I had to pop into our local town centre just now. To buy replacement washing-up gloves after I’d sliced mine whilst washing-up an opened can (hazards of an eco-friendly lifestyle). And to raid W H Smith for Flippers, my new tactic with helping the Queen to be able to explain all the interesting words she knows for her 11+ exam in November. Last week she tried to explain some to me using actions, which I felt might not go down so well with the exam board.
One of the things that always strikes me as unusual in our town is the number of men who are about in the day. Some elderly, some probably shift workers and others who work odd hours or run their own businesses, but sadly many of them don’t have any type of paid work – unemployment here is higher than the national average by quite a way.
And today, as I walked into town, one of those men spat on the floor. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman do that. There is an abnormal amount of spitting in our locality. Yesterday I was taking the kids for their swimming lesson at a local(ish) pool. A group of about half a dozen secondary school boys were outside chatting and two of them gobbed on the floor at the same time. I was so disgusted that I briefly berated them, to the acute embarrassment of my children. The offenders didn’t seem to be fussed.
Where do they learn to do this? I’m tempted to keep a range of hankies to hand out to offenders. I know I’m beginning to sound like an article in the Daily Mail, but I find it utterly revolting. And it’s the end of a long term. I’m glad we’re soon getting a break in rural Scotland, where I anticipate being free of the gobbing menace for a few days.
[Late edit: Seems like Enfield Council hate spitting as much as I do. Let’s hope Sandwell follow suit soon. I was shocked to find that it is now perfectly legal. Yuck]