Glasgow's Dumbest Criminal

One time in the recent past, it was 1.30am on a Saturday morning. I was standing in front of the television, doing the ironing, a bit drunk and watching Scarface. As you do.

My wife came running downstairs and told me to cut the sound and put the lights down.

'What the hell are you talking about?' I enquired, swaying slightly as I turned, gripping the ironing board for support.

'There's a guy in street with a baseball bat and he's smashing car windows'. That perked my interest.

We bolted upstairs to view the scene covertly from a sliver of a gap in the curtains in the darkened bedroom. We were just in time to see him disappearing round the corner 100 yards away.

She described him to me. Tracksuit, cap..... and a baseball bat. None of that surprising.

She'd seen him walking past, stop at a neighbour's car and smack in the back window, move on then take the wing mirror off another car.

I went out the front door under cover of darkness and checked the headlights of my car on the driveway but they were intact. My car has been vandalised a few times over the years from having the wing mirrors battered off (using a For Sale sign out the garden opposite - which we witnessed) to the car being keyed. The second time the car was keyed, you could see where the scumbag even lifted off, then started a new scratch to get the last last side panel as well. I keep my car on my new driveway now. £2000 well spent.

We called the Police and to their credit they were there quite quickly. After a short talk they disappeared round the corner at the end of the street, and into the park area. About an hour later, there was a knock at the front door. The Police arrived to take statements from us.

An hour later. More Scarface. More wine. Very little ironing.

With the excitement and all, I'd kept on drinking, even cracking open a new bottle.

As the policeman and policewoman sat on our sofas taking statements, there was a slight comedy moment when I wobbled slightly and knocked the ironing board, causing the iron to fall.

Instinctively I grabbed for it, and thank Christ, I managed not to grab hold of the hot bit. It was 2.30 in the morning, and I'd had a couple of bottles of wine. The Policewoman on the sofa just looked at me.

What the Police told us next just made our night.

Very soon after we'd called them, they sent a car that was nearby into the area. An unmarked car.

At the end of our street, there is a large area of grass leading to three paths and when the police arrived they drove forward onto the grass to drive through one of the pedestrian tunnels to follow the likely route of the ned. But their car became bogged down in the soft grass.

The two policemen got out their car and began the job of rocking it and pushing it to get it moving again. Out of the darkness this guy came along the path and seeing their predicament, walked up and offered to help them push. It took a fraction of a second for them to note the tracksuit and baseball cap and slapped the cuffs straight onto him.

What a dick.

Of course he denied it. Denied it all. What evidence did they have? It could have been any other ned walking around at that time of night in a tracksuit.

Well, his baseball bat. Distinctive. Even at a distance, under the streetlights as he had swung it around his head, my wife had seen it had a striped design to it. But there was no trace of it. It was gone.

As I walked to the train the next morning, I saw a broken piece of wood lying behind a fence. Striped. It was the handle of the broken baseball bat with nice smooth blue and yellow tape carefully wrapped around it in a beautiful striped design. Smooth tape. Probably covered in fingerprints. It went to the Police later that day.

Apparently he was a bit squiffy from some drugs that night.