Makes me shiver thinking about it even now
Early 1980s, I had an hour and a half journey to school each day, each way, and by the time I was 16 studies were starting to get a bit neglected as I discovered the bright lights of the West End and started going to three, four gigs a week. A railway strike gave me an opportunity to hatch a plan. You see, school wouldn't expect me to trudge halfway across South London, would they, so I could just tell my form master that I'd take some stuff home with me and sit it out. if I told my parents I was staying with a friend nearer school, they'd never check up. And there was one of my favourite bands playing at Gossips in Soho on an evening smack bang in the middle of the train strike.

So off I went to school the day before the strike. As it turned out I had actually arranged to stay with a schoolfriend who lived in a huge flat in Central London (but whose parents, curiously, were never, ever around) and who was happy to play along with the plan, off we went to the gig in the evening. The following day my mate, who wasn't quite so much into the whole bunking off thing, went into school, so I found myself mooching around Carnaby Street (very seedy at that time) waiting for another friend who worked nearby to knock off so we could go for a beer.

Enter Mr Plod. There's me, a youngish looking 16-year-old (though one, curiously, who never had problems getting served in pubs) hanging round on a street corner in an unsalubrious part of town, probably looking very out of place. This being the old stop & search days, his conversation opener was to ask me what was in my bag. So out come the books, all clearly marked with the name of my school on them - God knows, I must have decided I'd be doing some studying during my little jaunt - and I knew I was in the shit.

No point in lying, my school's name's on the books, as is my name, the only alternative to 'fessing up to bunking off is to somehow explain what I'm doing with them which would doubtless result in a trip to the station, so the policeman takes all my details, parents' phone number, school details etc. At best I am looking at an absolute bollocking from my parents and being grounded for a very long time, at worst I could be facing expulsion. I'm in deep shit in triplicate.

So I head off towards Charing Cross, where I may find a train or if they're still not running, I can get a bus in the general direction of home, but apprentice pisshead that I am, I decide to stop in a pub in Soho to drown my sorrows a little. I'm sitting there, probably looking pretty fucking sorry for myself, and this guy starts talking to me, asking why I'm looking so down, so I recount my story. Next thing I know, we're round the corner at what at the time I think must have been the Wendy's on Shaftesbury Avenue, now McDonald's (a great loss the day Wendy's quit the UK, by the way), and the guy's bought me a burger and said, you know, if you don't fancy going home to face your parents, you can always crash at mine, and I'm kind of, you know, that might not be such a bad idea, and then...

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING?"

There's been twice in my life that I've heard those words shouted at me from within my own head, drowning out any other thoughts; the only other time, more recently, was the night before I stopped drinking which, in all probability, saved my marriage and a shitload of other problems. I really can't explain where it comes from, but it's a voice you can't help but listen to and act upon. And if the second time I heard it was a turning point in my life, I'm pretty convinced the first time was, too.

Alarm bells stated ringing in my head. What the fuck was I doing here, with this strange man, who, come to think of it, was making me feel uneasy, though with everything else going through my head, I hadn't really picked up on my intuition. I didn't just need to get home, I needed to get the hell out of here right now.

Well, thank fuck for Routemaster buses is all I can say. The countless times i'd hopped on and off the platform at the back paid off and - shit, it is moving a bit quickly, isn't it - I just managed to get a foot on the boards and a hand round the pole and off down the road I went, my erstwhile benefactor's face blending into the crowd as the bus sped off.

It was a face I remembered, though, and perhaps the glasses had something to do with that. I certainly recognised that face when I saw it on the news a couple of years later, and whenever I hear the name, it sends me cold.

Length? Dennis Nilsen got 25 years, later increased to life. He'll never be paroled.

PS - Just checked his Wikipedia entry for when he was arrested and some of the facts really do make me pause and realise just how lucky I was. The Golden Lion, I'm pretty certain, is the pub. He bought one of his victims a hamburger. Originally, I'm from Scotland, as many of his victims were. Thank fuck I listened to that inner voice (and apologies for lack of funnies)
(Capo, Sat 25 Sep 2010, 1:09, 17 replies)

I actually clicked the wrong story (its 5am fuckoff) but have a click for "bloody hell" anyway

(brutal stack Raided the beeves of Apollo on, Sat 25 Sep 2010, 4:55, closed)

Clicked, shakily
Wasn't just your education that was heading down the drain.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Sat 25 Sep 2010, 5:31, closed)

I try never to take the name of the Lord in vain...
seriously, I actually am religious, but I have one thing to say:


JESUS! Sweet suffering Jesus on the True Cross! Christ, you were lucky, mate.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Sat 25 Sep 2010, 8:24, closed)

Fred West bought me a kebab once

( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Sat 25 Sep 2010, 8:26, closed)

Blimey. You got damn lucky there
Not that I doubt your story but I'm confused about that happened after you got stopped by the police. Did they contact your folks or school?
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Sat 25 Sep 2010, 9:31, closed)

Sequence was
Police officer took my details on the street, then let me go on my way. Yes, they did contact my parents, who gave me what for when I got home. Nothing happened with school, so I'm not sure they were ever told.
(Capo, Sun 26 Sep 2010, 5:36, closed)

Wow!
That's what I call a close shave. Saw a programme about Nilsen a few weeks ago, and you were VERY lucky.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Sat 25 Sep 2010, 13:10, closed)

well, at least he thought you were attractive enough to be a victim
wait, that doesn't sound right, does it?
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sat 25 Sep 2010, 15:57, closed)

and a free burger
is a free burger
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Sat 25 Sep 2010, 16:57, closed)

very much so

( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sun 26 Sep 2010, 20:12, closed)

Fuck me rigid
You were VERY lucky.

Anyone remember the episode of "Wogan" with the copper from Scotland Yard's Black Museum? In shot, but never referred to, was a battered, cream coloured cooker with some large blackened saucepans on top.

That's where you would have ended up.

Have a shuddering click.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Sat 25 Sep 2010, 15:57, closed)

I've been lurking and dicking about for 2 hours, I signed in just to say:

"Ffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkk!!!1!!"

And to give a very lucky *click*
(SpongeGavShitPants, Sun 26 Sep 2010, 3:19, closed)

I just had to wikipedia that man.
that is blood chilling. You are incredibly fucking lucky.
(Poppet some assembly required., Sun 26 Sep 2010, 11:18, closed)

EEK
Hoooooooooooooooooooly Christ!
( The Helpful Bear, Sun 26 Sep 2010, 16:09, closed)

Wow
Just...wow

What if he had bought you a pizza?
(lemonadegame, Sun 26 Sep 2010, 23:16, closed)

Pizza?
Thank goodness it was the days before Pizza Express came up with the Sloppy Giuseppe, could have been tempting...

Seriously though thanks for comments everyone, this is something I don't think about that often (QOTW I find is good at helping you dredge up half-buried memories), yeah it was a close one.

Any other time there wouldn't have been remotest chance of my taking up a stranger's offer but since that specific day I was all over the place emotionally (and had had a couple of pints), it could easily have gone the other way.
(Capo, Mon 27 Sep 2010, 16:43, closed)

Eeeep- thassa scary!
( awayfromthenumbers, Tue 28 Sep 2010, 13:10, closed)