Wednesday, 23 April 2008


I had just joined St.Peters Primary School (year2) after my mama hoisted me outta some stinkin’ pre-school where the kids ate things like open toe sandles and the teachers ran sacred of the kids who ran riot with crayons in their hands. At St.Peters I met the most quirky kids that had zany imaginations that were just like mine, and I instantly felt like I belonged. One kid stood out that would be one of the biggest influences on my life and will remain that way well into my future. His name was and still is Timothy. Tim is effortlessly unique, a leader, and most importantly the most inspirationaly witty person you’re ever likely to meet. I feel privileged to know him. We have grown up together and share memories that demand to be recalled, and here is just one of them.

We must have been no older than 8 and we rolled in a mischievous little clan. Me and Tim was the youngest and we hanged out with Tim’s older brother Dan and his insane pals like Haylye & Matthew. We devised a game called ‘GRAND PA WARS’. This game consisted of us shooting a bezerk pensioner that lived up on the top floor of my estate. My mama told me one of those timeless classic stories (scare tactics) about a renowned frantic pensioner who happy slapped for the sheer joke of it. She warned me against playing around that area. Packed with this information, being a kid, I instantly laughed and relished the thought of being chased with my pals. Hence the birth of the ‘GRAND PA WARS’. We purchased our plastic BB Guns (which I recall was dynamite in colour, neon yellow, green & pink) from this bootleg nugget shop called ‘ALI BAHBAH’, and went out on our mission to find the ‘GRAND PA’ and indulge in ‘WAR’ with him. We staked out the joint for no longer then 5Min's, creating noise to antagonize the old bas’tid and force him out of the comfort of his trusty arm chair and confront us little scaly wags.

Then, he appeared. I was personally star struck, frightened and straight up hysterical all at the same time. We opened ‘friendly fire’ and I clearly remember the expression on this old man’s grill, like “I know these little weasels want to be chased, but I can’t risk another hip replacement” kind of thing. We persisted on and he finally switched and hurled the typical O.A.P abuse at us, running in our direction (possibly with a walking stick) and we ran off down the estate. This only teased our desire and we were clearly on a high (possibly from the copious amounts of Panda Pop bought from Superdrug) and we wanted more! So we decided to go back to the spot to continue our on-slaughter thinking we were clearly winning (the ‘WAR’ on ‘GRAND PA’, not ‘TERROR’). I remember us all picking up the fired BB ammo on the floor outside his door and reloading it back into our £1 plastic guns. The old timer was ready for us this time, he caught us off guard and chased us before we even fully reloaded! We were running and firing in all directions. We all got away but one. Matthew Fraz. He was the ringleader of mischief, and he was chased up on top of the roof where he remained for hours before he came back down and escaped unharmed. It was a close escape which saw the start and end of “GRAND PA WARS” in one delirious filled day. In hindsight that ‘Grand’ bast’id did win the ‘WAR’ as we never tried to ambush him again.

Check Tim’s Blog that is located on my ‘NON-CONFORMING INSPIRERS’

links entitled

‘Messy Timbo’.



messytimbo said...
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messytimbo said...

In the words of MJ's little friend Gavin Arvizo, "I’ve been truly touched". Thanks for the shout out dude.

I don't remember us being the ones who started that war. Or, is that a bit George bush of me to say that.

From what i remember i think that old dude got more fun out of it than what we did. He’s probably got a blog out there where he is reminiscing about "those dirty little shits wars"

and for the record, anyone who thinks we're terrible for firing pellet guns at someone should be informed that these were reject water pistols that got converted in some discounted “made in china” factory into cheap so called pellet guns, they probably shot around two feet. That leather soled slipper would have done way more damaged, and if you ever meet Mathew Fraz, he’ll verify that for you.

If that were a story being told about kids in 2008, they would be armed with real guns, and if it’s told in 2011, they’ll be on hover boards and arm with extending baseball bats.

Oh and I have to correct you Weas, that legendary shop shop was called “AbraCadaBra”.

And as for Miss Peagram, I reckon that she choked to death on a ball of spearmint gum moments before she was about to die from lung cancer.