I thought I might grab your attention with my main tale of woe - a summary of the key points of my experiences with the Underclass of Great Britain. This may amaze you - then again, it probably won't as it seems to be more and more common. I did originally post it as a comment on a blog which was turned into a standalone post - you can see a somewhat more sweary version here, along with some horrifying tales from other people.
This is a little insight into the day to day existence of what I'd hope would be considered a "regular" person when placed inside a feral den - the sort of place the welfare state has created, and why we should be so scared of it spreading that we should really consider doing something about it right now.
My partner and I had a dream of getting on the property ladder - owning a home, starting a family, you know, the sort of thing frowned upon nowadays. I work hard. So does my missus. We got what we could afford, which was a rundown heap in the middle of a place with a bad reputation. Against better judgment, we thought it would be fine.
What a bloody mistake that was.
The first year was fine, despite the supposed aura of "Abandon All Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here" the place had. Then, all of a sudden, violence. And lots of it.
Some random teens decided to throw bottles at me while walking home from work - I told them to fuck off (because make no mistake, if you mince words when confronted by kids like this, you'll end up even more dead than you're about to become). About seven of them jumped off a wall and made out they were going kill me, without actually doing it of course. What actually happened, was the biggest lads hung back and, out of the pack, comes this bizarre dwarf child (couldn't have been older than eleven, tops) who then proceeds to do this bizarre jig / dance / God-knows-what in front of me, all the while spitting on the floor and slurring insults.
Occasionally one of the bigger cretins would take a step forward, then jump back again. It was like a Riverdance for morons.
All of this was in front of one of their parents, who ignored it all (couldn't have been more then three feet away) while he worked on his car. If they'd jumped on my head and started smashing it into the pavement, I dare say he'd have carried on fixing his leaky battery.
A returned home, a little puzzled by what had just taken place. This is was on my own street, in broad daylight at four in the afternoon. Surely some mistake?
Well, as it turned out, no. No it wasn't.
Despite my best attempts at remaining anonymous, a few months later, I went out of the house and one of them was in a group congregating by some nearby alleygates. I knew he recognised me the moment I walked past, mainly because as soon as I was a few feet past them a bunch of stones started bouncing off the pavement around me. Do these kids carry rocks in their pockets at all times or something?
Anyway, that was that.
Despite having a baby in the house (who arrived halfway through the great Feral seige of 2004 to 2007), every night for three solid years - and I *MEAN* every. Single. Night....there would be items hurled at the house, at the window, abuse in the street, menacing gestures, random happenings. Didn't matter what day it was, something would happen. Christmas eve, Xmas day, New Years, birthdays, deaths, weddings.....whatever. It was insane. I lost count of the amount of times we called the police....hundreds, hundreds of times. Regular line, 999, SWAT, Special Forces, Chuck Norris.....you name it, I tried it. We contacted the council, the police, the papers, the politicians and those bastards at the housing (who were responsible for drafting in these waves of scum from other useless areas in a merry-go-round of completely insane "families").....not a bit of difference.
All the crap advice police and others wheel out - don't encourage them, don't this, don't that, don't the-other - only works on the basis that they're doing it "for a chase", as they so naively kept putting it.
Truth was, it didn't matter whether you ignored it or not. You'd still hear your windows being slammed every single night even if you failed to rise to the bait for months at a time. They didn't care. If they were going past on their way home from the chipshop or the offy or whatever, it took the bare minimum of effort to pick something up and lob it.
In fact, if you ignored it, they tended to do it all the more and with greater force. So you were screwed in any case.
The effects were immediate and obvious, and it was only after the first year of relative quiet that I took off my rose-tinted glasses and realised half the people in my street and one or two off it were already experiencing the same joys.
One night, a guy was literally forced to flee his house, jump in his car and drive to fucking Wales. He never came back, and his brother apparently had to sell his house. But then, having a wild mob of about 15 to 20 shrieking lunatics off their faces and hurling pieces of brick at your window (while trying to kick the front door in) will do that to you.
A woman over the road had her windows smashed (this was before I moved in or shortly after) - when she complained to the police about it, the little swines phoned 999 and told them she was holding one of them "hostage" - about ten minutes later, what seemed like three vanfulls of riot police arrived outside her house and wellied their way inside, so I'm told. One guy asked his neighbour to simply reverse his car off his drive so he could get his car out - the reply was a headbutt and a broken nose. Yet another little shit, well known to social services, police and everyone else (with about ten asbos to his name), threatened grown men outside a pub with a knife unless they went inside and bought him some stella.
