Second-hand car story next please.
OK, a second-hand car story.
Back when Ford Capri’s were all the rage, a friend of mine, Terry -Strike me Dead- Wallace, who was stopping on the same camp as me, bought a second hand 3ltr GT model from Bawtry car auction.
It was a lovely car. Bucket seats, 8 track cassette player, and shiny black paintwork etc, all set off by loads of gleaming chrome. He fell in love with it. The trouble was, he never stopped talking about it.
At that time, we used a pub called “The George” it was about a mile from the trailers, and two or three nights a week the lads would take a walk down there. The landlord knew who we and where we came from, but credit due, he treated us like everyone else, no better, no worse.
I have never really been a drinker, but I used to go down there for a chat and a game of pool or maybe a few hands of nap, 3 card brag, or crash.
Just lately though, all the chat was dominated by Terry. “That Capri is the fastest car I ever did drive, strike me dead!” Or, a few moments later, “Them bucket seats is like sitting in an armchair, strike me dead they are”
Although the pub was only about a mile from home, Terry had taken to driving there, so that every now and then, he could pop out and look at his car. He was totally besotted, and he was fast becoming a real pain in the arse
One night, just as a couple of us were leaving after another scintillating night of listening to “Strike me Dead” talking about his car, we looked across at it sitting in the car park and we hatched a fiendish plot. We decided to steal it and take it home. We would hide it behind one of the caravans; “Strike me Dead “ would have apoplexy when he found it missing.
Stealing cars back then was as easy as taking candy from a baby. (And before you ask, I use to buy cars for scrap, and I often had to open and start them with no keys) It really was ridiculously easy. You could pop the door with any bit of old wire, and turn the ignition on with a penknife.
Anyway. We got this car started and shot off down the road laughing our socks off. Then we squealed around the village a couple of times before driving back to the camp and hiding it behind a caravan.
We couldn’t stop giggling as we waited for “Strike me Dead” to arrive. With any luck, he would have reported it to the police and everything.
About 10 minutes later, “Strike me Dead” rolled up, DRIVING HIS CAPRI!!!!!
OMG!! The truth hit us like a sledgehammer. We had stolen someone else’s car!!!
Terrified, we had to un-steal it. We were crapping ourselves as we sneaked it back on to the car park. Our so-called ‘friend’ followed us in his Capri, pissing himself laughing, playing his 8 track loudly, and occasionally tootling his air horns.
“As God is my witness,” he said the next day, as we looked on scowling “It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life…Strike me dead!!”.
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