No Surprises Living in Devizes
A Country Gone to the Dogs
Darren Worrow
Tories dubbed Labour’s nationalisation manifesto as “a return to the 1970s,” while our titanium-lady called for a return to ripping foxes to shreds, pulling wheelchairs out from under the disabled and squabbling with Europeans akin to Sir Francis Drake. Whatever fluctuations, Mrs May is certain we’ll face them together; no dinner for her then.
What British
institutions will she reintroduce next on her maniac “mainstream” death-tax-manifesto;
voting restricted to gentry, public executions, the slave trade, or burning
witches perhaps? Bell-bottoms and Love
Thy Neighbour aside, if we’re going backwards either way, I’d rather return
to the 1970s then the 1570s.
Can we expect
the return of plague (solving NHS underfunding,) a reappearance of grave
robbers maybe? Or will Jim’ll Fix It
be back on tele? Can we hope to see white dog poo again?
Just because
things happened in days gone-by doesn’t make them right. Our fondness for a
bygone era is shrouded with nostalgia; crushing white dog poo underfoot and
hurling brown snowballs really wasn’t as much fun as you reminisce.
Oh dog poo;
a subject I’ve avoided to date, primarily because it’s a national issue and
secondly, because I talk enough toilet already. However nothing floods local
Facebook groups with comments like a dog poo rant; election, Brexit, even bad
parking doesn’t compare. So I’ve been driven to slip in the matter.
Believe it
or nuts, dog fouling has been illegal for twenty-one years. Turd bagging has
become as second nature as Facebooking a picture of your tea. Now though, owners
are fed up with pocketing poo and have returned to antiquated methods, covering
with environmental excuses.
Alas I know
nothing of the thrill of poop scooping. So blindly pondering; who here packages
biodegradable matter in an imperishable bag and who opts to stick-flick it at
passing ramblers? And what to do with your bag of poo; take it home, try find a
bin not teetering already or post it to 10 Downing Street?
I’m told some
opt to tie the bag to a tree like an undesirable Christmas decoration; well
done you, double whammy for irresponsibleness. While five-pee reduced our usage
of plastic shopping bags we’ve upped other uses; dog poo, nappies and sick bags
every time Katie Hopkins Tweets.
Our
villagers travel afar sanctioning their pooches to defecate along the school
path, because we live in such an urbanised area with lack fields to walk dogs.
“Just taking Fi-Fi for a dump on the council estate honey…”
Unsure if
they uphold increasing our children’s immune system, they figure it’s harmless
because they bagged it, or they simple don’t give a shit.
My
confusion; how can baggers be sure they've collected all the pulp matter,
doggies squish too?
Owners shriek,
“what can I do, I’m doomed if I bag, doomed if I flick?” The answer is simple,
to other single-celled organisms and above. Buy a flipping reusable lunchbox
and a bottle of water, scoop your doggie doing in it, wash down the affected
area, and take said lunchbox home for washing. Is that as hard to grasp as
squelcher?
Better
still; train your pooch to poo in your own garden rather than leave it to the
heroic CUDS and Wiltshire Council Green Party candidate Geoff Brewer, who have
been tidying discarded poo sacks in Drew’s Pond Wood, the worst affected area
of Devizes. At last, here’s a councillor cleaning poo rather than dishing it
out.
Why do we
make an issue of dog’s doings, while cats poo at liberty in neighbour’s
gardens, or roadkill sprawls over our highway; a testament of our need to speed
to work, or even, particularly in Wiltshire, horse poo is legal tender; they’re
permitted to produce a mountain of the stuff in any road and no one raises an
eyebrow?
Someone
always brings horse poo to the table on any online dog poo debate, but it’s
fiercely defended because we love a bit of that round ‘ere; spread it over yer
field, proper jarb.
One
memorable response I read appealed you couldn’t expect a horse rider to
dismount to clean as the horse would bolt. These folk never watched westerns;
cowboys been tying horses to posts for centuries to go play poker in the
saloon, drink a bottle of bourbon and have a gunfight; I’m sure you could tie
yours too for the duration of a quick shovelling.
Opps a daisy, did I offend
the wealthy again?
I asked this
and the response was; “not all horse riders are wealthy what-what?” Slightly
misguided in a country where nurses need food banks; looks like my column has
come full circle.
Is dog poo
as bad as the poo spluttering from Theresa May’s lips as it quivers under the
weight of progressive alliance and the young tactically voting? The media walkies
the right-wing; fouls the campaign trail with obscene budgets and slogans derived
from Mein Kampf (true,) but cannot dump over the freedom of social media (yet;)
snooper’s charter, pooper’s charter.
I don't know what came over me as checked Facebook before my mid-morning nap. Saw this news post from a site I'd not heard of before, Index: Wiltshire. I quickly despatched a message to them, without any real thought as to the implications of my actions. That moment of lunacy is why we are here today, with this book; all I can do is apologise. Forward wind a year and No Surprises Living in Devizes has become a bit of a "thing," the best description I can come up with. Every Sunday a new episode goes live like the unleashing of a crazed dragon on steroids. I face a plethora of responses and feedback; some are nice. There's brute honesty in the causerie journalism doesn't usually convey in this day and age. It also brings a straightforward view on life in our traditional market town, with wonky edges.
Relive last year's No Surprises columns with this gorgeous paperback or kindle book, 'cos you're worth it.; 6 quid paperback or 2 for the ebook!
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