Didn't sleep too well last night, kept waking up and feeling hot and stuffy. Probably not the best of moods to spend a day travelling and touring Bristol. It was also overcast.

Nevertheless, off to Bristol shadowranger and I trundled. He took care of his business while I stood far too close to the youth courts and their 'drain off'.

Here, in the concrete jungle, outside their den - the family court - we see the young Chav Cubs in their natural habitat, proudly demonstrating their Burberric or Hooded Manes in a strange mating ritual with the Juvenile Chavettes of the den.

The young, to try to gain alpha male status and get to mate while the Chavette is in heat - a limited period between the age of 11 and 35 -, use a mixture of posturing and exaggerated movement, random guttural noises - if you listen, you can just hear the call of "Uhh. Innit. Fugoff" on the breeze - and attempting to pick fights with any other passing denizen of the jungle, especially any young who may not be of their sub-species.

Ah, yes. We see the young of the lesser spotted Educated Child in full scholastic plumage, and watch as the Chav Cubs spot their target. Here goes one of the smaller cubs, and yes, he's blocking the path and pulling up to his full five feet in height, baring his chest. Yes, he is 'fronting', my this is exciting.

As you can imagine, I didn't want to stay there long, and was relieved when Tim finished.

We went to Pizza Hut and got a great server, which always helps. Then we took a quick trip around, but I wasn't in a touristy mood.

Though, when I got back to Weston, I did stop by a custom printers, for I have a cunning Sekret Projeck. Mwehehehe.

Interestingly, wearing my coat over my hoodie today, hood down, and people were much nicer and friendlier. I helped a little old lady with her heavy luggage up some stairs at Weston station, and let old men pass. Nothing unusual for me, but today they smiled. When I moved out the way yesterday, they grimaced. Weird.

First, I'd just like to say that going to Costa for a double shot, skinny latte and raspberry and white chocolate muffin is a rather simple joy. I just wish there was more to the seating area so I didn't have to take-away. It's in a Waterstones, so most in the book store, but it could be quite the social point otherwise.

That's the good thing, now to the gripe.

I'm used to being judged by appearance, to odd looks and muttered comments, I'm even used to loud abuse. I had years of it, and though it's hurtful, I can at least shrug most of it off. I got fairly used to things like comments on my weight, when at a work-based quiz night, after scoring highly in many aspects (TV, Film, Music, Literature, Politics, Science), I helped win a section on "Food, Drink and the Kitchen" with questions on foreign food one of my team-mates in the quiz said "Well, I'm not surprised. You obviously like your food a lot."

I got lot to a load of things that people associate with it, because quite frankly, in some cases there is a logical connection. So, I can see it.

Years ago, when I worked on Housing Benefit as agency staff, I had a group of friends there. We were the 'young people' of the office, and amongst them was Ping, who had a very cute hooded sweatshirt that she used to wear when kicking about in her flat. It was cute, and she highly recommended them. It was a few years before I could find one in my size, and I got one before I ever heard the term 'chav'.

I liked my 'hoodie', it was thick, so it was warm, and it also helped disguise my figure slightly. If it started a small summer drizzle, it had a hood. If there was a cold winter breeze, my ears and back of my neck could stay warm. I still like my 'hoodie', because of these things, although now I'm slightly swimming in the thing (it being 3XL, and me taking L/XL now).

Today, it was warm when I set off down to town, so I decided to not wear a coat atop everything else. Most people would probably gasp at that, as I usually wear a coat to hide myself during the heights of summer. Everything was doing well, until the walk back, as I was sipping my double shot skinny latte on the beach promenade, and a grey cloud starting dripping lightly. "No worries," thought I, "for I have sensible fabric hood." So up flipped said hood, five people walked by whilst I had the hood up, every single one of them shot me a dirty look.

I can only think this is down to the reputation of the hoodie in culture today, and it's rather upsetting, that something I enjoy so much and feel so comfortable in, is ruined by the reputation of some people who have used it as a badge and that people can not see behind it.

I wonder if there might have been more conflicting image if I'd been sucking back on Starbucks coffee instead. Hehe, Chav Hipsters. Chivsters.

