Dirty Harry
Well-Known Member
When I was a paperboy (so 13) we used to buy 10 Pinks at 9p each and basically sell them for a few pence more taking them round to the local pubs and houses, some would charge 10p and make a penny on each one, others around 12-15p, especially if we’d travelled further out.
The Pink Final stands out in my mind for the following incident more than any, one freezing winters night, I ended up at the top of Woodhouse Lane near Ringway Airport trying to flog my last one, for those that don’t know it, back then, there were few lights along there and was dimly lit at best where the few houses were, so anyway, knocked on a few doors down there, luckily (as I thought then) one guy bought my last one, 12p, which I thought was a fair price all things considered.
So off I pop down the the garden path and got on my bike, next thing, this guy comes running out absolutely fuckin raging, I’m thinking ‘crap, wtf’s going on here ‘ and start to make my way off on my bike , “ you little fuckin ****” he shouts, “ you’ve charged me 12p and it’s only 9p, gimme my 3 pence back you little ****”.
As I’m riding off I’m trying to explain why I’d charged the 3p, but he was clearly having none of it, still absolutely raging, but eventually I’d managed to put enough distance between us and started to make way home.
About a minute later, I can hear the screeching of wheels and a car racing up behind me, I’m thinking shit I better get up on the grass verge and onto the pavement, the next thing, the car mounts the pavement and is trying to run me over, I realise it’s this mad fucker who I’d sold the Pink to !
Honestly, it ended up like a cross between the film “Duel” and “The Terminator”, this mad fucker was literally trying to kill me, I was shitting myself and knew I was in serious trouble, probably only lasted about 5 minutes but it felt more like an hour, luckily, I managed to get to the Vault of the “Red Beret” pub, I pretty much knew either one or two of my mates Dads would be in there, or someone relatively normal and balanced, as it happens, one of my best mates Dads WAS in there, who was hard as nails, I told him what had happened and that the guy was outside in the car park looking for me.
Suffice to say, he went outside and gave this guy the mother of all hidings, it was fuckin brutal, but the next day I went back to the Newsagents, handed my paper bag over and quit my job, to this day I’ve never forgotten that and have never let my children (and now my grandchildren in the future) take up a paper round.
That’s my memory of The Pink Final.
The Pink Final stands out in my mind for the following incident more than any, one freezing winters night, I ended up at the top of Woodhouse Lane near Ringway Airport trying to flog my last one, for those that don’t know it, back then, there were few lights along there and was dimly lit at best where the few houses were, so anyway, knocked on a few doors down there, luckily (as I thought then) one guy bought my last one, 12p, which I thought was a fair price all things considered.
So off I pop down the the garden path and got on my bike, next thing, this guy comes running out absolutely fuckin raging, I’m thinking ‘crap, wtf’s going on here ‘ and start to make my way off on my bike , “ you little fuckin ****” he shouts, “ you’ve charged me 12p and it’s only 9p, gimme my 3 pence back you little ****”.
As I’m riding off I’m trying to explain why I’d charged the 3p, but he was clearly having none of it, still absolutely raging, but eventually I’d managed to put enough distance between us and started to make way home.
About a minute later, I can hear the screeching of wheels and a car racing up behind me, I’m thinking shit I better get up on the grass verge and onto the pavement, the next thing, the car mounts the pavement and is trying to run me over, I realise it’s this mad fucker who I’d sold the Pink to !
Honestly, it ended up like a cross between the film “Duel” and “The Terminator”, this mad fucker was literally trying to kill me, I was shitting myself and knew I was in serious trouble, probably only lasted about 5 minutes but it felt more like an hour, luckily, I managed to get to the Vault of the “Red Beret” pub, I pretty much knew either one or two of my mates Dads would be in there, or someone relatively normal and balanced, as it happens, one of my best mates Dads WAS in there, who was hard as nails, I told him what had happened and that the guy was outside in the car park looking for me.
Suffice to say, he went outside and gave this guy the mother of all hidings, it was fuckin brutal, but the next day I went back to the Newsagents, handed my paper bag over and quit my job, to this day I’ve never forgotten that and have never let my children (and now my grandchildren in the future) take up a paper round.
That’s my memory of The Pink Final.