Our trustworthy Gazelle & Herod reported today that “disgraceful” behaviour in Devizes Market Place has elevated into a dental issue….
Publishing an article which states the police are frustrated by the issue, they quote an Inspector, who said The Public Spaces Protection Order “has given them certain useful powers, but lacks teeth, and has yet to solve the problem,” as ze kriminalassistent pours away a can of booze he nicked off a thirsty hobo, for kicks.
Are we to assume the blame lies with sugary doughnuts washed down with Coca-Cola? This Public Spaces Protection Order should’ve listened to its dentist when it was little. Where’s Oral B brand ambassador Holly Willoughby when you need her? Perhaps dentists might be able to help, if dental implants would suffice? Or could we, as concerned residents, come up with a better plan?
While I’m willing to accept they’re not real teeth, just joke ones, and we don’t like jokes in Devizes, and get banned from Facebook pages for posting them, I think I have the perfect suggestion, bearing in mind we’re all a bunch of petty whinging geriatrics with some serious first world problems here.
I call upon Devizes Town Council to glue chattering teeth toys to the base of the Market Cross, which would bite the bums of anyone congregating there; job a good ‘un. Thanks for the tip off, trustworthy Gazelle & Herod!
I thought I’d pop down there, see what these hooligans think of that plan. So I’m at the Market Cross in Devizes, the centre of a town financially based on the production of alcohol, where, not so long ago, folk were encouraged to drink en masse, in a ritual called the rite of Black Rat Monday, ironically on the very spot the trouble is listed as being.
Where a filthy Potterne fibber was once struck down by the wrath of god for trying to swindle a market trader out of some wheat, 273 years ago. Makes you wonder if there’s always been anti-social issues there, and if one day in a far flung future, there might be a plaque erected in memory of the pisshead who snapped a begrimed fingernail while swiping a pouch of Benson & Hedges from Sainsburys.
But all I saw there was one lonely guy, (pictured below,) sitting, talking gibberish to himself. Speaking in tongues, it sounded like he was upset with a local shop over a proposed zebra crossing, politicising a playpark, and frustrated over a byelection seat his party are bound to lose unless he really steps up his game and uses national political point-scoring tactics at a local council. I felt sorry for the guy, as he wasn’t causing a real problem (provided no one takes his balderdash seriously,) and he had a fine set of gnashers for his age.
Maybe it is help that some of these people congregating there need, not public condemnation via social media? A social hub, or something to do, like a job, community service, or a dentistry course. Oh, if only there was a tinman councillor with a heart, but I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.
But, in conclusion to my meticulous research, isn’t this a storm in a teacup? Police patrol, and if they see something happening they go and sort it out; that’s pretty much the way it has worked since Sir Robert Peel’s era, two-hundred years ago. Perhaps, just perhaps, provided no one is actually causing trouble there, we could live our lives and let others live theirs, or move to Kyiv, where their problems are such that they’re unlikely to bat an eyelid over some drunks loitering.
devizine.com 