I haven't really written about local news for a while, in fact, I haven't really written anything of much substance recently - I'm getting closer to the level of journal with quizzes and random forwarding of images. I thought I'd refresh on 'the youth of today'.

Over the last few weeks there seems to have been an increase in the local press about the level of violence and anti-social behaviour being displayed by the under-21s in the town. According to the Weston Mercury, 'the latest figures released by North Somerset Council show 21 per cent of violent crime in the district is committed by 10-16-year-olds and mostly in the early evening' (source).

Recent reports included a minor being caught on CCTV footage beating the living hell out of a shop assistant, alcohol-fueled vandalism, and the sort of mindless behaviour that makes you wonder what the hell is going on.

In a recent article, one trader from the Mead Vale area stated "Parents need to take responsibility. I've seen mums dole out alcohol and cigarettes to their kids as young as 12. The parents just chuck them out of the house and let them roam all night if they want. When a policeman does come along the kids laugh at them because they know nothing will happen. But most of the time our calls are ignored. Sometimes I feel like going down to the station and dragging an officer up here myself."

This has long been one of the issues I've stated here. Sometimes, parents can not be bothered with the responsibility given to them after 'went forth and multiplied', or else it is a case of not being capable. It's the same for exposure to things on TV or the Internet, or for content of video games, if the parents actually gave a damn, they'd be keeping an eye at the time, not complaining about the after effects.

There are, of course, parents who do a damn hard battle with their children to try to tackle the behaviour, but the fight is tough, and when you factor in peer pressure and the issue of the uncaring parents, it is no wonder they can't succeed.

Yes, there should be more of a police presence, but it's a losing battle when the minors are being sent out by parents who just don't care enough, and don't even have any kind of pride. One has to sympathis with the police sometimes, when they are begged for help by the public and schools, but the family of the culprits aren't going to stop the children.

A recent investment may help curb some of the problems, but I doubt it, the problem will just shift.

Mosquito to bite against crime

A NEW anti-youth gadget which emits a noise that can only be heard by young people and a police helicopter spotlight are the two latest weapons being used in a crackdown on troublemakers in Weston and Worle.

Last week, the Weston Mercury exposed simmering summer youth problems in hotspots across the resort. This week, we can reveal that a hi-tech gadget, called the Mosquito, will be used for the first time in North Somerset when it is installed in Worle.

The new gizmo, to be set up outside Hayers in the Mead Vale Shopping Precinct, fires a high pitched sound for up to 20 metres in a 60° arc.

It can only be heard by people aged under 25, who are sensitive to the frequency of the noise emitted, and is aimed to break up gangs and move them on.

North Somerset Crime and Disorder Reduction Partnership (NSCDRP) has bought the kit. If found to be useful, it will recommend householders and businesses get their own Mosquitoes, which cost about £600.
Police in Weston are also using a helicopter to shine a bright light on youngsters drinking in parks to stop them gathering. The helicopter's halogen spotlight beam temporarily blinds people caught in its path.

Sgt Gareth Starr said: "It helps us find youths who hide when we patrol and also finds where they are gathering so we can respond to it. The spotlight will be used to move them on as they don't like the light shining in their faces."

Police arrested six people and seized alcohol in Clarence Park, Grove Park and the town centre last weekend after several Weston beat officers joined forces and patrolled in an 'antisocial' van.

Children as young as 13 were caught drinking and 17 cans of lager, four bottles of alcopops and a large bottle of vodka were seized on Friday night.

Arrests were made for possession of a knife, carrying cannabis and drunk and disorderly behaviour.


• INTIMIDATING gangs of youngsters will be moved on from the Italian Gardens and adjacent Town Square by police from today (Fri).
  
  Officers have got stronger powers to deal with troublemakers in the area now it has become a 'dispersal zone'.
  
  Offenders will be asked to leave for 24 hours and removed if they refuse. Persistent troublemakers could be fined up to £3,000 or face three months in jail. The order will last until October, but could be shortened or extended.
  
  There are also plans to 'design out' problems by doing things like installing bumpy pavement and adding ends to benches to stop skateboarders using them.
  Police antisocial behaviour officer Terry Crees said: "If groups gather there with the purpose of intimidating or causing a disturbance, they, and anyone who mixes with them, will be asked to move on. If people are there and are behaving themselves, that's fine."
  
