Never Fuck with Peter Manito

9 min read

House Break for a
Bag of Weed

Pour yourself a something, get comfy, this is a long one, but an exciting read.

I’ve never been a big weed smoker, however, back when I was a teenager it was par for the course. I can’t quite remember the year, early 90s, living in the village of Edlesborough.

I would have been about 15. Richard, one of my village mates came round to hang out, shoot the shit. At one point he said he had to pop out and would be back in 20 minutes. An hour goes by and he returns with a bag of weed, a sizeable bag of weed. I can’t remember how he snuck it past my Mum, Dad and sister downstairs, but he did.

I thought you were going to be 20 minutes, where’ve you been?

Dunstable

The fuck? Meh.

Soon after my dad went off to work, he was self-employed as a taxi driver and it was Saturday evening. With the office based in Tring some miles away that would be him gone for the evening. Soon after that my Mum and Sister went off to Luton, I think to the cinema or something.

Me and Richard were upstairs, talking shit. The doorbell rang. I went downstairs and answered it. 2 local girls, a little bit tipsy (underage drinking in villages was all the rage back then – probably still is). They were acting the arse and asking to see Richard. I knew he wouldn’t want to see them, so I told them to do one. I shut the door and went back upstairs. They continued harassing the doorbell and pushed sticks through the letterbox for a bit. Richard and I decided to turn all the lights in the house off in the hope they’d think we’d left via the backdoor. Soon after, the ringing stopped and they’d fucked off.

Sometime after that the doorbell rang again. FFS. I peeked from the upstairs window of the bedroom. Oh shit. There was a fair amount of not just teenage boys, but young men gathering outside the front of the house. This is odd I thought. The ringing was continuous. It stopped and was replaced with banging on the front door. Oh. This suddenly felt intimidating. I peeked out again and they’d come into the front garden and started banging on the windows and shouting. Shouting for Richard.

Then my naïve brian twigged.
He’d nicked the weed.

I started to panic. From the upstairs phone I rang my Mum’s mobile. It rang downstairs. Bollocks. I called my dad.

Hello?

Dad it’s me, some men are trying to break into the house!

What?!

Can you come back?

I’m miles away and got another job to do, call the Police and I’ll get over there as soon as I can.

I called the police, not quite believing that I was indeed having to call the police. Meanwhile the banging and noise outside was starting to increase. I peeked again, there were at least 20 of them, and they’d started to make their way down the house to the other window before the driveway.

Emergency, which service?

Police please

Hello Thames Valley Police, what’s the emergency?

I explained the situation to the operator, leaving out the bit about the weed, not deliberately, in my rising panic I’d forgotten about that. In hindsight we should have chucked it out of the window.

The operator then went on to explain that the nearest squad car was at least 30 minutes away and had to cover a large area, but that it would be dispatched ASAP. Sat in the dark in my parents’ bedroom, me and Richard were starting to get really scared.

I called my dad again.

Ben?

Dad! I’ve called the police but they’re ages away.

I’m on my way!

Please hurry Dad

Son, I’m pushing 120,
I’ll be there as soon as I can

Dad’s taxi was a red G reg Ford Sierra GL 2.0, so I have no idea if my dad was fibbing, but it sounded loud on the phone.

The banging was now down the side of the house, they were on the driveway which led to a locked side door to the conservatory, although I wasn’t certain it was locked, it was impossibly stiff and we never used it.

I hung up and dialled the police again. They were still 30 minutes away.

Then I heard glass smash downstairs. My mind raced before identifying that was the inner door of the conservatory that was locked and led into the dining room. My brian was quick to realise that the smashing of the glass meant they were now IN THE HOUSE.

Fuck.

My brian started to think of an escape plan and there weren’t many options. In fact, there was just one and it likely involved an injury. We were in my parents’ bedroom which was at the top of the stairs. It surely was not going to be long before they made their way up them. My plan then was to creep across the upstairs hallway to my sister’s bedroom. She had a huge square PVC window overlooking the back garden that had multiple ways to open, and one of those ways was like a door. I could easily fit through that and then sort of hang off the ledge, stretch across to the conservatory roof and scrape down the side without falling, hopefully.

Plan made.

I could hear a mix of boys’ and men’s voices shouting for Richard by his surname which I cannot put here for legal reasons. The voices were getting closer as they moved about the rooms downstairs. I tiptoed to my sister’s bedroom, managing to avoid all the known areas for creaks. It was a 130-year-old cottage and its floorboards always had things to say if you stepped on them, but some did not and my feet managed to find the silent ones. I was at the window, turning the key.

RICHARD?!

Jesus H Fucking Christ, the voice was so close, someone had clearly made it to the top of the stairs. Richard had stayed hidden in my parents’ room. Idiot. I started to open the window.

BEN?!

DAD?! I replied

Thank the baby Jesus, my dad had made it! There was scuffling and the sound of feet on pavement running from the house, but not all the feet.

