of course I can see you with your wrists out like that. you must be on the way to john lewis to pick up your filials. but back on the plot it’s got her very upset about the yellow lines and the torrential halfwits who career over 5 year olds to drop theirs onto the pavement. I’m stood here waiting for miss 1983 and I count 4 of you who should be lined up in Tescos and ridiculed with wet fish by some kind of extreme conservation society. suffice to say you are your own demographic determined by the container you’re in and that when the kidprint revolution comes, ours will be plastering a4 tickets under your rain sensitives and giving you the evils. the sun is out and I know you’ve probaby got a half shift up the ozzy or you’re late for a 9 oclock with Derek but you see we care less so we’re gonna stab your radials with titanium corkscrews and watch as your withered legs talk to your withered brain and try and get 2 and 2 to make a bit less than 5. 1 ton, 1 son. it’s not an entirely level playing field. I wouldn’t mind so much if you were actually concerned rather than just plain lazyarsed scumbags but that’s what you are. you’re worse than the pesky pavement cyclists. oops, there goes mad woman with the permit. all gone, love. come back tomorrow. nice coat.