The View from Parson Street Nose

At 2 o'clock in the morning on Saturday night we were awakened from our slumbers by one of those annoying little mosquito scooters buzzing up and down our road like a super-charged gnat.

The Skipper was so incensed by the racket it was all I could do to stop him from putting his trousers on over his pyjamas and charging outside with an oar to swat it.

Luckily for me one of our neighbours wasn't quite so restrained and judging by the tirade of full-bodied cursing that ensued, the young menace decided that an expensive operation to remove his transport was not an option and his two-stroke engine raced away into the night.

It's been so perishingly cold lately that the other morning I wrapped up fit for an Antarctic expedition rather than catching the bus into town.

"Isn't it frosty today?" I nodded at the women shivering into their scarves at the bus stop and to my surprise saw one woman's face darken with fury as she caught sight of something, or someone, behind me.

"Kirsty!" The woman opened her mouth so wide to bawl I could see the humbug that lurked within.

I turned, staring in amazement at the young woman stalking towards us on high heeled workman's boots. She was clad in a pair of very low-slung trousers and a cropped, quilted, satin hooded jacket revealing at least eight inches of bare, bright-pink midriff.

"What are you wearin' that bum-freezer for?" asked the woman next to me. "Where's your big coat?"

"I bet Beyonce's Nan don't tell 'er to wear 'er big coat!" snapped the girl.

"And I bet Beyonce's Nan catches a gold-plated limo into town and not the number 75 bus!"  retorted her grandmother.

One afternoon I was heading for Boots the chemists when I found my way blocked by two elderly gents having a chin-wag at the tops of their voices about the denim-packed attributes of the woman in front of them.

The woman was very tall, with coat-hanger shoulders and a mane of long chestnut brown hair

"She fills them jeans out, don't she?" said the first senior.

"Eh?" came the reply.

"I said nice rear," the first chap yelled, pointing his mitten at the woman.

"Ar, good legs too, nice and long, I likes 'em well-balanced," commented the other fellow.

I almost dropped my National Trust shopper when the 'woman' turned around, displaying a good looking face with warm brown eyes, an amused expression and a neatly trimmed full beard and moustache.

"Blimey," exclaimed the first chap, clutching at the arm of the other. "It's only a bloke."

"I blames the coalition," shouted back his companion, shaking his head despairingly.

"Price of a haircut these days is downright disgraceful."