of the batons show them who was the boss.
-------
That's exactly what needs to be done here. I think the sentences for ALL violent crimes should have 10 years added. Sadly, most will come out and be the same, or even worse (you can make a lot of contacts while in prison)
We need to tackle the roots of the problems, which is that kids grow up seeing their parents being violent, swearing, no respecting the law, stealing etc, and that's the way they end up living. Then their kids are the same, then their kids. Teenage pregnancy doesn't help. I've known loads of radgies who've become fathers before they turn 18. They can't even control THEMSELVES, what hope do their kids have?
The police turned up and tried to get them to move on, after a while they just decided to use force and with use of the batons show them who was the boss.
-------
That's exactly what needs to be done here. I think the sentences for ALL violent crimes should have 10 years added. Sadly, most will come out and be the same, or even worse (you can make a lot of contacts while in prison)
We need to tackle the roots of the problems, which is that kids grow up seeing their parents being violent, swearing, no respecting the law, stealing etc, and that's the way they end up living. Then their kids are the same, then their kids. Teenage pregnancy doesn't help. I've known loads of radgies who've become fathers before they turn 18. They can't even control THEMSELVES, what hope do their kids have?
MoJoJoJo wrote:
> My mate and I always joke about going out "radgie bashing"
> But I think somebody should actually do it. Go around Batman style
> beating the hell out of anyone they find hanging around street corners
> drinking Carling.
In a perfect world radgie folk wouldn't exist. Sadly they do.
If anyone here ever becomes prime minister make this a proper legal job.
> My mate and I always joke about going out "radgie bashing"
> But I think somebody should actually do it. Go around Batman style
> beating the hell out of anyone they find hanging around street corners
> drinking Carling.
In a perfect world radgie folk wouldn't exist. Sadly they do.
If anyone here ever becomes prime minister make this a proper legal job.
I put it down to the way police have to do their job and the human rights that people who break the law are given.
Lets just say they get far too many but I'll not go into that here (another time and place perhaps)
A few years ago I was in spain, these drunk lads were harasing(sp?) folk at night just across from one of the bars. Throwing bottles around and trying to start fights with small crowds of people who passed. The police turned up and tried to get them to move on, after a while they just decided to use force and with use of the batons show them who was the boss.
Lets just say they get far too many but I'll not go into that here (another time and place perhaps)
A few years ago I was in spain, these drunk lads were harasing(sp?) folk at night just across from one of the bars. Throwing bottles around and trying to start fights with small crowds of people who passed. The police turned up and tried to get them to move on, after a while they just decided to use force and with use of the batons show them who was the boss.
My mate and I always joke about going out "radgie bashing" But I think somebody should actually do it. Go around Batman style beating the hell out of anyone they find hanging around street corners drinking Carling.
Yeah it's like that in my town, people just kick off at you for just walking past. It's crazy.
From town where we go out on the way back it's alright because in a group no one seems to approach you but my friends all live they're seperate ways so I always have a long walk on my own. I've had many people try to start me but I don't even let me. I've had to physically run from a gang before now.
I remember last summer I was 17 and a big group of about 15-20 year olds came up to me in the day time in a public place (the shops just down the road) and three attacked me! For nothing, they just went crazy and kicked me in. Stupid thing was I recognized them, I knew who they were and knew they were all of their face on smack. The one had always had a problem with two of my friends that attacked me so I guess that was his stupid motivation, the guy had been in prison for a year, I guess he doesn't lear.
Anyway I've seen them all since alone or just one or two of them and they say nothing to me apart from "Alright" and the usual and try to be safe with me, maybe they're scared because I beat up the guy one on one and my older mate threatened the leader dude until the point he wouldn't leave the house and apologised to me. HA HA! ****ing *****! I'm not even a violent person either but every now and again you have to kick **** out of em.
From town where we go out on the way back it's alright because in a group no one seems to approach you but my friends all live they're seperate ways so I always have a long walk on my own. I've had many people try to start me but I don't even let me. I've had to physically run from a gang before now.
I remember last summer I was 17 and a big group of about 15-20 year olds came up to me in the day time in a public place (the shops just down the road) and three attacked me! For nothing, they just went crazy and kicked me in. Stupid thing was I recognized them, I knew who they were and knew they were all of their face on smack. The one had always had a problem with two of my friends that attacked me so I guess that was his stupid motivation, the guy had been in prison for a year, I guess he doesn't lear.
Anyway I've seen them all since alone or just one or two of them and they say nothing to me apart from "Alright" and the usual and try to be safe with me, maybe they're scared because I beat up the guy one on one and my older mate threatened the leader dude until the point he wouldn't leave the house and apologised to me. HA HA! ****ing *****! I'm not even a violent person either but every now and again you have to kick **** out of em.
