madwitch: (Paris)
[personal profile] madwitch
So, remember when I mentioned the BBC news clip with the dead 'ard yoof gang members solving the gang problem for us by shoving cleavers down the front of their tracksuit bottoms? This was just as funny.

Tonight, on "Teenagers not actually as tough and scary as they like to think they are"...

The scene: An estate in Battersea, early evening. Our heroine is walking from the train station to her flat. Ahead of her are a group of 4 youths, one on a bicycle. They are dressed "street", one sports a baseball cap from which the tag still dangles, in an attempt to make him look harder because hey, he must have stolen it. Truthfully, our heroine knows he either asked the person in the shop to leave it on, or bought it from somewhere that sells hats with tags attached as a design feature. Regardless, she decides to slow down and follow them as they walk along, rather than trying to pass. They are taking up much of the pavement, the road is often full of unexpected mopeds (our heroine doesn't like mopeds), and squeezing past seems likely to cause some minor "see me, I'm hard me, I'm brave enough to make comments about people walking past me" issues. She's seen them do this to other passers-by, and they've already noted her presence. But it's maybe 100 yards to the door of the flats.

They slow down. Their conversation gets louder and more "see us, we're dangerous, don't mess with us" as the group gets closer to the flats and the courtyard.

Suddenly, the door to the block bursts open, and a man comes out carrying rubbish to the bins. The youths start to give him the "look", only to stop mid glance as they recoil in horror as what may be the least threatening dog in the world EVER comes out of the flats, stops, looks at its owner (the guy with the rubbish) and then bounds towards the youths, big dappy dog grin, looking like a bouncing ball of fur and as scary as a newborn kitten. It neither leaps up at them nor barks.

The youths squeal and run. The dog looks confused and runs to its owner, bouncing and happy.

Our heroine staggers into her block of flats, where she has to lean against the wall for a minute, as she is laughing too hard to breathe properly.


I'm still giggling over this. I may not stop for a while.
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January 2011

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