Sometimes, we witness an event that changes how we view the world and the people closest to us. My first exposure to one of these seismic shifts came when I was nine, in a game of heady football with my dad.

It was an unbearably warm Saturday afternoon, and we had just finished watching the Arsenal vs. Utd game on the telly. The game was a goalless snooze fest, but it still put dad and me in the mood for a kickabout.

Off we went down the park, passing the ball between us every step of the way. Not very smart when you're walking across busy roads. Dad nearly got run over twice.

The park was deserted when we got there but it didn't bother us. We always played ourselves anyway. I remember dad looking a bit tired but not thinking much of it. Even when he sent the first header in my direction there was a sluggishness about his movement.

Later, after much heady football had been played, the score was eight-five to me. We were playing first to ten, but even with my shock lead, I still wasn't confident of finally getting the better of my old man. Sixteen times we had played heady football over the years. I'd lost every game. Dad was better than me in every department.

Then I got an unexpected goal to make the score nine-five in my favour. Just one more would secure my first victory over dad. For the first time I started dreaming of glory, but it was short-lived. He quickly pulled the score back to nine goals each. Devastated, I somehow pulled myself together and found a burst of energy from deep inside.

Dad started the final phase of play by throwing the ball into the air and heading it towards me. Usually, these headers would be pacey, and high enough to cause me problems, but this one just bounced a few times and rolled straight to my right foot. I took the first of my two touches and then rifled a shot towards his goal. He threw himself to the right and got a firm hand on the ball to push it back out. I followed up my shot by lashing the rebound into the top corner of the goal.

The celebrations must have lasted for about ten minutes. Dad just sat on the grass, wheezing with a dejected look on his face. Like me, he had probably twigged things would never be the same again between us. I'll never forget that day, just like I knew I'd never forget Mac suggested we steal a munch from the Food Pit.

We were sitting in Mac's bedroom, me on the chair, Stewart, and Alan on the floor by the wall and Mac on top of his unmade bed. He seemed ridiculously calm when he told us his idea. Like a Friday night food heist was completely normal.

"Say that again?" Alan whispered, looking at Mac like he was crazy.

"We order food and then nick it before payment."

"This is what you dragged me over here for?" Alan replied, shaking the tub full of crispy cakes. "I need to get this down to Davie's or my maw will wonder where I've got to."

"Never mind the cakes. They're part of my plan anyway."

I laughed. "Oh, so there's a plan?"

"Yup, there's a plan," Mac said, arching his right eyebrow. "And if you shut up for a minute, I'll tell you aboot it."

I sighed and then sat forward in my chair, eager to hear how Mac intended to pull off what sounded like the idea of a madman. Perhaps, it was a coincidence, but it seemed every time Mac came up with a plan, the rest of us ended up in trouble with our parents, or worse, grounded. Mac usually avoided the punishment because his mum worked backshifts. She was never home at night when the angry adults came calling.

"First thing we do is phone the order from the phone box up the road," he explained. "We can't use my hoose phone cos they'll know I'm calling from a different address than where the delivery's going."

"A different address?" I asked, unsure what he meant. "If they're not delivering the food here, then where's it going? We can't use my house."

Stewart said. "Or mine."

"That goes for mine as well." Alan said firmly.

But Mac grinned. "We're phoning the delivery to Davie's."

Stewart, Alan, and I exchanged confused glances.

"Keep talking." I said nonchalantly.

"The Food Pit always takes forty-five minutes or more to deliver, right? So, we phone the order, wait half an hour, and then send Alan into Davie's with the cakes. All he has to do is keep those losers talking until the food comes."

"Then what?" Alan asked.

"You answer the door before the knock comes from the driver. Just accept the delivery and tell him you're going upstairs to get the money."

"But there won't be any money upstairs."

"Too right, there won't," Mac laughed. "You take the food upstairs and drop it oot the bedroom window, where me, Ross and Stewart will be waiting in Davie's back garden to catch it. Then we all meet back at my hoose to enjoy the spoils of our success."

He jumped off the bed and held his arms aloft, like a pop star soaking up the praise of an adoring crowd after a blockbuster performance.

"How do we get into Davie's back garden?" I asked him.