  (Source: Weston Mercury, 21 July 2006)

I'd first heard about the Mosquito Teenager Repellant in last year, at the time it was being referred to on BBCs Have I Got News For You and The News Quiz, pointing out how the tables had turned and now adults would be able to annoy teenagers with persistent high-pitched whining, instead of the other way round.

The device was invented by a Welshman, Howard Stapleton, is a security consultant with experience in installing alarms for business and studied other teenage-repellents as part of his research into loitering problems before hitting on the device which emits a high-frequency sound designed to annoy people younger than 20, but which apparently people older than 30 can't hear it. Stapleton tested on his children, trying a number of different noise and frequency levels, testing a single-toned unit before settling on a pulsating tone which, he said, is more unbearable, and can be broadcast within government auditory-safety limits at 75 decibels.

As alternatives go, some shops use "zit lamps," which drive teenagers away by casting a blue light onto their spotty skin, accentuating any whiteheads and other blemishes. Interestingly, the same technology is used in a lot of public toilets, because the harshness of he lights is said to affect eyesight and reduce loitering and 'cottaging' in those areas - I can confirm that when you are desperate for a piss at a train station, and the blue light is on, it really affects your ability to even walk straight because of it's harshness at times, and much worse after dark.

Personally, I'd like to see a reduced pocket-size sound unit, similar to Personal Attack Alarms, which can just be pulled from a pocket and activated to disperse crowds.

The follow-on part of the article, covering the dispersment order of youths in the Italians Gardens, links up to an article in the previous weeks edition, taken from the Mercury's website:

Chavs and Goths face Gardens ban

YOUNG troublemakers could be banned from Weston's Italian Gardens following simmering gang squabbles and nuisance behaviour there.

The well-groomed park has become a battleground for adolescent groups dubbed Chavs and Goths and at times it becomes a no-go zone for everyone else when youngsters gather there.

The police are now applying for a dispersal order for the gardens during the evenings.

If senior police officers and North Somerset Council agree to the order, bobbies will be able to move on troublemakers.

Offenders will be banned from the park for 24 hours and anyone refusing to go could be arrested and prosecuted.

Town centre beat manager Sergeant Peter Land said: "We are at the point where we are going to create a dispersal zone for the Italian Gardens.

"The problem is mainly youths gathering on an evening and doing things that are a little short of criminal behaviour, but which puts off visitors. It is things like ripping up plants and throwing mud.

"The order would mean that between designated hours we can take hold of offenders and lead them out of the park. They could face prosecution if we keep getting problems.

(Source: Weston Mercury)

I would ask for you to refer to my entry, When Two Tribes Go To War..., from 09 September 2005. In it, there had been an article of the 'gang war' between the Chavs and Goths of Weston fighting near the sea front. Throughout the course of the year, the fights have continued and spread across the town. Irregardless of where the Goths move, the Chavs seem to track them down.

I still hold my sympathy with the Goths, as they are the more pleasant of the two tribes, and are by far the most passive group in the town - even the 'Sue The Bastards' street lawyers and charity collectors are more aggresive than the Goths.

I also still hold by my comments:

Of course, there is a slight twang of humour about a gang of Reebok-branded, Burberry-capped militia marching down the street with the battle anthem of the Crazy Frog churning out from their 'car boot sale' mobile phone, approaching a waiting gang of lace and saffron wearing, black-eyeline Goths with a standard bearer reading the works of Shelley or reciting their latest poem on the soul destroying ability of homework. It's a musical, it's Weston Seaside Story!

Except, now I see more of the a story developing, a true Romeo and Juliet screen play potential. Just imagine, Romeo the Chav, named after and with the same pronunciation as the Alfa Romeo, falls for Juliet the Goth, originally called Julia but changed for dramatic emphasis. All their friends say it wont work, their parents are against each other because one set lives on a housing estate and fraudulently claims benefits whereas the other is a business banker, neither of them go to church so they don't even have a priest to confide in. They'll get split up when his ASBO stops him enterring the town, but he'll break it one night and find she's passed out from forgetting to exhale clove cigarrettes, and he'll end up getting plastered on White Lightning.

