Essex Boy Read Online Free Page A

I found a large glass cabinet, which was locked, so I picked up a bowl and threw it as hard as I could in an effort to smash my way into it. The bowl hit the cabinet, bounced off and narrowly missed my head before smashing on the floor. I knew that I was making too much noise and so I picked up 75p off the top of the till, put a can of crazy foam in my holdall and made good my escape.
    After successfully committing such a petty crime, there was only one way that my criminal career could go and that was up. Soon I was carrying out burglaries at off-licences, builders’ merchants and post offices. If I couldn’t get my hands on hard cash when committing a burglary, I would take anything that I thought I could sell later. One time I filled two black bin liners with cigarettes and hid them under a shed at a local bowling club. I asked around to see if anybody was interested in purchasing the goods that I had stolen and one local entrepreneur agreed to buy the lot. As I walked away from the bowling club with the cigarettes, a police car happened to pull up alongside me and so I ran. As I made good my escape, one bag burst open, spilling all of the boxes of cigarettes out onto the road and so I dropped it and continued to flee. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see that a police officer was in pursuit and so I turned down an alleyway only to be confronted by a wrought-iron gate with a sign that read ‘Beware of the Dogs’. I had always been terrified of dogs and so rather than risk being chewed I gave myself up to the gasping officer who had pursued me. I was promptly arrested and charged with theft.
    I don’t know if a passer-by had stopped and picked up the boxes of cigarettes that I had dropped, but they certainly disappeared while I was in police custody. The charge sheet that I was given stated that I had stolen 50 boxes of cigarettes when I knew I had in fact stolen nearly 200. You can’t trust anybody these days! I hope they choked on them.
    Staring out of my bedroom window at the rain one evening, I decided that I would venture out to a local bar to play pool. I didn’t usually play the game and I have no idea why I felt such a sudden inexplicable urge to begin, but something inside told me that I should do so. Looking back, it was probably boredom; people do the funniest things when the mind is idle. The only thing that prevented me from curing my craving was the fact that I didn’t have any money. Close to my home was a corner shop that I had considered robbing for quite some time. Fondling one of my father’s old pool cues, I told myself that there was no time like the present, and so I tore the sleeve off my jumper, cut two eye holes in it and selected a large knife from the kitchen drawer. I had no intention of cutting or stabbing anybody; the blade was going to be used merely as a tool of persuasion. When I went downstairs, I hid the knife by the front door, pulled my makeshift balaclava onto my arm, put on my coat and went to leave the house. As I was walking through the front door, I picked up the knife and pushed it up my sleeve in an effort to secrete it. At that very moment, my father walked up the garden path.
    ‘What are you doing with that?’ he asked.
    ‘I’m going to make a cash withdrawal. See you later,’ I replied.
    When my father saw my mother, he told her what he had seen and what I had said to him. ‘That boy is stupid going out with a knife,’ he said rather philosophically. ‘He’ll get himself into trouble.’
    Standing outside the corner shop, I adjusted my home-made balaclava and looked up and down the street to ensure that no have-a-go heroes were in the vicinity. Moments later I burst through the shop door. The lady behind the counter began to scream. I ordered her to open the till but my words fell on deaf ears; she continued screaming and ran from one end of the counter to the other. I chased her back and forth, shouting, ‘Open the fucking till. Open the fucking till,’