Friday, 2 October 2009

The Wolseley Hornet

I was idly talking with my pal Marty while the two of us were leaning against a white Wolseley Hornet car. We had been playing football when the car had pulled up and parked right across our goalposts which we had painted on a gable wall. We had lovingly painted the goalposts on the wall with white gloss using five inch brushes in our best artistic reconstruction of the goalposts at The Oval, the home of our beloved Glentoran Football Club. When the man parked his car in front of our playing area we were seriously miffed. The FA Cup final we were re-enacting was postponed until further notice.

Marty and I both had big black permanent ink marker pens in our pockets and therein lay a highly dangerous formula; boys plus boredom plus white car plus big black permanent ink marker pens plus being seriously miffed plus deviousness…

We began by drawing a pair of breasts on the bonnet of that Wolseley Hornet. That got us laughing. Next we next drew a huge arse on the boot. It looked great. An arse drawn on the arse of the car – what genius we thought. The pièce de résistance was quite obvious. It HAD to be a giant penis on the roof. We clambered up and stood on the bonnet of the car and carefully drew the standard classic boy’s drawing of a penis and testicles. We were in fits of laughter by now and faced with a decision – should we go minimalist and just leave the car with breasts, an arse and a penis or should we go for the full monty and cover the whole bloody car with our fine artwork? With the decision made Marty and I decorated the rest of that little white Wolseley Hornet car with slogans, football team names, more breasts and penises.

There came a point when it hit the both of us with what we were actually doing. This was a person’s car and this was permanent ink we were using. We had effectively ruined a person’s car and that person was an odd fiery character who was viewed as a bit of a nutter. He would definitely have strangled whoever desecrated his car. We stopped and stood back. “Oh shit!” said Marty. “He’ll bloody kill us!” I said. We ran…fast. I kept having visions of him leaving for work in the morning to discover his car was now completely covered in ten year old kids' pornographic-art.

Look, it’s simple; as kids of the 1960’s and 70’s we had three choices in life – 1. Play football, 2. Chase after the wee girls in the hope of a snog, and 3. Get into mischief. That was our lot, so forgive me if most of us were mischievous wee buggers…

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