There's not much that I find more satisfying than my after dinner walk with Wooley Woofer, my faithful companion and girl's best friend. Doing that in Birchington, of late, has become a bit of a nightmare, though.
Do all the 'chavs' in Thanet congregate here or has this town, somehow, managed to spawn the créme de la créme of them? While the police are cowering on the other side of the Isle, in Dumpton Gap, waiting to pounce on any five-year-old that picks up a lump of chalk to practice writing their name with, these errant youths are running amok here!
Having learned to ignore the odd strange noise that, on occasion, follows one around the center of town at night, I was most distressed to discover, upon returning home last night, that my favourite coat had been vandalised. Some bored (boring?) idiot had sprayed the word 'WUG' on the back of it with yellow line marking paint. Thinking I may find some measure of solice in my old mate, The Cambridge Online Dictionary, it seems that they're as clueless as I to the meaning of this strange word. The nearest I could come to making sense of it, and I hasten to add that this is pure guess-work, is that it might be the sound emitted by one of these 'pillocks of the community', were they to be stripped naked and thrashed with a piece of birch, in the middle of town, on a Saturday afternoon, for the viewing pleasure of an intimidated Township.
Dream on, eh!