Unfortunately, they'll both survive, move in to a council house after she gets pregnant at 15, have a child - which due to chav tradition they'll have to name after alcohol or a car, so they'll reach a goth/chav compromise and name Absinthe - and claim benefit when he can't be bothered to go back to working on 'motors' and she realises just how little GCSE Art is worth.

Hmm, when a Goth and a Chav mate, is the result a Choth (pr. Choff) or a Chath (pr. Chafe)? Please let it be sterile, like with mules.

"Two households, both alike, indignity.
In Weston-sup'-Mare where we lay our scene.
Where fashion drudge breaks to new thuggery,
Where vomit and blood makes civil streets unclean..."

Today, I went to Bridgwater to work. It had snowed overnight and the whole of Weston was under a rich thick blanket after the clouds opened up and poured forth the flakes in number. Anyone else would have been perturbed to drive in this weather, but not Jaqs who took me from Weston - indeed, I think nothing could phase Jaqs on the road, except perhaps another Jaqs driving a car nearby.

But soon after we'd passed Huntspill we hit solid ice, the car spun and we hit a snowy ramp sending us soaring into the air and spinning. We hit the ground upside down and the car skidded through fields and hedgerow before stopping in some unused snowy field. The car soon blew and we were thrown from it's burning wreckage, wounded we huddled around it's shell for warmth, and hoped someone would see the smoke and come to our aid.

Within a short span of time the natural hunting instinct kicked in and I forged a rudimentary spear from a door fragment and length of steel, joined together with a cut out seatbelt. It wasn't long before I'd successfully hunted down polar bears and penguins, the former for sustenance and warm clothing, the latter for clothing in case of a formal dinner arrangement.

With the day drawing on, I formed us a small house of snow and gravel; in effect three storeys with integral garage for two cars and landscaped garden. Regrettably, it was only a scale model, but I had plans for completion by 2007.

Eventually we were picked up by helicopter rescue and taken to Bridgwater, dressed in our bear pelts and wielding our roughly made weapons. We were taken in straight away as tribal brothers, but when we bought them the magic of 'fire' and stories of 'wheels' we were elevated to the status of gods.

By the close of the office days I was swarmed with the nearest Bridgwater equivalent of virgins and sacrifices were being made in my name.





...what?




...Ok, I really regret that none of the above is true...again...

What really happened was it snowed last night in the South West, like the cats ejaculating over the hills and countryside like some giant meteorological/geographical bukkake video, but it was somewhat premature, as while Exeter and Taunton were hit full in the face, Weston merely got the last flick off residue. From Weston to Bridgwater there was barely even a trace of frost in the field, though apparently Garf who lives outside Taunton in the middle of nowhere was stuck at home because of the snow. I even got an excited txt from Tink bragging of her snow splatter.

The day was mainly data entry and the same numbers being repeated over and over for hours, I'm sure to the point where I'm going to dream of people chanting numbers at me. It's little wonder that I have a splitting headache.

Lunch was uneventful for me, as I made a trip to an empty Hungry Caterpillar and back. Jaqs, on the other hand, got to meet the natives in Bridgwater in the Post Office when a pair of Chav Girls, most notably one in a Playboy tracksuit with Nokia bling phone around her neck, tried to 'front her.

When Jaqs pointedly stared at the Chavette for complaining about how things were slow because of 'spastics' and 'old people' in the queue she asked "What the fuck are you looking at", to which Jaqs shot back "I don't quite know, with such vile language", to which she was insulted. On leaving Jaqs was threatened with "You better watch where you step around here", wrong thing for our Jaqs who shot back with a dogging out look and "If you think I'm frightened by fucking school children then you've got the wrong person". Welcome to Bridgwater.

So, what happens when the dregs of society and the outcasts of society are put into wide open spaces where they can easily avoid and ignore each other? That's right, a blood feud must begin.

Chav-a-go yobs target Goths

RIVALRY between groups of 'Goths' and 'Chavs' has turned violent in Weston town centre.

Up until now the teenage groups, as opposed to each other as the 1960s' mods and rockers, have avoided each other's hangouts.

