I don't really recall becoming aware of my ability to turn the simplest task into a rage inducing fu**up however one of the earliest things I can recall goes back to when I was 17.
My folks were heading off to one of their friends birthday party or something and were staying away for the night. My best friend at the time was going to stay over and so the planning began.
It was Friday night and we were 17, a couple of under-age beers in the local pub followed by a Chinese takeaway and the distinct possibility of getting a couple of girls round, you know... it has to be done.
I went out before my folks had left for the party, met up with my pal and we started to put the evenings plans into motion. Cue fu**up A: I'd gone out without my house keys.
Not a big deal until you realise that this was back before mobile phones. I am 38 now and the sort of mobiles that existed back then were the size of a small car and not really all that portable. Even if I'd had a phone I certainly didn't have the phone number of my folks friends.
We hurried back to my house on the off chance my folks hadn't left yet. Too late, they'd gone. What to do?
We walked to the nearby phone box and called the Police, explained the situation and asked if a Bobby could come round with their magic, open any door key. I was told that they did not carry such equipment. I then asked if they could just send someone round and smash the door in or something. I can still remember the call taker politely saying, "No." and hanging up.
You might think we could have just gone and crashed at my mates house but - and isn't there always a but? - we had two dogs and a cat.
The only option was to pick the smallest window and SMASH!!! However, I really didn't have the heart to smash a window. So, we began what was to become the four or five hour job of removing (without snapping) the thin wooden beading and picking away the putty etc that held the glass in place before carefully prizing the (quite new at the time) double glazing unit from the imported, mahogany frame.
Throughout the operation we were hoping a neighbour might ring the Police to report a suspected break in - they were a nosey bunch of do-gooders after all - at which time the Police would turn up and have the magic key that I was convinced a) existed and (b) all coppers carried. Not a peep... not a single, "Oi! What are you doing?" or visible curtain twitch from any of the bastards.
Finally the window unit came free. The joy was short lived. Our dogs were good dogs and had no doubt been cross legged for the first couple of hours but five hours shut in was a bit too long for them. It was quickly apparent after the glass came out that the kitchen floor was covered in mess :O(
First job however was to get in and retrieve my keys, unlock the door to let the dogs out and let us in to begin cleaning up.
Having carefully propped the glass unit against the wall, I hopped up into the window frame to climb through. As I left the ground my left foot kicked the glass unit that then kindly fell over and smashed.
Five hours outside in the cold, dog shit all over the kitchen floor and a fu**ing broken window after all.
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