School Run

Wasn't sure what to pass comment on today as plods, politicians, the F.A. and Christianity are all vieing for headlines at the moment and are, from a bookies point of view, running neck and neck. I know that I've said some unkind things about the police in the past and I'm sure that the black clad, shaven headed thugs will provide plenty of more reasons for comment on their misbehaviour so I'll just concentrate on what has become my daily job. The School Run.
It must be understood that by 'the school run' I am simply referring to convoy escort to a couple of my locally residing grandchildren and the method of said conveyance is on the hoof. The village is a desperately poor area both economically and mentally so the only motor vehicles delivering to the school are, unlike the middle classes of the leafy South East, comprised of the BMWs, Mercedes, Chelsea Tractors, and Transits from the local Pikey enclave a couple of miles down the road. To be fair they're mainly Papists and only park near our school as the Catholic prison up the road has more parking restrictions than ground zero in New York. I may as well admit that some of the parents who live just over 400 yards from the school also use vehicles, mainly fourth hand Fords, to enable them to sit more comfortably whilst watching their uncontrolled foul offspring creating mayhem in the school yard before incarceration time.
Right! back to the escort duties. As it's about a half mile walk I usually muster the GCs about twenty minutes before the school kick off time of about 0845. I say about because the school clock hasn't worked properly since six thugs on detachment from The Met mistook it's flat ticking sound for a Yorkshire accent and gave it a good kicking back in 84. Also modern teachers being both illiterate and innumerate have trouble figuring out what the big and little hands on the clock are actually pointing to and have to have a meeting before ringing the bell.
Walking having commenced I usually take up a shepherding position slightly behind my charges which enables me spot any casually discarded dog turds in good time to order an avoiding change of course. This can be a problem with the legions of Mongol cavalry numerous children who,following government keep fit guidelines, use the pavements as a risk free racetrack for their varied high speed scooters and bicycles. This morning I was pleased to see one of these machines, piloted by a young moron named Krypton!!! plough its front wheel into an epically proportion pile of shit that stood about eight inches tall. The resultant skid saw the off balance Krypton drag his left leg through the turd from his knee to ankle. I confess that I took great pleasure in hearing his foul mouthed mother castigate him in language that would have made a naval Petty Officer blush. I was going to suggest she re-named him Crapton but thought, in the circumstances, I'd better remain silent.
Tomorrow we continue the trek as far as the School Crossing lady.