Now the Goths, identifiable in their black clothes and make-up, claim the Chavs have upped the fight and their friends often end up in hospital or arrested.

Last week a gang of about 40 unruly Chavs, brandishing metal poles and rocks, descended on a group of 30 Goths on Beach Lawns.

Police were called to break up the fight and paramedics treated the injured.

Chavs is a/new slang term describing young,working class people who typically wear designer labels* base-ball caps and heavy jewellery.

One 15-year-old Goth, who does not want to be identified for fear of reprisals, said: "A friend had his face smashed in with a pole and blood was dripping into his eyes. Another was head butted repeatedly. The Chavs just run off so it's always the Goths that end up being arrested. I don't want to be dealing with this at my age. I don't know why these people have started following us and attacking us but they have put many of us in hospital. We can't carry on like this because the way it is going, somebody is going to get killed. People need to help us, not pass by and watch."

Matt Hobbs, a 19-year-old Goth, said: "We just sit in the Italian Gardens and hang out but because we look different we get abused. Apart from clothes and music, the difference
between the groups comes down to attitude. The nature of Goths is to be quiet, laid back and just part of the background, hence the black clothes. But Chavs want to be the centre of attention and mouth off and we end up being their target.If a police officer walked around the town centre occasionally the problem might not have escalated like it has."

A police spokesman said: "We were called to the Italian Gardens to reports of 40-60 youths causing disorder. This group was dispersed and we were then informed they had reformed on the Beach Lawns. Officers attended and we also dispersed this group. Two youths were arrested and have been reprimanded for disorder offences. We have dealt with a some minor offences of disorder and we will be looking at getting a dispersal order if these incidents continue."

(Source : Weston Mercury, 09 September 2005)

I sympathise with the Goths here, because though many of them in Weston are doing it to be trendy or to be seen as "angsty and dark" (which several have said is only for the look) they don't cause trouble. They hover around quietly, often are quite polite (except the Punk!Goth variant in town, but then it's expected) and have a good sense of humour. The Chavs are just abusive assholes. The police do a hard job, compounded by the fact the innocent are easier to catch and the guilty don't care if they get caught because it gives them street cred.

This is where the Goths need to get some of their bigger friends, the bikers are often on good terms and so are the metal fans that visit their clubs for live music, plus the Chavs tend to not make many friends from the masses or the other outside group. A little organization and we can go back to everyone getting along with only muttered venom and tutting headshakes - the proper british way.

Of course, there is a slight twang of humour about a gang of Reebok-branded, Burberry-capped militia marching down the street with the battle anthem of the Crazy Frog churning out from their 'car boot sale' mobile phone, approaching a waiting gang of lace and saffron wearing, black-eyeline Goths with a standard bearer reading the works of Shelley or reciting their latest poem on the soul destroying ability of homework. It's a musical, it's Weston Seaside Story!

Jaqs told me yesterday that she went to Bristol Zoo with neighbours and her bloke's kid, and not too surprisingly there were chavs (or to give them a zoological designation Homo Sapien Chaviticus) swarming the place. While enjoying a quiet sit down a little male chav was running around being annoying, when his chav parent calls out "Beckham!! Get back 'ere!"

So, now naming after celebrities means using surnames as first names. I discussed this with Vonnie in the office and Andrew in Taunton and suggested my own Chav-tastic names after celebrities.

Musicians :
Slash from Guns n Roses
Limp Bizkit - naming after either part would be amusing
(Bob) Geldof - I'd suggest Geldof for a name, but a chav kid would say "I'm Geldof" and another kid would say "Like the wizard?"
(Jarvis) Cocker (or the spaniel) - "This is my lil girl, Cocker"
(Art) Garfunkel
(Daniel) Beddingfield - "Beddingfield! Stop doing that with the dawwwwg!"
(Frank) Sinatra - The musical equivalent of Chardonay
Westlife - Now there's a name "My name is Westlife Brown"
(Natalie) Imbruglia
(Kylie) Minogue - "Minogue Jones"
(Atomic) Kitten - Hmm, actually Kitten/Kitty isn't too bad...
(Alanis) Morrisette
(Blink) 182 - "182 Smith"
(Sid) Vicious
or for really whacked out names (George) Michael and (Elton) John

