What were they thinking? Coming to my city and demonstrating about such irrelevant and inane subjects as the destruction of the environment, the evil nature of capitalism and the rape of the world and humanity by greedy selfish fat men in reptile suits.
Why my displeasure? They demonstrated on my patch, that’s why. My walk home was rudely refused to me. Nearing Bank and the Bank of England, in the City of London, I was met with a cordon of policemen and a riot squad who had corralled thousands of protestors into a tiny squeezed-in pen – directly where my feet needed to go. OK, I will try Cannon Street. Oh look, lots of police and rioting crusties.
Making a major and very wide detour I was damning these mucky, scruffy young people and their right to protest and demonstrate. All they think about is themselves.
Striding through the City of London this overcast morning I noticed that I was getting some very strange looks. The Bank area was awash with police and camera crews. Every City person seemed to be glaring at me and aggressively trying to get in my way. “There’s one of ‘em, let’s lynch him before he breaks a window and makes a girl cry,” they were probably thinking.
As I walked into the office the Stupid Girl, who recently made an official complaint about me, also gave me a look of utter hatred and desire to see me hang from a gallows in Leadenhall. I am planning on taking a poo on her desk later, that will give her something to complain about.
2 Comments
It’s that time of year; spring in England: young people on the streets rioting. It’s their hormones. They can’t help themselves.
That’s all fine but does it have to be on my route home? Can’t they do it in Westminster of something? Do you get this when taking Audrey for walks or going to the Co-op?