Just once I’d like to walk through Worksop town centre without seeing or hearing anyone airing their dirty laundry in public.
Every family has it’s dirty laundry, but why do the good people of our town feel the need to air them on Bridge Street in front of an audience of startled pensioners, bemused shoppers and terrified school kids?
It seems like every time I take a stroll through town my eardrums are bombarded with volleys of abuse which would shock an old Glasgow docker and personal information which would be better suited to the confession box.
The most recent example was when I was wandering through the town centre in the sunshine recently.
There I was pondering the meaning of life, and whether I fancied a Greggs sausage roll when I bumped into a scene straight out of the Jeremy Kyle Show.
A couple young enough to be Grundi’s grandchildren were f-ing and blinding at each other across the street like Wayne Rooney after he’s just been flagged offside.
It was a scene so typically Worksop it should have been recorded in a tapestry or placed on one of those Welcome to the Gateway to the Dukeries signs.
The male lead was played by a scrawny, sallow youth in a baseball cap and tracksuit.
While his Juliet was about twice his weight and pushing a baby in a pram with 20 bags of shopping.
I wouldn’t dare list the salty language any passers-by were subected to but their disagreement centred on our Romeo playing away from home.
In between mouthfuls of steak bake, the young heroine delivered a proper tongue-lashing to her beau.
Now I have no doubt that Romeo deserved a word in his ear, but what did it have to do with me and the poor blokes digging the road?
Just for once can they keep it indoors?