Actors:
(Brad) Pitt - I'd like to see "..'e's our lil Cec' Pitt"
(Johnny) Depp
(Michael) Keaton _"Keeee-ton! Stop 'itting lil Chardonay!"
(Kevin) Spacey - "My kid Spacey has attention deficit disorder. Oi, Spacey, pay attention!"
(Ben) Affleck - what a great name that would be to hear screaming "Get back 'ere, Affleck!"
(Patrick) Swayze - "This is my son, Swayze"
(John) Travolta "Tra-vol-tahh"
(Jean Claude) Van Damme (would work with Vin Diesel too) - Ahh, the joy of a chav with the initials V.D., cos chav children are a sexually transmitted disease
(David) Hasselhoff - considering they tend to not pronounce the H's "Come 'ere, 'assel'off!"
and of course, naming after Arnie...

Apparently I have good comedic ideas, I think I'm just a sarcastic git. These two things appear to be synonymous where I work. But, it's kind of rewarding to have someone say "Fair enough. I’ve always thought your idea’s are funny. You make me laugh. I might steal some of your gear if you’re not gonna use it. I’ll dazzle my friends with your wit!"

Probably bull, but it's nice to think someone out there is smirking at what I'm saying and not just at me.

Last night I got nailed, well, in fairness I've been getting nailed for the last few days and I'm regretting every event that led up to it. Damn nail.exe, Aurora and A Better Internet company. I truly dislike files that are adware that respawn when deleted, it's annoying - and I'm one of those bastards that checks licences for the 'third party' agreements. I wouldn't mind if it was a virus from a download, but nooo.

Today was trip to Taunton day. Woo-frickin'-hoo.

Tim came with me and we got an early train so that I could find my way when I arrived in Taunton, which actually turned out to be a good thing because I'm only used to the main High Street area and NCP car parks. Got on the Arriva at 10:18 and off it chugged, the ride was peaceful and relaxing with the background rhythmic grinding of the train wheels on hot metal tracks as our travel music.

We came up to Highbridge and Burnham station, where - as Tim put it - excited chatter changed slightly to squealing like piggies, the squeals joined with the grinding melody as we rolled out the station and were within moments joined with the faint twanging of banjoes as we approached Bridgwater station, and things went downhill. On board climbed the Bridgies, most notable among them the Bridgy family with the mother who looked like a farmwife gone urban wearing a new looking t-shirt for the video game Killer Instinct (yes, the game from 1994), the son who lumbered everywhere and the daughter who was the station's token cutie (if looking slightly androgynous).

After finally settling into their seat they decided to get up and wait by the door as soon as the first announcement for Taunton was made. Shortly after, Arriva lived up to being a train company and stopped dead in their tracks and the driver got off, cue sarcastic remarks from the brother and I about rail apologies and what was on the line.

Eventually we arrived at Taunton and I pulled out my handy-dandy map from the Medical Examination Centre, which usefully did not include where the station was located, however, signs pointed to town centre and I knew that Brendon and Quantock Houses were located there, so off we trotted. It wasn't long until I had the first proof that we were officially in the heart of Somerset (or "Zummerzet"), outside Taunton's swimming pool an announcement for The Wurzels marked back by popular demand!

Getting a bit confused by the maps orientation (the image was upside down to where we were coming from) we were given assistance from a local who incorrectly pointed us back the way we came, which was partially my fault for not being clear and him not looking at where my finger on the map was. We walked back, found it to be wrong and bumped into the guy again :

Taunton Guy : Did you find it?
Me : No, sorry, it was the wrong building, I was looking for Brendon Hou [inspiration hits]...the social!
TG : Oh right! Sorry, brain wasn't switched on...go [blah blah directional blah that confirmed where I was going originally]
Me : Ah, cheers.
TG : Good money to be made there, signing on and all...
Me : I can't, I work there... [meaning for the Government]
TG : And you don't know your way to the office?
Me : Well, I work out of Weston so it's my first time...
TG : No wonder it's so fucking slow.

