We have enjoyed an improvement in the weather lately.
The morning views of the square on the Britannia estate shows that the giro funding coffee mornings are enjoying the benefits of the solar rays with all chairs put out after the evening confinement inside the establishment to prevent them being stolen or used as weapons. The row of baby buggies full of snotty nosed and ear/nose pierced children that accompany the track suited, dyed and tinted selection of pony tails and their assorted tattooed and nicotine tipped baseball capped fatherhood give a clear and distinct idea of the marvels of the is thing called evolution.
Darwin would have spent years documenting this lot.
The tax supporting, non creating lifestyle swings through its early morning repertoire of who is dissing who, who said what to who and who looked at who in a bit of an odd way. Dean, apparently, has insufficient smokes so is off to ‘buy’ some more ginny. This I can only presume to be golden virginia’s finest. Conversation moves to regular visits to one of the households by the areas finest whilst they are making enquiries into a series of shop thefts. Apart from the enormously overpriced gillette miracle shavers or batteries it appears that sun cream protection is the current trendy must have. Donnaya told the local fuzz exactly where to go, apparently. Now being secreted just around the corner on the terrace below, I could say that Donnaya was a damn sight more cooperative that her literary and artistic licence allows. I don’t know where Donnaya comes from as her entry in the who’s who sheet clearly states Donna.
The free housing supplied to elements of the future of our marvelous land do actually have terraces that surround the delightful free housing. Don’t confuse the image of a sunlit cafe with tasteful seating for passers by. These terraces are different. These offer walkways to the stars, or at least up to the 2nd floor with marvelous views of the neighbouring architectural wonders that lie adjacent to each other amidst the rows of rubbish wheely bins and piles of discarded drinks bottles and soiled nappies. This could win an award.
The modern wonder of big brother that is CCTV monitors that Britannia socialites whilst they engage in lively banter before the males of the group gulp down their coffeelattimochas, adjust their baggy t-shirts into and then out of their tracksuit waistbands before heading off towards town. I have never understood this principal. Why tuck it in then immediately pull it out ?
The buggy line will soon be broken in the rush to head off for what ever is next on the agenda for the ladies who coffee in the morning, lunch in the early afternoon and spendthe rest of their time resting after the stains of talking crap, enjoying their sustainable lifestyles and carrying all that shiny stuff around on their bodies. The muscles their in their ears from carrying all that weight must be something to behold in the correct light.
As the hours pass the calls of shoplifters begin to come in. Some are detained because the security staff have greater collective numbers than the thieves, all of which are of course completely innocent until proven as they say.
By the third it appears that the system has been changed and response are running short so the one detained needs some extra reinforcements. By the time response arrive to extract the one from the bottom of the pile, the circle is complete around the thief, the officer who has managed to handcuff at least part of the culprit………..sorry, the suspect, the remainders of the mob offer suitable advice on the benefits of letting go the suspect and the dog arrives to assist with a rotating cordon around the mass on the ground that no one wants to try to touch in case of detrimental consequences in the subsequent finger count evaluation. How do these already smell of alcohol. They don’t waste much time. During the struggle with the suspect something falls from under his clothing. We must remember to check pockets as the receipt is bound to be in one of them, somewhere, else he found it and was taking back to the shop.
There it is, sorted. We begin the backwards stroll through the pedestrianised area that is safe for pedestrians because NO vehicles can get access. Equally no Police vehicles can also get access so it is 100 yards back to the nearest vehicle with the shouting now offering entertainment to the watching hordes and those who come along to see what all the fuss is about, thus inserting some form of fizz into their otherwise dull lives. We are all that is left and not a PCSO in sight. After returning to the vehicles the suspect is taken away and then all that remains is for the dog handler to get to the van, passing the mob on the way. We can fight them on the beaches etc but we can also fight them with our body armour on whilst they have a wide array of light and comfortable sports wear that sees only a weird sort of sport. At least we are allowed to have are ties off today. Thank god for small mercies.
Dog handlers are OK, apparently, as they have a dog. Forget about speaking to people or dealing with other stuff. We are not double crewed you know.
But nobody wants to play. They prefer to shout stuff from a safe distance to impress their mates whilst the shocked onlookers wonder exactly why the Police take this sort of crap and ask themselves what the Police are doing about it ?
The mob retires to the compulsory grassed area that design and architectural excellence dictates is always placed at a convenient spot for drunks to gather or gangs of thugs gather to threaten and intimidate passers by for their own entertainment and their own brand of social inclusion. I can only presume that the local council believe that this will attract hoards of sunbathing beauties and family picnics.
Summer has arrived.
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