Although respect is due to:
*The street sweeper of Crouch End Broadway. He must be about fifty and appears to be built soully of sinew, wire and reflective yellow plastic, but my god! He is like a grizzly old duracell bunny! Well, to be honest he is probably on speed or at least some other low level amphetamine, but my god he gets the job done, and woe betide any dog/pregnant woman/annoying little tyke not in pushchair (who collectively make up at least 75% of Crouch End at any given time) who wanders into the path of his giant blur of a broom. I did used to think he was pretending he was in Stomp! in his head and was actually beating out complex drum rhythms as he anihilates the fag butts and bus tickets to the curb, but having seen into his eyes (through the protection of the bus shelter) I fink is jus da drugs.
Which begs the question why they don't subsidise them as part of the job. If they did I'm sure more people would sign up. Well, it would probably lure mon frere into gainful employment at any rate.
*The old man who dropped his melon on the bus yeterday. No shame, he just went and chased after it like a toddler chasing a duck before securing it somewhere near the drivers feet and getting a round of applause from the bus.
Ha you can tell I was thinking of this on my journey to the pub last night, can't you?
Christ what a lame entry