A couple of years ago, we went down to the outlaws for the day. When we came home, there was a bunch of scrotes in the road by our garage and, as we pulled onto the drive, I saw that the garage door was open with the tools, motorbikes etc on full display.
First thought was that the scrotes had busted in but (luckily) the fact that they didn't run off checked my instinct to smack heads.
I told the family to stay in the car and had a quick look around the garage, and everything seemed to be where it should be. Which was nice.
So I went to talk to the scrotes and discovered that one of their motorbikes had broken down and they were trying to fix it. They were subsequently very grateful for the loan of my tools and the warm drinks we made for them but, tbh, I could have kissed them for not turning us over that day.
First thought was that the scrotes had busted in but (luckily) the fact that they didn't run off checked my instinct to smack heads.
I told the family to stay in the car and had a quick look around the garage, and everything seemed to be where it should be. Which was nice.
So I went to talk to the scrotes and discovered that one of their motorbikes had broken down and they were trying to fix it. They were subsequently very grateful for the loan of my tools and the warm drinks we made for them but, tbh, I could have kissed them for not turning us over that day.
