Reflections From A Subsidised Housing Circle

There are several subjects that I would like to comment upon this week the main one being the fortnightly appearance of orange dog turds on the route to the school. Now, as you would expect , this area contains a large number of indeterminate breed mongrels that wander around the streets with no sign of any human ownership about their persons. Amiable creatures for the most part theirs is a seemingly happy life as, apart from the occasional road casualty, they seem to have no natural enemies and they wander about sniffing at various objects with what appears to be a great deal of contentment and a certain air of ' bon vivant'.
The main problem that arises from this idyllic existence is that their toilet habits are necessarily of a nomadic nature that leaves piles of festering dog turds at random locations on public footways. The particular infestation that I am writing about seems to occur on a regular two weekly cycle and always follows the same pattern, so to speak. The deposits are all around four inches in height and formed in a circular pattern with a base diameter of approximately six inches. The consistency is neither wet nor dry but the amazing points are the spacing and the colour. It would seem to be a most incontinent dog that lays a turd at one hundred yard intervals over a distance of almost three quarters of a mile. Not only incontinent but the possessor of an immense gut to deposit twelve equally sized and coloured circles of shit in that same distance and, at the same time, remain invisible as nobody I have quizzed on the route has seen the defecating canine at work. This is not totally improbable as most of the young mothers who traverse the pathway do so with their mobile phones glued to their ear and undoubtedly wouldn't notice if they were wading knicker high through a swamp of rotting lizards.
Well I have to admit that I am completely mystified by this phantom but regular crapper to the extent that I'm even contemplating holding an overnight watch when the next cycle becomes due. ( I won't of course because imbibing a bottle of red vino and a couple of large whiskys tend to make the eyelids rather heavy.) Anyway my theories so far encompass a tribe of similar sized Whippets being simultaneously walked, an incontinent local smackhead getting his/her periodic dose of fresh air, Godzilla roaming the streets at night in search of tattooed titties or ... well I just don't know. The major improbable is the rich orange colour of the turds. From personal experience I know that human faeces tend come in various shades of brown or black dependant on the types of alcohol and curries consumed previously, but Orange!
When the current flood level subsides a little I might inspect each rotting pile and see if there is any sign of staining on the pavement. After all it could be an alien attack!

Always wear the right clothing.

The school is active once again, as is the weather, so this weeks forays along the magical entity of tattoos, titoos, tight leggings, gobbing children and strange life forms has resumed in a fairly natural fashion. It seems that England only has two seasons now, Winter and Summer, so that if the sun should appear the dress standard is for July, regardless of temperatures of 38F, and if clouds or rain should obscure the sun, the dress is still for July with an added hoodie over the T shirt.
Yesterday was sun so the usual cast of parents milling around the school yard were clad in short-sleeved tops which in the case of the women exposed vast quantities of bouncing bosom. Unfortunately the men were the same and I can only think it was the sight of these that  was scaring the hedge sparrows away.
Now I may have previously mentioned the large scale of these local titties that seemingly have a life of their own even when metaphorically constrained by iron cast bras and other guidance systems. True to form Monday morning showed the power of these memorable mammeries in the shape of a chubby young woman wearing a red 'England' shirt and very leg hugging black tights. The brat owned by this women was doing its usual thing of charging around the school yard when, upon another approach to it's mother, another brat stuck its foot out causing the little lout to tumble headlong towards the said Alma Mater. In an attempt to prevent his disgusting piggy nose from furrowing the unkempt tarmac of the playground the young pustule made a grab for his mother to prevent his fall. Well the movement certainly worked as the excrescence remained on its feet but, as the great Newton reminds us, to every action there is a most definite reaction, in this case heralded by the sound of a resounding twang type noise bounding across the playground and providing a faint echo   from the sides of the surrounding slag heaps.
' Me bleedin' bra strap' came the cry from the slightly off balance young mother as she tried to steady herself from the brats clutching hands and the asymmetric motion released by her now freely swinging breasts. For some reason, it may have been a different rate of swing by each of the released Bristols, she seemed to enter an uncontrollable leftward lurch that seconds later caused her right nipple to knock the mobile phone out of the hand of the father of another child who was standing about a yard behind her and attempting to inform his gaffer that he was sick in bed and couldn't attend work that day. His instinctive shout of 'watch where you're putting your great fat tit' must have impressed his boss no end but at that point the classroom door opened and the subsequent stampede dragged me away from what must have been a very interesting three way conversation between the man the woman and the unwitting listener at the other end of the line.