A bunch of Norwegian kids think their engineers and mess with the train tracks causing a hi-speed train to move off course as it passes by.
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This reminds me of Tamfourhill, the estate in Falkirk where I grew up. When I was about ten, some kids derailed a train by placing concrete slabs on the railway beside the estate. There were some nutters about back then. I remember watching the stricken train on the news, and thinking: I know who did that. The same boy who once brought his mother's vibrator outside and "revved it up" (or so it seemed to me at the time) while we all fell about laughing, until his mother came storming out and said, "Ah dinnae use it for whit ye hink ah do!"
And we all wondered what she did use it for. Stirring custard seemed the most likely thing, for some strange reason.
We were at constantly at war with the Summerford kids, who stole our bogey and wrecked our log cabin in the "Pinies", the Woodland up behind the farm, past the Victoria midden where you could dig down to unearth old glass bottles. But we had our very own nutter, an older boy, who used to hang by one hand from the railway bridge, sixty feet above the road, while trains from Falkirk High rumbled over it. He also made a swing with a noose around the end, which he tightened around his neck before holding on tight and swinging out from the rail embankment. He had a dog he called "Nigs" because it was black.
But he was useful against the Summeford kids. They didn't like to mess with him.
I met him three years after I'd left Tamfourhill to go to University, when I returned to visit a friend. He was driving around Falkirk with a baseball bat on the passenger seat of his car.
There were worse nutters.
You know an estate is bad when there are crisps scattered on the pavement outside the corner shop. The crisps are dropped by glue-sniffers, who need the bag to fill with Evo-stick so they can inhale it, but can't face eating the contents. Our local shop always had heaps of crisps outside, until the glue-sniffers died off. It really was amazing how quickly they died -- one by one, until they were gone. Why did the shop keep selling them glue and crisps? A pound is a pound, I suppose.
Yikes. A whole bucket of nostalgia from one clever Norwegian video.