The View From Parson Street Nose

On recycling days the back streets of Bedminster really do become a snarl up.

With just five minutes to spare before my dental appointment I gave up all hope of parking in the vicinity, choosing instead to leave my jalopy in the first space I spotted.

I clattered away down the pavement, sling-backs going nineteen to the dozen, and puffing like the Flying Scotsman.

After all the travel mayhem, being prodded in the dentist's chair was a relatively stress-free experience and as I ambled back down Greenway Bush Lane, nonchalantly swinging my bag after a filling-free visit, I noticed a potential stand-off on the other side of the street.

Two double buggies were heading down the pavement towards another duo of double buggies.

The entire quartet of mothers were wearing boob-tubes.

One woman had a black eye and a cigarette dangling from her lip, while her opposite number was sporting a large tattoo spreading across the ample expanse of her back.

I slowed my step, foraging in my bag as a delaying tactic waiting to see what would occur.

The buggies all slowed then came to a full stop about a Mini Metro's length apart.

I glanced from face to face, comparing scowls, waiting for the first of them to crack.

I strained my ears and held my breath waiting for the fur to fly, but only tightly strung silence hung over the street.

Suddenly one of the toddlers decided he had had enough and hurled his fluffy rabbit through the air (so fur really did fly but not in the way I had expected).

The bunny landed on neutral territory mid-way down the pavement.

The little boy's mother shoved her buggy in front of her friend's chariot and scurried forward to retrieve the rabbit – the second she moved, the other buggies zipped through the gap and rattled away down the street.

Nice move junior, punch up averted.