The noisy fracas among the sparrows in the hedgerow had been going on for some time. At one point it had been so heated that it had set the dog barking but it came to an abrupt halt when the woman in the niqab shuffled past, weighed down with carrier bags full of yoghurt.
Around the corner, a woman in her fifties with a bleached blonde perm and a pink towelling bathrobe was bagging up dog shit in the middle of the road. Another woman at the bus stop looked on. Seemingly caught out by the warm weather, she was sweating in her heavy quilted purple anorak with fur collar.
I was contemplating Mrs Begum’s lampshade—I’m pretty sure it’s on upside-down—when my attention was drawn to a passing young woman; her facial complexion didn’t match that of her décolletage by a profound distance. Happily though, it was a near perfect match for her flesh coloured leggings.
The thin woman in the skinny jeans was making a noisy phone call while supervising two toddlers in the park. “If they’re trying to take the piss again, they can kiss my arse!” she shouted, before breaking off suddenly to reprimand the children, muting the phone with her hand. “Hit her back! Fucking hit her back! Fucking hell, Jade, stop being such a fucking wuss!”
As the morning wore on, the streets filled up with massive men in enormous shirts eating pasties from paper bags. They mainly called each other "Pal" and discussed cars.
"You didn’t pay much for the Punto, did you?""Five and a half. Mind you, I only got five for the Audi."