"We climb the back fence from this side of the street. He's too busy slugging cider and listening to ancient music to notice anyone in his garden. This might be the smartest plan I've ever come up with."

"It's the stupidest plan you've ever come up with," Alan shot back. "How the hell am I supposed to escape from the house with Davie in the living room and a delivery driver expecting paid at the front door?"

"You run to the bathroom window and climb doon the drainpipe. Easy!"

I chuckled at Mac's last comment. He did have a knack of making ludicrous plans sound completely sane. Still, something bothered me about this one. Something I had to bring to Mac's attention in case Alan didn't.

"Don't you realise this plan will leave Alan in the firing line?"

"How'd you mean?"

"Once we leave the scene, the delivery driver will demand money from Davie. It won't take either of them long to work out who stole the food, especially when Davie notices Alan has gone."

Mac reacted the way he always did when someone challenged his supposedly superior knowledge, by getting angry. I didn't care by this point though. He needed to understand Alan had everything to lose by taking part in his little scam. As Mac ranted, I hoped he would eventually see my point.

"You can't make this decision." I told Mac, "It's up to Alan."

Alan turned to face me. "I'm all for doing it."

"Did you not hear what I just said? You'll be in trouble whether we pull this off or not."

"Who cares? I'd love to teach Davie a lesson for what he put my maw through." he stopped and looked thoughtful for a few seconds. "Plus, I hear that place does six different types of ice-cream."

We all laughed. A sure-sign the argument between Mac and me would have no bearing on our friendship. I had no intention of holding a grudge either. For all we argued, we had never once come to blows, nor would we ever as far as I was concerned.

"OK, let's finalize the plan." Mac said.

"I know my part." Alan laughed.

"Good point, let's concentrate on the rest of us then. What's the best way into Davie's back garden?"

"Probably through Frank Logan's." Stewart piped up.

"Wow, no way." I said, shuddering at the mention of Frank's name.

Mac said. "He's the only one with an enclosed garden that leads into Davie's. Plus, it's a one garden shoot. Straight through Frank's and then over the fence into Davie's."

"Have you forgotten how nuts Frank Logan is? Look what he did to that guy who was supposedly looking through his living window. A broken nose and two black eyes apparently."

"Well, he shouldn't have been there in the first place."

"He was the window cleaner. Some first day on the job for him, eh? Battered senseless by a man who looks like he could wrestle a dead fish off a Russian bear."

Alan said. "And he's got that crazed dog, Princess the chihuahua. Do you know that monster attacked my wee sister for going into Frank's garden? She was only trying to get her kite back."

"I heard Frank's got it trained to attack on command." Stewart piped up.

"Look, are we doing this or not?" Mac blasted.

Alan said. "It's dangerous but I'm willing to give it a go."

Stewart simply smiled and gave the thumbs up. It was a typical response from him. Decisions that involved critical thought were usually solved by doing what everyone else wanted to.

"You're the only holdout." Mac said, giving me a nudge with his shoulder.

"This better not go wrong." I warned.

"It won't," Mac replied. "It's a dangerous operation sure, but we've got it planned with military precision. I promise we'll be back here munching our food in just under an hour."

"I'm still not sure."

"I'll take the blame if it goes wrong. In fact, I'll say I forced you into it. How does that sound?"

"Deal," I said, shaking his hand. "Now, let's get this order sorted."

"I'll get paper so we can each write doon what we want. Let's get the order right first-time boys, we don't want anything missed."

"Remember, not too much," I told them. "Keep the order under ten pounds in case our parents have to bail us out."

"Duly noted." Mac said, passing us all a pen and paper.

We each wrote down our order. I chose a twelve-inch spicy chicken pizza, a large kebab with salad and sauce, plus two cans of juice and chocolate ice-cream. Once the others were finished, Mac got the calculator out to crunch the numbers.

"Twenty quid plus another quid for delivery." he said, tapping the top sheet of paper with his pen.

To say, I almost fell off my chair would be an understatement. Somehow, the plan to order a small amount of food had snowballed into ordering over twenty pound's worth.

"It's a good thing there will be three of us waiting to catch this delivery because it'll probably be too heavy for one person." I said, glumly.

"OK, boys," Mac said, fist bumping us all one-by-one. "Let's get this show on the road."