Thunderous roars of the football crowd coming from the oversized plasma tv, fixed on the wall where the fireplace ought to be, the faint smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the air. The opposing team Reading score their third goal against their beloved team Arsenal who haven't managed even one goal as of yet and the second half is well under way.
Tony, an overweight, stocky built, ex builder in his mid forties, money always in his pocket but never a job. Maybe just another win on the horses. As he and his skinny, loud and temperamental sixteen year old Aaron drown their sorrows further with another four pack of cheap supermarket larger, tempers begin to flare.
'Oh my goodness. What a goal by Reading. Is it off-side? No. It's a goal! Three-Nil and well into the second half. Arsenal are really going to have to pull something out of the bag to be in the running.'
"Bloody Reading! What ya think the ref's on eh son?" Tony huffs as he keeps his gaze fixed on the tv, his words directed at his son. Aaron, a mini version of his dad sighs heavily and slumps right back into the mysteriously stained sofa. Unable to contain his frustrations at the match for a minute longer, downs the rest of his can, scrunches it up in one hard squeeze, before hurling it at the tv, which he narrowly misses and hits the wall behind instead. Aaron , to verbalise his anger and frustrations, bolts up off the sofa, kicking over his dad's favourite sports mug partly filled with tea left on the floor from last night and stomps out of the living room and opens the front door with one firm, aggressive tug.
As Aaron walks down the short concrete pathway and into the estate, he can hear his dad Tony yelling and cursing at him. So used to his dad's shouting, Aaron ignores him and drunkenly staggers around the corner to his uncle's garage, where Aaron works a few days in the week if he can be bothered to turn up. Aaron lets himself in and knowing where his uncle keeps all the keys to the vehicles decides to grab the set for a black BMW 320 M Series, in for it's MOT and takes it for a little spin.
He jumps into the front seat of the BMW, the smell of the leather seats and expensive aftershave lingering in the air inside the car. Aaron quickly turns the ignition on, the purr of the engine echoing in the confined garage before putting his foot down on the accelerator and screeches out onto the main road at great speed. Aaron, having been a fan of Formula One racing from a very young age, decided to play some music whilst on his joy ride around town. He looks around the car searching for the owners CD's. All he finds are some 80's artists from 'centuries' ago and a sticky chewing gum wrapper. The car begins to swerve as he searches but he straightens up pretty quickly. Glancing in the rear view mirror, Aaron sees a silver Jag suspiciously like he one his uncle drives, speeding up behind him. It overtakes and Aaron notices his very angry uncle motioning at him to pull over. They both stop at the side of the road and Aaron's uncle Paul runs over to the BMW. Paul drags Aaron out yelling "You bloody idiot Aaron! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? You're not bleedin' Lewis Hamilton. Just as well it was me who saw you and not the filth or you'd be banned from driving before you even started."
Paul bundles his nephew into the passenger seat of his precious Jag and snatches back the BMW keys. "Right, I'm taking you to the old folks home where you're Auntie Jackie works, to help you learn some respect and to take some responsibility for your actions. Those old dears would love to have a strong young lad like you around the place, helping out."
Aaron pleads with his uncle Paul not to take him there but as far as Paul's concerned this is the last and final straw. A new chapter in Aaron's young life is about to begin.