|Last night there was a sound like our front door being operated. Nothing seemed amiss when checked downstairs, but then half an hour later or so, there was a muffled shout through the letterbox. Later, another. While some food was being prepared, I lurked near the front door, and there was one more tap, something thrown at the door or window this time. I quickly stepped outside, too late to see anyone there, but quick enough to hear the running footsteps, which I followed to the corner, to find three kids. And that's where their stupid game went awry.|
As I rounded the corner, to find them facing away and giggling to themselves, I shouted "oi", which was met with mixed reactions - one panicked turning to look while simultaneously running away, causing comical horror-movie-style stumbling, one denial of having done it (whatever 'it' was), and one unconvincing "what?"
They got their game together a bit when told not to throw stuff at my house, with what might have been a mildly convincing denial ("we didn't even come from that way, we just came down here") if it hadn't been for that first reaction. And the thing of facing the wrong way. So I told them, "no, you're lying, don't throw stuff at my house," and returned home. Except on the way home there were a couple of older people now, who asked what happened - I told them, and they went round the corner to give their son and his friends a telling off.
When I got home, I noticed what I'd missed before, some graffiti on the door, "SBK". So I went out again, and asked the parents if they knew the names of the kids, and whether one had the initials SBK. Apparently not, but the parents were quick to grasp the implications (perhaps having seen the letters before), and demanded to know what SBK is. Twice it was "I don't know" and a denial of having a pen, then it was a sheepish "south bank killers" (or possibly "souf banq killaz" or something). Which really made it for me - the idea of a skinny barefoot unarmed guy chasing and scaring a gang of three 'killers' makes me smile, as does only being willing to name your gang under duress and sheepishly.
The one kid with the parents was ordered into their car. Later, while we were washing the writing off the door (it mostly came off), the other two were returning to their home, which involved passing our house - seeing four of us standing in the doorway (we had guests), one of them almost scarpered again, but then they rallied and just walked past with their heads down. In case of repetition, I followed just out of sight to see which house was theirs, so if it happens again I now know where to go. But hopefully my being a scary barefoot skinny guy will be the end of it. [13:15] [6 comments]