They bought him the stella.
I could go on, but that's the kind of thing you were dealing with there. I should add, a lot of these kids were as young as ten or eleven, hanging around with a handful of older ones in their late teens. In addition, they weren't all from "broken homes" or had waves of family members on the dole - quite a few of them had both parents, a nice house, at least one (or both) parents working....however, the parents just weren't interested in controlling them and they quickly fell under the sway of the ringleaders (who were indeed from spectacularly broken homes and on benefits or being shunted from place to place via housing corporations).
Halloween was always the worst, mainly because where we were, it used to last about a month. It was like one of those zombie films where people start boarding everything up and hiding in an attic for six weeks. Our first child was born in the runup to one of these wonderful social carnivals, so you can imagine all the stress and worry of simply having this child pop out with no problems, then having to consider your house being battered with bricks and rockery at the same time. They almost sucked the joy out of having a child in the first place.
I still remember the night the baby had been born - left the missus in the hospital, jumped a cab home, found out the next morning (when it was light enough to see the front of the house) that it had been egged all over. They knew we'd gone off to the hospital too, because they'd seen us leaving the house with all the "here comes the baby" gear.
After that, the first few months we had to resort to changing the baby either in the kitchen at the back of the house (cold), or the spare bedroom upstairs (even more cold) because we were convinced a brick could come through the living room or front bedroom window at any time during the night and couldn't take the chance.
I know I'm getting away from Halloween here, so allow me to get right back to it. Each one was worse than the last. When the final one came around, it finally all kicked the fuck off.
A bunch of kids (about fifteen of them, aged between maybe 12 and 17) went to a neighbours freshly paved driveway, pulled up a few slabs, smashed them on the floor, picked up the chunks of concrete and started hurling them at the windows. Then another at the door.....then another at the windows. And another.
Months, years of endless abuse finally all clicked something inside my brain. I snapped, ran out, grabbed one of the little shits and dragged him back to the house, screaming down his ears. I'd had enough. I wanted blood.
ANYONES fucking blood.
I made that little shit - one of the main concrete throwers - stand in my garden while the missus phoned the police. Apparently some people in a neighbouring city heard my screaming, so a full contingent of police were deployed and would "arrive shortly".
Next minute, our wonderful country's welfare inhabitants are revealed for what they are.
Never mind a baby in the house when these animals were throwing what they were throwing. No, some tracksuited moron comes bouncing out of the house directly opposite mine (found out later he doesn't even live in the area, just visiting his girlfriend), and starts yelling"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT LAD? GET OFF HIM! etc etc swear swear".
I tell him what the kid did, but he didn't care. Scum look after their own. Within seconds, he's opening his boot and threatening to get his baseball bat out and "fuck me up".
I goaded him into doing it, because I so badly wanted an excuse to punch someone through a wall. He didn't, choosing to remain at a safe distance because I probably gave off the distinct smell of roid rage by this point. But I'm already thinking "fuck this shit" when lo and behold, the ratfaced child's drunken, ugly, booze-sodden grandmother appears in front of me, yelling and screaming and calling me everything under the sun. I'll never forget the next exchange.
I told her there was a baby in the house and they could have killed him if they'd put the window through.
Her reply? "GOOD!"
She then threw a punch at my head, which missed by a country mile while the idiot in the tracksuit continued to prance around by his car. I'd officially entered the twilight zone by this point.
Then the police turned up, and I had to be put in the back of their car and driven to my house as this had started to spill further and further down the street where I ran a greatly increased risk of being stabbed in the face.
I put the place up for sale the next day, got rid of it at a loss (months later, while the abuse continued) and am now paying through the nose for a house while paying a shitload in tax and NI - thanks, dole scum, I love you for that, honestly - but I tell myself its worth it to be away from places and people like that, even while being fully aware I'm paying for them to continue their shitty, worthless existence.
If I could, I'd go back and fucking napalm the whole area and nothing of value would be lost.
But I tell you what - that kid I collared was crying his fucking eyes out when I marched him back home, and that alone was worth the price of admission.