"What's that Bolfeld? Speak up man! Stop mumbling into your pussy-cat!"
But where crime is concerned there was always one thing I could clearly see in the future – getting caught!
All credit goes to my parents who did an excellent job of teaching me crime doesn’t pay, with some help no doubt from Kojak, Steve McGarret and PC McGary (number 452). My parents' methods were subtle; there were no beatings, the naughty step was non-existent and we were never subjected to the power of religion to curb any criminal urges. Their methods were more based around love and trust with mild recriminations and more disappointment on their part than dismemberment on ours. Having said that I do remember they came down hard on my sister the day she left Woolworths with an obvious bulge in her check after passing the Pick-n-Mix! But I also remember one nefarious act I was involved in which ironically was linked to Robin Hood.
When I was a boy LEGO was still limited in the character department. They had yet to bring out the non-stop flow of mini-figures that my kids now have and I covert so much. Instead I collected the then reasonably new Playmobile (or Playpeople as they were called back then). I had cowboys, policemen, firemen and knights but one day I saw something I just had to have - a Robin Hood figure. You can keep your Xbox 360 – here was a serious toy! He came with real quiver of arrows and elastic-band strung bow!! I checked the price and was sure I had enough saved up in my Lloyds Bank Horse's Head money-box back home. So began the pleading with my parents to buy the toy for me and then pay them back later, which they did. Robin was mine!
Toy bought and taken home the mistake my parents made was not to get the money off me there and then. Instead I had a whole evening where I not only had Robin but also the cash. As I lay in bed the next morning I suddenly decided that I wouldn't hand over the money I'd saved. Whether I had another purchase in mind or whether it was simply a miserly-moment I can’t remember. But what to do? Staring at that black-horse-headed-box produced a dark plan in my mind – I would hide my money. I slipped out of bed, took the money-box and hid it in the laundry basket in the bathroom. Quite what I planned to do in the long run didn’t concern me. I’d simply say the money-box had gone missing and possibly blame burglars or aliens or something. Then when everyone had forgotten about it I’d retrieve the loot, hopefully before my mum next washed my pants!
But, as I returned to my bedroom the guilt was already starting to grow. Part of me wanted to forget the whole plot and get the head back. But it was too late. My family were already rising and starting to use the bathroom. I lurked on the landing trying to decide what to do. Maybe if I caused a diversion elsewhere in the house I could get back the money. However before I could think of what to do I was called down to the kitchen for breakfast.
I went down to and sat at the table with the rest of my family. As I leaned over my bowl of Ready Break I felt certain that the crime was written all over my face. At any moment my parents would ask for their money and then the lies would begin. Noel Edmonds chatted on in the background while tea and juice was drunk and plans for the day discussed and still no one pointed at me, demanding either cash or an explanation! Finally, I could stand it no longer.
“I can’t find my money.” My mouth spoke suddenly, independent of body or brain.
“Sorry?” Asked my father
“My money-box. I can't find it. It’s gone.”
I expected doubt and disbelief but what I got totally flummoxed me - support. Like the three bears before them the steaming bowls were abandoned at the table as the whole family threw themselves into the search and within minutes my room was being ransacked.
"Don't worry son, we'll find it for you. You check the wardrobe, while I look under your bed."
Visions of Telly Savalas, search warrant in hand, swam before my eyes as they emptied every box and opened every cupboard. Obviously I knew there was nothing to find and I was just debating going onto the alien burglary line when the room was pronounced clear and they moved onto the rest of the house.
In retrospect I can’t believe my parents could truly have thought I'd have ‘mislaid’ my money-box in another room. Could they? I wasn't that starved of toys that I was reduced to playing with a plastic horse's head. For one thing I hadn't seen the Godfather by then! They must surely have realised the truth and were hoping to find me out. Once again I found myself on the landing as around me the family searched high and low but to no avail. The criminal always returns to the scene of the crime and during that whole time my eyes were always on the laundry basket anticipating what I saw as the inevitable discovery. But the head did not materialise.
My father sat me on his knee and apologised for their lack of success. This proved too much for me as guilt finally won out. I said there was one place they hadn’t looked and sent them straight to the laundry basket to retrieve the hidden treasure. After a full confession, and no doubt some honest tears, the money-box was emptied of my debt and returned to the window sill in my bedroom. I forget what my punishment was for the crime, probably reduced TV privileges, which for me back then was worse than jail.
So there we are. Not quite the crime of the century but certainly one that lives on for me and taught me a lesson. To this day I still hate to be in debt so I suppose I can at least thank 'Operation Hood-wink' for leaving me with a good credit rating - except with my parents that is, obviously.
And the moral - Crime doesn't pay! Particularly laundering money (Oh come on! Don't say you never saw that one coming!)...
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