A friend has just emailed me the following:
One night, four of us went on the rampage in Callander, perhaps in some way taking revenge on the shitty town that we had gone to school in. Tyres were slashed, chickens were decapitated and other bad, bad things done. Then we got hold of a canister of petrol.
Three of us stood in a 30 foot triangle (an isosceles); the fourth poured the petrol round us; two small semi-circles on either side of a very long arc. We lit it, my foot caught fire, we ran like fuck, and a 30-foot nob burned itself into Callander meadows. The police made it worse by driving onto it. Kids on the school bus the next morning pointed and laughed. A pilgrimage took place at lunchtime.
Years later, a friend of my wee sister talked about that hilarious day when the meadows got nobbed (yes it's a verb too). One of my proudest moments occurred when I said, 'That was me!'
The grass lay scorched like that for weeks. Beat that Stockton on Tees, ya fannies.
― Alba (Alba), Wednesday, 13 December 2006 16:56 (seventeen years ago) link