Tripe and Stella

Today was middling to poor, as days go. Work was a bit heavy-going and the wintry feel to the weather wasn’t fantastic for the mood. I fell off my bike, lost a fiver (unconnected events) and received vulgar abuse from some little scrotes, for simply walking down a road.

After work I met up with Chris, who’s renting my flat, to discuss work challenges and the logistics of me clearing some more stuff out of there. We took a long walk up the river and back around some less picturesque parts of Cambridge. We’d passed some heaps of trash consisting of discarded cans of Stella and tripe labelled as dog food, when aforementioned obnoxious lads on bikes decided to bother us with lines unsuitable for publishing on blip. Why do emaciated 16-year olds whose appearances do not suggest a wide gene pool approach two big guys in their 30s and start hollering obscenities? Surely this is a terrible strategy for self-preservation that often works against them. They were roundly informed to f*** off, which they surprisingly complied with. I maintain the view that swearing can be a very effective tool.