Cider-drinking, haystack humper. But, irregardless we eventually got towards the centre when I realised that Taunton had it's own time zone just off GMT, in fact some 20 odd years off GMT. Taunton still has a frickin' Wimpy.

Wimpy is the member of the Burger family, alongside it's sisters McDonalds and BK, however it is that family member that has napkin rings, speaks in the queen's english and holds candlelight suppers with local parish members. They serve burgers on plates and have no idea of what to put as toys in kids meals. Wimpy should not exist anymore, it should have retired and bought a villa in southern France or Spain and be sitting around in a vest and long chain drinking gin and tonic.

Went to Yates's for lunch, which has a damn good cheese burger, so light in bite but very filling. Picked up some fresh cream doughnuts for Pete and Andrew, seeing as I was visiting their office and headed off to the medical.

The appointment was for 13:30 and lasted 2-3 minutes. What The Hell!? I had the day off and hours credited, travelled through Bridgwater and with Bridgies, got lost and tired and got dissed by a friggin' 'zetter, for 2-3 minutes of interview!? When I told Si, in a conversation that lasted twice as long as the interview, he almost blew it. The term 'fuck' sprang up a couple of times too.

The plus side is I dropped the doughnuts off while If You're Gone by Matchbox 20 was on, and I got to see the pickled bat that the guys have on their windowsill. Yeah, when they moved in there was a dead bat in the room, they put it in a coffee jar and pickled it...in apple juice...suffice to say, it's now in dark brown cider, stiff as a board and is only recognisable as a bat because it looks kind of bat-like from the right angle.

Walked back to the station, first noticeable person was an american woman in shorts with a midwest-esque accent asking the station staff if there were roadworks near the entrance, there were two entrances both with minor roadworks. I felt like pointing out it was England and she'd be hard-pushed to find anywhere without roadworks. There are county lanes that have been disused for 16 years with roadworks.

Then I saw the Bridgie family waiting for the same train as us, but when another train pulled in first after our trains announcement they hurried over. Amusingly it was a train that goes direct to Temple Meads, but that's Bridgies for you. Instead, we had a mother and her two children, racing around and getting under peoples feet while fighting and saying things like "Dino Daggers" or something, guess where they were going?

That's right, they stayed on the train until Bridgwater, where I watched with some amusement that the other Bridgie family didn't disembark, instead two chavvy looking girls boarded, leaving behind a topless guy with two cans of Special Brew and barely any teeth on the station. They proceeded to try to guess a smell on them (I say it was a top they were sniffing, Tim says fingers) and they left us at Highbridge. The rest of the ride was peaceful.

Oh, the conductor on the train was at least seven foot, bearded and with a stiff neck that kept his chin to chest. He looked like an unemployed Lurch who let himself go after Gomez gave him his papers.

My camera even worked, wish I'd used it more now instead of thinking "well, fuzzy pictures will remind me what I wanted to post".


When we got back to Weston I was impressed, the heat was still there and people were enjoying it. I would like to thank the following people :

• Louis Reard - the inventor of the 'modern' bikini;
• whoever created the look of bikini serving as under- and overwear;
• whoever chose bright pink as a bikini colour;
• the very hot girl who chose to wear it;
• everyone else bikini-clad today - you've made a young perv very happy horny...thanks a lot ::mutter::

Of course, it must be really hot, because on the way home there was a bikini top hanging from a shrub near the crazy golf.

I'm keeping up with the local news, mainly because nearly every week the paper tells of some chav incident, anti-social behaviour or one of many local murders that I've already heard the details via Jaqs because her bloke is the investigating officer (a recent one had the vivid description of three days in the sun and unable to recognise after they'd finally peeled the maggots from the face).

The local rag is full of it this week, from the body found in Flax Bourton and the body washed up in Sand Bay (not fookin' Sandy Bay!!), the former primary school on the sex offenders register and the ongoing trial of three tens who burnt down the sports hall at my old school - yeah, no-one likes PE classes.

But, I picked two top stories. The first is on my old favourite moan about 'kids these days'. Seriously, if you breed them, you lead them.

Residents living in fear of park yob gangs

GANGS of hooligans are turning a respectable area of Weston into "hell on earth."

Residents living near Ashcombe Park have been left petrified after teenage yobs threw bricks through windows, vandalised cars and beat up youngsters.

