I’m not a fan of running down home towns (unless the home town is run down already), but today I’m a little bit fed up with Stockport. As you would be in a town that only looks good when covered in ten inches of snow.
Today’s weather forecast: 7 hours of rain; 0 hours of sunshine.
Yesterday, the Hub and I walked the dogs in the park behind our house. I say ‘park’ but what I really mean is ‘field with a small play area and huge layer of excrement’ (hence my ongoing obsession with dog poo). Even the play area – despite a fence and a large sign saying No dogs allowed in this play area - had a humongous pile under the tyre swing. We think we know who did it: the unpleasant man who allows his grumpy golden retriever to attack the other dogs. Well, not him personally; his dog, I mean. As we walked onto the field they were exiting the play area in a cloud of steam (it’s a big dog). They were off the field before we saw the damage, or he’d have been wearing it.
How selfish a human being do you have to be to allow your dog to foul a children’s play park and leave it there? There was a recent case in the news where a dog had done its business on a slide and a little girl slid through it, got it on her hands, wiped her eyes, and went blind from the resulting Toxicara.
This year, the council planted ten new trees to brighten the park and make a dog walking route. The Hub and I have watched over the months as the trees have grown. We have also seen them disappear one by one. Three over the last weekend - for bonfire night, presumably, as the local youths seem to be taking a scorched earth policy. There are four trees left that have not been pushed, battered, bent over, hacked at or sawn off. Wonder how long they’ll last?
Come to think of it: thugs don’t like wet weather, so let it rain, let it rain, let it rain.