Of Gobshites, Snowmageddon, and… Not-shites
THIS TIME I was wise. Having learnt from previous mistakes, and no longer having the luxury of someone I can summon to transport me to work, on the announcement of impending Snowmageddon I went out and dutifully gritted the whole of our street yesterday.With back and thighs aching I settled down in the warmth with a large mug of partner’s coffee (BESTEST in the land) knowing that the whole kingdom would benefit from my efforts as the snow started to fall.
3hrs of regular checking saw my work rewarded with a 7ft wide black stripe of tarmac all the way to the main road. I beamed with pride. Another hour later saw nothing but a sheet of crisp, unbroken whiteness… glistening with it’s tongue and a middle finger firmly out in my direction.
That evening, I heralded a carriage to transport myself and Boy back to his mothers on one of the adjacent city’s semi-tolerable council estates. The trip was slow and uneventful. The local council had done a half-arsed job of keeping the roads clear (ie: they simply hadn’t bothered) so a 10 minute journey escalated into a 20 minute journey, whilst the snow continued to fall, gradually getting heavier.
The return trip wasn’t quite so uneventful. By this point, the local bus provider had withdrawn all services. The local taxi companies were swamped, and thus a 30 minute wait ensued. As I’m a regular they promised to do their best to be there as soon as possible, and indeed their best they did – 15 minutes later a cheery taxi driver pipped from outside and we were off.
We made it 20 feet at 5 mph. Then the local gang struck.
A swarm of 15 or so 10-15year olds simply walked into the road in front of the car and surrounded it, and whilst one disgusting piggy-looking 13yr old blob of a child leant with two hands in a last-supper pose on the car bonnet, the rest of his motley crew proceeded to thump on the windows and rock the car from side to side whilst a few cleared the snow off the roof.
After a few minutes they stepped aside, and we set off again at a snails pace on the treacherous surface. The kids waited til we’d got 10 feet further down the road, and simply ran passed and stepped back out in front of the car. The driver performed admirably and drew the taxi to a stop as safely as he could without flattening the little bastards, and we sat and endured a repeat performance of banging and shaking before once again they stepped aside and we could set off again.
This time they all ran passed the car, got a good 10 feet in front of it, lined across the road and pelted the windscreen with snowballs so that the driver couldn’t see where he was going or what was in front (apart from a row of gobshites). Again we were drawn to a halt. Now they ran forward to scoop the snow from the bombardment back up, and proceeded to repeat this procedure twice more before we were finally off the estate and back on the relative safety of the main road.
Tired, sore and irritable, I arrived home cursing all teenagers, but mainly those who frequent the corners of Boy’s mother’s street. I’m just glad I’d already deposited Boy as god knows how he’d have taken the whole affair…
And so we come to today. My only method of transportation to work is a motorbike, and if I have to use public transport I have to be prepared to set off at 6am and not get home before 6pm, to get somewhere 5 miles away where I’m only supposed to work 8 til 4. Bugger that.
As the previous days efforts had ultimately been in vain, I arose and took to the street with a shovel blagged from a neighbour and began clearing a turning circle and path to get down to the main road.
As I’m doing this, a couple of shadows appear from behind, and I’m met with the grunts of the local teenagers of our street. After the previous days encounter with brats of Boy’s mother’s estate, I was expecting the worst….
“You trying to get yer bike out mate?”
“Nah, not now, but I need to get to work in the morning…”
“You’s mad, innit? Can’t go out on a bike in this shizz”
“well, it’s go on a bike at 7.40 in the morning, or get up at 5 to go for a bus at 6, to get there for 8”
The 5 teenagers stood, hands in pockets, looking up and down the street at the task that I’d set myself.
“Real blud. We’ll go and get some shovels.”
20 minutes later, the 6 of us stood surveying our handiwork, and with a smile and some manly nods thanks were issued and the l’il taskforce trudged off with their sledge in tow (constructed from an old water butt chopped in half) towards the local green space down by the shops.
Certain Other Kids take note: kids of my street are ace, whereas you’re by majority a bunch of no-hope fuckwits and halfwits destined for Her Majesty’s Pleasure by the time you reach 18.
Next time I curse all teenagers, I will think back to this day, and remember that really, on the whole, the kids on THIS street are brill…