THE two women were delivering a passable impression of the late Les Dawson and his chum Roy Barraclough playing the gossipy duo, Cissie and Ada.

They perched on seats in Cornmarket and made critical observations about the world and its wife. Yet these paled when it came to the long-haired, unshaven man with three fox brushes dangling from the left epaulette of his badge-bedecked, well-worn bush jacket.

They had clearly come from cubs and what sort of a person kills helpless young foxes just to decorate a tatty coat, the two asked rhetorically.

Meanwhile the man sat on the next seat, took out a banana and enjoyed his mid-morning snack. Such indifference was too much for the women and they stomped off, but not before casting a glance of such ferocity that even a pack of blood-thirsty hounds would have run for cover.

“You're not their flavour of the month,” I said.

“So it seems,” he replied cheerfully. “I'm clearly branded a heartless killer.”

My expression must have shown the jury was still out.

“Actually all three were A34 road kill victims over a 10-day period,” he explained. “They had been left there for several days until I picked them up, removed the tails and buried what remained.

“I could have left them for the road cleaners and they would have gone to some landfill site. They deserved something better.”

“But why wear the brushes?” I asked.

“To help highlight my pet hate by pointing a finger (and three tails) at the real villains of the piece – motorists who don’t give a damn for wildlife,” he said.

  • NOT many yards away four foreign teenagers were giving a noisy and impromptu display of ball control using the greenest football I’ve ever seen. On heads, back of necks, balanced on feet and knees – they did the lot.

Mind you, it didn’t receive universal approval, especially from those who found themselves struck by a sturdy lad backing into their path. Yet, in the main, there was tolerance. The only harsh words came from a cyclist who had to brake hard to prevent a collision. Fortunately the four either didn’t know or chose to ignore the words of his torrent of abuse.

Okay, so the lads shouldn’t have been playing football, but nor should the chap have been riding a bike in the pedestrians-only area.

  • THE sun was out. Jackets were removed, cleavage exposed and people relaxed in Gloucester Green, some eating and watching happenings at Wednesday’s market.

I’ll join them, I thought and ordered a kebab. It was delicious. But my reverie was shattered as oily dressing dripped through the paper tissue surrounding the kebab, ruining my favourite club-crested tie.

She meant well, but just then I didn’t see the funny side of the young mother’s offer of her baby son’s bib.