Groups of up to 100 teenagers gather in the park until dawn getting drunk, screaming, swearing and leaving a trail of destruction behind them, residents claim.

But people living along Milton Road, Belgrave Road and Farm Road have been targeted when they call the police and have become too scared to take action.

As the school summer holidays start, some are calling for a dispersal order to be put in place in the area so police can break up big groups. Others simply want to sell up and move.

One Belgrave Road resident said: "We can't sleep and are living in fear. The gangs distress anybody living near the park and decent residents are at their wits' end. Last Friday I saw a group attacking a girl aged about 13 who was lying in the middle of Milton Road. Some were punching and kicking her while a bloodthirsty crowd watched and encouraged. Despite 12 police officers attending there were no arrests, even though all were underage, drunk and extremely abusive. School-aged children still sit on the swings swearing loudly at 5.3Qam."

The resident added: "I've seen parents collecting 'their little darlings' from the park at gone midnight. What can we do if parents of these rough, feral thugs refuse to do anything because they don't believe their little Chardonnay or Calvin could be led astray? Or is it that they simply don't care? The Little Britain TV character Vicky Pollard is amusing, but to be honest I would welcome someone of that stature to Weston as she would be an improvement on many younger residents who roam the streets at night. Police are under-resourced and over-worked and so disrespected they get torrents of abuse. Maybe we should collectively employ private security firms to maintain some sort of order."

A Farm Road resident said: "People say these problems are over exaggerated but they should try living here. The garages at the back of this stretch of houses are set on fire and vandalised, fences are covered in graffiti, houses are broken into and a new house at the bottom of the road had to have the rendering completely redone after youths drew indecent images in the wet plaster. We go out every Friday night now because we can't stand to be in the house and put up with it."

A police spokesman said: "We did receive a call in relation to youths in the Ashcombe Park area. A PCSO attended and confiscated alcohol and the youths were sent on their way. A male called us when he got home to report that he had been assaulted but we have record of a female assault. There is a dedicated beat manager and PCSO who regularly cover the area and speak to local residents. There are also patrols 24-hours-a-day to tackle the problems."

(Source : Weston Mercury, 22 July 2005)

Some of this article made me snigger - most notably What can we do if parents of these rough, feral thugs refuse to do anything because they don't believe their little Chardonnay or Calvin could be led astray?, wherein the chav element comes out - but the rest sparks my venom.

Why in the name of infernal buggery are people letting their wasted seed out all night, what do they think the little bastards are doing!? "Oh, our little boy has taken up midnight kumbayah-singing and helping field mice that have injured their paws down at the local park"!?

I really think there is a lack of care, I mean if all of the parents actually gave a damn about what they managed to over-populate the world with, then the problem would be non-existent, but instead they decide to let the sods run roughshod and bear no consequence.

Living with my, in most case now ex-, neighbours I can appreciate the hassle these people face. I say there should be a special task force set up who are trained in "youth-based anti-social behaviour control" or "thrashing the rotten little buggers until they stop fookin' about and behave like good kids".

...and yes, some people argue that violence, and smacking as discipline, is wrong and isn't effective. You know what, neither has been letting the kids get away with yobbism. At least public shaming and brutality would be gratifying (and slightly poetic in the justice department).

Now, one for Tink who has to exist on each side of the Huntspill Wall (like the Berlin wall, but a little more rural and only about 2 foot high).

Court cuts sentence

A POLICEMAN from East Huntspill who had unlawful sex with a 14-year-old girl has had his sentence reduced by a year.

Kevin Hicks, of Church Road, was jailed for four years at Bristol Crown Court last September after admitting three charges of sexual intercourse with a girl under 16 and one charge of indecent assault on a female.

Lady Justice Smith, Mr Justice Nelson and Mr Justice Henriques said the case was not a classic case of grooming but one of strong mutual infatuation. They decided to cut the sentence by a year at London's High Court.

(Source : Weston Mercury, 22 July 2005)

Well, that close to Bridgwater it wasn't that surprising. Of course, a few miles down the road and he'd have called her "cousin", a few more "sis" and any closer it'd be her calling him "daddy".