Thursday, July 08, 2010

...a big PM Dawn fan

It isn't easy, seeing the rolling news wires with tell of Raoul Moat and his commando-ing in and around the hills and forests of Northumbria.

It isn't easy because it brings back memories of my own flight from the law.

There may have been no Sky News, no internet, no iPhone applications, no nothing apart from the late edition of the Evening Press but it was all too real and terrifying for me, and for the people of Dublin.

If you're over 25 you'll remember it, I'm sure. 1992 it was.

What started as a quick bit of shopliftery in the Virgin Megastore turned into the greatest manhunt the State had ever seen.

Sniffer dogs and psychics, Russian experts and CIA agents were brought in. President Robinson kindly handed over the keys to the helicopter. Finger searches fanned out from Liberty Hall for a radius of ten miles. A curfew was put in place and plans for the Millennium clock were iced, due to the funds being put in place for my capture.

They had the CCTV footage but that was all. My mate Kev, with me when the deed was done, wouldn't breathe a word about my whereabouts. He kept schtum no matter how many electrodes were attached to his pubertine balls because of the pinkie swear we'd made in the cubs, in the church hall, that time.

I initially evaded capture by tying my belongings to my leg before covering myself with a couple of bin-bags.

I used what bus fare I had to pay a homeless man to cause a distraction as I clambered down into the Liffey and waded through 800 yards of shit smelling awfulness, Andy Dufresne-style. 800 yards of sludge, man muck and detritus to safety by the abandoned tunnel that connects Heuston Station to Connolly.

Disoriented, disgusting and ravenous I took a rest on the tracks as the net closed in. I could run no longer, I had nothing left, I was spent and I was ready for whatever punishment was coming my way. The Special Branch found me, alerted by the outflux of rats from the tunnel - they couldn't take the stench.

I did two years in a youth detention facility and lost all sorts of innocence therein but a part of me feels it was worth it. Given the opportunity, I'd steal that cassette single of 'Set Adrift On Memory Bliss' all over again.

10 comments:

goldmaster said...

You're a little vague on the stench detail. Was it that the special branch could'nt stomach the rats or vise versa. Probably the latter.
By the way, another gem.

Therese Cox said...

I think I lived next door to one of those Russian spies.

Radge said...

Goldmaster - You mean you condone the fact that your son was a shoplifter? For shame. The rats couldn't stand the smell of me.

Therese - You can probably expect a SWAT team. Get the biscuits in.

Andrew said...

1992? It was old nodding Robinson who fucked you over with the chopper keys then, not Hillery.

You didn't nick that penguin, did you? I note it was dropped at a place that has connections to you...

Radge said...

Crap, you're right. It was Noddy, the Ritalin confused me. Will amend.

...

(Checks intersphere)

A vague connection, but the 'Street' is a good ten minute walk from the 'Place.'

Andrew said...

I can never remember which is which.

Nevertheless, that whole thing had a right bang of Radge off it. If I started to throw scurrilous accusations around on my blog I wonder would the authorities take interest?

Radge said...

Only one way to find out, but beware the consequences. I have several typing fingers and I'm not afraid to use them.

Holemaster said...

During a nationwide clampdown on unlit cyclists around 1983, I gave a squad car the slip down a laneway blocked to motor traffic by a central bollard.

I'm still looking over my shoulder.

Radge said...

You, you thunder stealing bastard you.

Kath Lockett said...

Ah yes, wading through human filth for a stolen CASSETTE of a band that, thanks to this blog entry, I'd managed to forget about entirely.