Things Just Aint What They Used to Be!

In the salad days of my youth the streets were not lined with gold. Instead they were littered with dogs mud and fizzy drink cans (also known as fizzy pop by strange people). Walking on the pavements in those days was a real challenge. It was not a task for the faint of heart or those with extra wide feet. You need dexterity and 20-20 vision to avoid what was known locally as the tread of dread.

Please excuse me whilst a go into a separate rant about shoe designers. Why do they always make the tread of shoes so complex. It is almost impossible to get dog dirt from one of these complex patterns. I've tried following all those mazy patterns round with a stick, a knife blade (not from the kitchen draw) and even a specially adapted cotton bud. It really does make my blood boil and on one occasion recently I simply threw the shoes away still caked in the little sausages from a little sausage dog. High pressure hose pipes do a great job but the shoes get wet and also the water splashes me in the face and mouth. This always leaves me paranoid that I may have contracted some form of botulism. (well it was a sausage dog after all). Another idea was to wear shoes with smooth soles but I slipped on a wet floor in the public toilets and injured my knee.

This post is of course lamenting the loss of pavement skills required to walk safely on the busy streets of English towns. New legislation has removed the huge amounts of dogs waste from the pavements. Most see this as a good thing but they have not thought this through. Yobs never used to hang out on the street corner when I was younger. This is because Mr Edwards Labrador from number 16 used to do his business around there. Nobody in the right mind would want to spend an evening standing next his steaming brown memorials. You certainly would not want to lose one of your trainers in there. In the past you needed skills and hawk like vision to survive on the streets. Now with much more isolated dollops walkers have become nonchalant and complacent. A dangerous sense of security has soaked into their subconscious. Under these modern conditions an innocent walker is much more likely not to spot a huge mound and steam straight into it. {{{SPLAT}}}

Another problem that we face today is the dog poo scooper. It is all well and good removing the dog dirt from the pavement, but when I am walking and eating a cereal bar I don't like to see a fat person bent over. It is even worse if I can see them actually manipulating the lumps into those horrible little green bags. I just hate to see people carrying those small bags around with them whilst I am walking. Where do those small bags of dog excrement end up? Well I see them in trees quite often! most of it goes in the ground where the pathogens can happily multiply - real nice idea.

I think that the modern man...when in their youth (also known as chavs) like to wear hooded tops and baseball caps. They have no peripheral vision and are at a great risk of landing the top prize in the weekly doggy-do lottery. Personally I used to enjoy all the streets could throw at me. The new regulations that keep pavements tidy of dog mess have robbed me of this daily challenge. To get home knowing that you have avoided all hazards, leaving them intact for your greatest enemies, is one of the greatest sensations in the world. The next day when you see that someone has taken the top layer off the brown-mountain your spirits just soar.

I think that this matter needs to be investigated. Sent a letter to my local MP. (no reply)

Keith Doughnut
(Addressing the real issues of broken Britain)

Shoe Shop Assistant Spat in my Shoes

Never let it be said that I am a fat and paranoid middle aged man! I want to share with you some astonishing findings. I have long held a suspicion that people who work in shoe shops spit in the shoes. Whilst you patiently (or anxiously for some people) wait for the shop assistant to emerge from the stock room. Unbeknown to the customer they are secretly spitting into the shoes, maybe just a small amount (known as a dribble). This would explain the rye expression given as you insert your foot into the shoe. Do not be fooled by the packaging which is used to cover this disgusting behaviour. This is just a suspicion at the moment in that I have no actual evidence. The wet patch on my socks is always dry by the time that I get home. I have a friend that is a dentist and he believes and backs my theory. This is what Alf had to say yesterday afternoon when I called him at the surgery.

Keith: “Hello Alf, its Keith”
Alf: “Keith who?”
Keith: “Doughnut…”
(Long pause)

Alf: “What do you want Keith?”
Keith: “I have a suspicion that shoe shop assistants have been spitting in shoes before I try them on (my feet). I wondered…
(Interrupted)
Alf: “You’re probably right Keith, but I’ve got to go because someone is trying to steal my car!” Bye.
(Call ended – abruptly)

Later I managed to find Alf’s car parked outside the Dental Practice where he works. Luckily the receptionist was able to make me an appointment and I was able to continue my conversation with Alf. Sadly, Alf was not very talkative (perhaps the pressure of work) and conversing was difficult with his fingers and dental instrument in my mouth. This was an oversight on my part and also involved some very painful treatment to one of my molars. This is really the extent of my investigation so far. It is a difficult situation because I need solid proof before reporting it to the relevant authority. In fact I have no knowledge of who the governing body or ombudsman is for the retail shoe industry. I have written a brief (no not about my briefs) email to the BBC’s Watchdog television programme but they have so far failed to reply. In the email I recommended making a new series called B-rogue Retailers.

It’s going to be a while before my shoes need replacing so it is going to be difficult to prove my theory (unless they are stolen). I feel a bit like Charles Darwin at the moment, when he discovered the theory of evolution nobody believed him either. The only thread of hope at the moment is that a local science student has offered to carry out DNA testing on my socks the next time this happens. If you have ever had a similar incident when buying shoes (or boots) please join my campaign to make shoe shop assistants wear a spit-proof muzzle at all times.

Keith Doughnut