Poor Man About Town

I was in Brixton yesterday - I was about to cross the road; I was stopped in doing so by this young guy complete with a hood over his head. He told me that he was hungry and "could you give me a few pounds for some chicken and chips". Dipped into my pocket to look for some brown coins and out came 10p. Handed this to him and he made a loud protest "But this is only 10p!". I protested that this all I had and walked on. Brixton has whizzed up-market in recent times with the invasion of the gentry, ponsey restaurants and expensive shops; even its beggars come awfully dear!

"Hackney is a shithole...you can develop film in the Lea River, but not kayak it"

As soon I arrive home, the fucking noise starts from Fuck Bros. Not only that, but the bugger leaves his door open so that the full of the noise goes throughout the house. It seems that I am being regaled with the selected speeches of 35th Plenium of the Albanian Communist Party and then there are some burst of Greek bazooki music. I have that people behave like this when they don't want you around. Fucking bastardos. The worst thing is that I have mislaid my earplugs. Now there is a cacophony of radio and the unmistakable Albanian recitative.

I saw some scenes of Scotland on the telly tonight, it looks so peaceful and serene and so free of Fucking Albanians. The ironic thing is that Scotland used to be known as Alba.

Albania's biggest resource is its people, it exports the buggers in large numbers. They come to the UK because countries like France and Germany are less tolerant. Well, hello, I wonder why. If the buggers behave like this in Germany or France is it any wonder that they lack tolerance.

There is a sound of heavy industry coming up from the kitchen below. What's the matter with these buggers? Can't they do anything quietly?

I could not really articulate my views on dogs until I read Bill Bryson's "Down Under"

Here is what he wrote:

Dogs don't like me. It is a simple law of the universe, like gravity. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have never passed a dog that did not act as if it thought I was about to help myself to its Pedigree Chum. Dogs that have not moved from the sofa in years will, at the sniff of me passing outside, rise in fury and hurl themselves at shut windows. I have seen dogs, no bigger than a fluffy slipper, jerk little old ladies off their feet and drag them over open ground in a quest to get at my blood and sinew. Every dog on the face of the Earth wants me dead.

I was on the train tonight, the inevitable mobile rang - not with the usual ring tone, but with a silly plinkety-plonkety sound - some berk answered it with the de-riguer "hullaoh". Not only are we plagued with these berks babbling into these contraptions but also their fucking silly ring tones!