"London in the summer time, cuss me out an' it'll feel alright..."
That's what Anthony Kiedis said, and although he was probably referring to something to do with ladygardens, I'm going to use his lyric as the basis for my lunchtime rant.
Me mate Jer and I like to lounge in the park of a Saturday, when it's sunny. It's a perfect way to relax and soak up the sun, to spend a few hours watching the world go by, to moan about the yoof of today and to consider money-spinning possibilities for the future.
All of this adds up to a high quality of life which keeps stress levels down and chipperness right up there - I'm sure happiness is good for all sorts of other bodily functions too, like pooing.
Still, all these benefits are pointless when it comes to lazing in London's parks and gardens as soon as they're graced by the presence of yoofs.
Yoofs turn up, fine.
Yoofs hang out, fine.
Yoofs play footy, fine.
Yoofs have a drink and a smoke, fine.
But then yoofs suddenly decide to up and leave. This is where the problem lies, or rather scatters, scatters itself across the park actually. It's their litter.
London's local authorities, and in some cases local residents, place litter bins all across the city for everyone's benefit.
Some of them are used by terrorists to plant berms, although that was mainly the Eire Ay back in the eighties.
Some people use them for stuffing newspapers into, adding a little lighter fluid and then chucking in a match for a bit of an "Osama Bin Lighting" sesh.
But on the whole, most people use them for dropping off their unwanted wrappers and packaging, and dog poo, and cakes and unwanted socks, and goldfish, envelopes and mockable garden furniture...like gnomes.
In the park in which I like to hang out with me mate, and drink a few beers, the local authority has provided a bin - it's the size of a kennel that might have housed Schnorbits at one time, probably not when he was a pup because it's quite large. This bin is placed slap-bang (quite an odd expression that one - possibly derived from cowboy times back in the wicki-wicki-wah-wah-wez when a lady of profitable multiple penis accommodation might raise her hand to a cowboy, only to be shot in the head for being a woman, or not another cowboy, or even being another cowboy like in Brokeback Mountain where those cowboys "...weren't no queers!" at least, or something) in the middle of the park where there really isn't an excuse not to use it. Pretty much everybody chucks their crap from the day in the bin when they leave. Jer and I often pick up random bits of newspaper or the odd carrier bag as we leave and chuck it in along with our own rubbish, and we've not died from doing so!
So why do the yoofs not bother? Who told them that if they put their litter in the bin their genitals'll drop off, or turn into vegetables or just pieces of spaghetti? Why can't they see that purely by their large numbers they create such a large amount of litter that it immediately impacts on the environment for days? And which c*nt was it that said to someone ages ago, who then told someone else and so on and so on, that if there's someone employed to pick up litter, why shouldn't everyone just drop theirs to help keep this person in work?!?!?! How fucking stupid is
that?!?!
So anyway. This weekend Jer and I are heading out to lounge in the park and have a few beers in the sun, and we've arranged a little surprise for the yoofs and their littering followers and friends...hahahaha!! Yeah - we've hired some mini tower cranes! Yeah!!
Attached to each of the twelve cranes we've going to hang a grand piano. As soon as a gang of yoofs turns up, we'll manouvre the cranes into position just above whichever gang we see as having the most potential to litter...basically if they're holding anything that resembles a bag they're targeted.
Then, as the afternoon wears on and the yoofs get restless, at the first sign of littering - and I'm talking about a stray Rizla paper - we hit the button and drop a tonne and a half of the voice of Richard Clayderman's fingers straight down on 'em!
Yeeeeeeeeehaaaaaaaa!!! SPLAT!!! (Kkkkllllaaaannnnnngggggggggggggrrrrgggrrgrrgrrr)
And then we'll leave.
Um, after clearing up the mess...and putting it neatly into a bin.
I went out last night to The Montagu Pyke on Charing Cross Road to watch Japan/Brazil.
and screamed until my eyes hurt!