The View From Parson Street Nose

I don’t think there is a man, woman, child or dog in the greater Bedminster area unaffected by the World Cup.

Walking my little dog, Pickle in the park this morning I saw a large man in a football strip walking his pooch in its own little red and white outfit.

The dog looked most embarrassed and hung its head in shame. Pickle gave me a look as if to say ‘don’t you dare do that to me!’

And as for those wretched flags, they are driving me to distraction! I’ve had several in my privet hedge and one even splatted its frayed remains across my windscreen - luckily with a swift swish from the wipers it soon zoomed away over the houses.

The other morning, there I was in Blunt’s trying to prise a pair of comfy slip-ons over the bunion cushions on my feet as I listened to two sales assistants have a game of verbal ping-pong on who felt the most sick after the previous night's football game and whether cider made you more nauseous than lager.

They then became distracted by a scruffy looking Herbert outside the window who was trying to buy drugs from the men who were digging up the road.

"E’s got a can of Special Brew in ‘is hand. I’d say e's had a few of those for breakfast if 'e thinks they’s drug pushers,’ said the assistant who preferred cider to lager.

I craned my neck to have a look and saw the fellow swaying like a pranged sink plunger before he took a sudden dive and pitched into the bargain shoe basket.

“You’d better get ‘im out of there before he squashes them daps. Don’t you go out though - just bang on the window,” said the other assistant.

But they don’t call it Special Brew for nothing: he was out of the basket and away down the road like a greased whippet before she had even taken a step.