‘Oo are you mate?’ enquired my dad.

I turned the lights on, walked back across the hallway and downstairs into the kitchen. Richard followed me.

In the kitchen were 2 lads. One called Ross and the other Tim. Ross was short AF and Tim was about 6ft. My Dad is 5’8” or thereabouts.

What the fuck are you doing in my house?
Bellowed my dad

Tim was cocky, like an even worse Liam Gallagher, started trying to bullshit my dad. Not a good idea. My Dad slammed his mobile phone on the counter.

LOOK SON, I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS FUCKING SHIT – Verbatim, I remember, quite the moment.

My dad’s face turned white.

Dad?!! I shouted. He couldn’t hear me. He grabbed Tim by the scruff of his neck and – I shit you not – lifted him off the ground. I tried shouting again, no good.

He threw Tim down the hallway. Oh fuck. Tim landed on the floor before the door to the porch. My dad stood over him, picked him up and threw him again. This time he fell and banged his head on the door before arriving on the floor again.

My dad opened the porch door. He picked Tim up again, opened the front door and threw him against the iron railings outside the house. At this very moment the squad car pulled up outside, lights blazing. Oh, shit shit.

Dad picked Tim up, threw his arm around him like they were old mates.

Yeah mate, I know you’re meant to be here.

Dad fibbed as the police officers stepped out of their car. We all made our way back into the house, this time into the sitting room which was large and had a big desk at one end that my parents used for work.

I then started to lose it, feeling emboldened by all the support. Pussy.

My threats and swearing ensued until the officer cautioned me against that saying I could be arrested.

I’m in my own fucking house!

I shan’t warn you again son.

I shut up.

During this time my mum and sister had returned. My sister went straight upstairs. My mum sat at the desk.

While the remonstrating was going on she looked at me and made wide eyes. My eyes returned a look of What?

It was then that I noticed the huge bag of weed was on the desk. I had no idea how it had got there, in full view.

Shit. This was one of the rare moments I saw one of my parents do something cool. Casually but carefully, she pulled open one of the drawers, her eyes fixed on the officers. They were the other side of the lounge. My mother leant forwards on the desk and, just lightly with her arm, swept the bag into the drawer and closed it.

Smooth.

The lads left and the cops finished up with us.

But the evening was not over.

I was pissed off and I didn’t want my evening over with, I still wanted to go to the pub. Underage of course #villagelife

After a short argument with my dad, Richard and I set off for the pub. It was called the Rule & Square, sadly it is not there anymore and has been developed on. I remember once my dad walking out of there with dog shit on his shoe, coming outside to wipe it off. I digress, on with the story.

Me and Richard get a couple pints at the pub. We make our way through the long hallway with our pints to the back where the pool table is. A bunch of local men are playing pool and sat around to the side of that were all the people that had broken into our house. Oh shit. We made an about turn and made our way back to the bar.

As we get there my dad turns up.

I’m not happy about you being out tonight, I want you home.

I think you’re right Dad, they’re all in there. I pointed to the hallway.

You fucking what?!

Oh shit, Dad?! Too late he’d gone marching off.

Me and Richard followed. The other punters were shocked to hear my dad shout like that. He had a reputation of being a calm and quiet man. But they didn’t know Peter when he was fucked off. Peter came from London, proper London. He’d had a horrific upbringing and had more than his fair share of knocks and scrapes to put it lightly.

As my dad entered the pool room he found Tim immediately, sat in a comfy armchair like nothing had happened. Oh dear.

You fucking little cunt, you break into my house and threaten my family?!

Dad grabbed him by the throat with his left hand and drew back his fisted right hand.

I’m gonna break your fucking neck!!

It was at this point that another man from the village, Lance, grabbed my dad’s arm and said;

You touch him Peter and I’ll break your fucking neck.

Enter Julian.

Any of you touch Peter and I’ll have the fucking lot of you.

You could hear a pin drop, but instead it was just the sound of pool balls kissing.

Then everything stopped.

Fuck this shit! said my dad, come on let’s go.

My Dad dragged us out of there. What a waste of a pint I thought.

And that was the end of it.

Until the next day.

The doorbell went.

It was Nigel, Tim’s 6 foot something stepdad. My dad by this point had calmed down. Oh shit, he said when he looked out of the window. But my dad would never back out of a fight, so he went and answered the door.

Nigel was a very well-spoken and mild-mannered man, unlike his oik of a stepson.

Hello Peter, I’ve just come round to apologise and to let you know I’ve given Tim a damn good bollocking.

Much appreciated, said Dad. They shook hands. My Dad let out a huge sigh of relief. The villagers held a very different view of my dad after that, can’t think why.

There is just one more thing. To this day I still do not know whatever happened to that massive bag of weed.

Thanks for reading.

— B

If you enjoyed this, buy me a coffee.