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Another Bloody Early Night or The State of Things
On the way to work there is a patch of roadworks - if you can call it that when it's on the pavement - next to the tattoo parlour. The pavement is wide there, but with the hole faced off there's only room to go in single file or risk tripping over a step. So I held back, and let eight people - count them that's eight (8) or viii or VIII if you are a Roman - pass.
Not a single one of them said thanks or even acknowledged I was there. Some of them looked like respectable citizens.
On the way to work there is a patch of roadworks - if you can call it that when it's on the pavement - next to the tattoo parlour. The pavement is wide there, but with the hole faced off there's only room to go in single file or risk tripping over a step. So I held back, and let eight people - count them that's eight (8) or viii or VIII if you are a Roman - pass.
Not a single one of them said thanks or even acknowledged I was there. Some of them looked like respectable citizens.
On the wall an overheard conversation in a tone of pride: "You know my mate Samantha? She was on Jeremy Kyle today."
I know more about someone's DNA paternity test than I care to.
In the words of the late great, great Linda Smith: "ASBOs? Don't knock 'em. It's the only qualification some of these kids have."
Enough already.
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