After getting some air and exercise tonight, I was walking down a paved bridleway along the edge of Blyth golf club - a popular place for dog emptying, if the amount of dogshite all over it is any indication.
I found myself approaching a cluster of three such dog-emptiers, who were gushing over the amazing coincidence of owning the same breed of dog. The dogs (Salukis as it happens) were in the middle of the path, playing with each other, and the owners were two on one side of the path, one on the other.
They saw me coming from a long way off, and reined the dogs in: but did they move?
Did they fuck. I was left with no choice but to walk between the three of them, on a track no more than six feet wide, with no room to manoeuvre around them. I doubt if there was a foot either side between any of us.
Un-fucking-believable. One of these ballsacks was about my age, so you'd think he would know better - but no, the dozy twat was so wrapped up in his four-legged turd generator that his brain-cell clearly couldn't handle thinking about it and about the need to get the fuck out of people's way.
I predict an outbreak of broken jaws amongst such fuckwits in the not-too-distant future, as it seems that this might be the only way to get the point across.