Poo and the Plods

Picture the scene....

A pedestrianised street in a gritty northern town on a grey morning the Saturday before Christmas. Festive lights twinkling in the shop windows. A busker in a dis-used shop entrance playing a violin. Crowds of happy shoppers wearing Santa hats, some of them in football shirts hurrying to get their shopping done so they can get down to the big local derby down at the stadium. The two mounted Policemen on their magnificently groomed horses. "Clip, Clop, Clip, Clop." the sound of their shod hooves echoing down the street.

On their way to the ground I thought.

The policemen must have been in a festive mood as well, because their horses left a few presents behind, but the happy shoppers weren't having any of them. In fact the presents were being avoided like the plague except for Mr black BMW who drove down with 4-way flashers going to illegally park outside Index. He managed to park his front tyre right on top of the biggest present, then step on top of another one when he got out of his car. Serve him right, I thought, I bet he's one of those people who don't clean up after his dog. Mr BMW didn't look too happy, as he lifted first one foot then the other. He looked across at me. I just shrugged my shoulders. He looked around, as if expecting someone to help him. The busker carried on playing his violin. The happy shoppers walked past staring. I finished my break and went back into the store, thinking.......

....Tosser!