Neds at the front door
Oh joy, another episode of Ned/Chav fuckwittery.
There I was, minding my own business, standing outside the front door having a break from working with a ciggie (well, it is 2.30am) when what do I spy across the road?: a carload of everyone’s favourite: Ned scum.
Being early morning in Leith, I wouldn’t expect anything less than a bit of clumsy driving and puerile name–calling by these obnoxious and socially–retarded individuals. I wasn’t disappointed. After trying to dazzle me with their headlights on full–beam (ooh!) and the ever–original cry of “wanker” (aah!) they proceeded to drive off into dim and not–so–distant Leith.
Well, they would have, if they hadn’t decided to drive around the block, speed over the roundabout, and pull up outside the front door where I was standing, and start to get out of the car.
Not really looking for trouble with 3 or 4 Neds — in Leith — at 2.30am in the morning — I decided it would be prudent to retreat back into the building before I ended up with a cheap imported copy of an expensive training shoe, or maybe one of those ones are shaped look like pies (loafers I think) in the ribs.
What the hell did these “people” think I would do? Stand there waiting for them? If that’s the case, they’re even thicker than I give them credit for, which isn’t much really. I hope there’s a heavily–reinforced brick wall with their names on somewhere close by.
If that paranoid egomaniac Blunkett has any bollocks to deal with real social issues, rather than the “homeland” vapour he’s been spouting about recently, let’s see him do something about this sort of thing: I’d be happy to pay for my oh–so–optional ID card if the price of it went towards buying a guillotine.