Light wrote:
> Are you from Newcastle Mojo? Only a lot of what you've written has
> some very Geordie-sounding linguistic traits.
--------
Yep, live in north tyneside, in Benton. It's a nice area, but it has Longbenton and Forest Hall on either side of it, and so radgies from both those ghetto areas hang around here. I used to dread walking home from my mate's, because almost every night there'd be a group of kids starting something with me.
It's not such a problem now, as I'm at an age where radgies think I'm too old, and proper blokes think I'm too young. When I'm in my 20s, I know it'll all start again with "I haven't grown up" blokes. It's sad, it really is, but at the end of the day, they can get my legs broken. I can't return the favour.
"my mate dave stood on this lads arm and it snapped, he was screaming with pain"
Couldn't have happened to a nicer person. When I hear about rival gangs knifing each other, or when I see radgies fighting, I'm actually happy. They want the trouble. A person walking home, or walking with his girlfriend obviously DOESN'T want the trouble, but it's usually that reason why they get it. These people are cowards, plain and simple. I say either stick them in the army, give them all the snip (it'd cut right down on teenage pregnancy) or send them to some remote island around Britain with hidden cameras so we can have a sort of convict Big Brother.
> Are you from Newcastle Mojo? Only a lot of what you've written has
> some very Geordie-sounding linguistic traits.
--------
Yep, live in north tyneside, in Benton. It's a nice area, but it has Longbenton and Forest Hall on either side of it, and so radgies from both those ghetto areas hang around here. I used to dread walking home from my mate's, because almost every night there'd be a group of kids starting something with me.
It's not such a problem now, as I'm at an age where radgies think I'm too old, and proper blokes think I'm too young. When I'm in my 20s, I know it'll all start again with "I haven't grown up" blokes. It's sad, it really is, but at the end of the day, they can get my legs broken. I can't return the favour.
"my mate dave stood on this lads arm and it snapped, he was screaming with pain"
Couldn't have happened to a nicer person. When I hear about rival gangs knifing each other, or when I see radgies fighting, I'm actually happy. They want the trouble. A person walking home, or walking with his girlfriend obviously DOESN'T want the trouble, but it's usually that reason why they get it. These people are cowards, plain and simple. I say either stick them in the army, give them all the snip (it'd cut right down on teenage pregnancy) or send them to some remote island around Britain with hidden cameras so we can have a sort of convict Big Brother.
People with an IQ above 110 should be issued with great melee weapons of self justice.
Just a few minutes ago I heard that somebody I knew last year got beaten up at the week-end and needs a LOT of work on his jaw.
It was his 18th, went to pub with mates. Bloke from Castlemilk stands outside waiting for a fight with anyone, beats the crap out him. He got caught but is already back out on streets.
I hear it all the time, the taxi-rank/bus station in my town is the worst, people get stabbed there all the time. I was coming back from work last night at 8pm, what did I see:
Half a dozen teenage girls running against the glass of a shop
Two people having a fight in the chip queue
Some guy completely out his face, falling over and nearly getting run over
I'm always paranoid at that bus stop and I would hate to die there, in the dark cold shelters of East Kilbride bus station at the hands of a scumbag.
Know someone who got stabbed many times just because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time, missed his heart by 1mm. My dad got a knife pulled out on him once and only escaped by jumping in a taxi. Happens all the time.
I hate them all, I would sterelise them all or kill them. I don't care, theres not a night I go with a voice in the back of my head paranoid of being stabbed.
And this is in East Kilbride, a middle class new town, what a dive it actually is.
Scum, I hate them all.
Also, last year some little get threw stones at me a few times when walking home. Couldn't do anything as he has an army of big brothers who kill people for fun.
It was his 18th, went to pub with mates. Bloke from Castlemilk stands outside waiting for a fight with anyone, beats the crap out him. He got caught but is already back out on streets.
I hear it all the time, the taxi-rank/bus station in my town is the worst, people get stabbed there all the time. I was coming back from work last night at 8pm, what did I see:
Half a dozen teenage girls running against the glass of a shop
Two people having a fight in the chip queue
Some guy completely out his face, falling over and nearly getting run over
I'm always paranoid at that bus stop and I would hate to die there, in the dark cold shelters of East Kilbride bus station at the hands of a scumbag.
Know someone who got stabbed many times just because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time, missed his heart by 1mm. My dad got a knife pulled out on him once and only escaped by jumping in a taxi. Happens all the time.
I hate them all, I would sterelise them all or kill them. I don't care, theres not a night I go with a voice in the back of my head paranoid of being stabbed.
And this is in East Kilbride, a middle class new town, what a dive it actually is.
Scum, I hate them all.
Also, last year some little get threw stones at me a few times when walking home. Couldn't do anything as he has an army of big brothers who kill people for fun.
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