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I was watching news reports and videos during the week showing litter-strewn beaches at Southend and Bournemouth along with Bristol harbour where thousands of sun-crazed cretins had gathered like rampant ants the day before, and I must admit I felt despair creeping in, which is not a great sign for a depressive.
The comment from one musclehead in Bournemouth: “I don’t know anyone with coronavirus so it doesn’t matter,” was my tipping point I think.
If we are so determined to act with absolutely no respect for anything or anyone, then we really don’t deserve this planet.
I’m by no means a hippy tree hugger – as far as I’m concerned Greta Thunberg needs to get back to school, finish her education and attend a few teenage parties – but I do believe strongly in the importance of open green space, I don’t like cutting my own trees back – they were here before me and they’ll hopefully be here after me so who am I to start lopping off branches – and unless it’s an apple core (which I always leave somewhere in case a stray dog, a fox or a badger gets peckish) you don’t leave your s**t for someone else to clean up.
The mess left by these idiots who wouldn’t recognise a metre plus social distancing with a tape measure nailed to their Neanderthal prominent foreheads and obviously value skin cancer above all else was disgusting and I’m ashamed to think I’m the same species.
Of course, if or when the second wave of coronavirus hits, as it has begun to in Germany and Portugal, it will be someone else’s fault for not making things more clear while they were having their arses wiped and their shoelaces tied.
The Government must know this so Matt Hancock blithering on about how they have the power to close beaches, but people are entitled to enjoy the sunshine is just another example of what a complete waste of air he is.
We’re in a pandemic you gonad! People have shown time and time again over the past three months that they cannot be relied upon to use any common sense whatsoever.
SO SHUT THE DAMN BEACHES!
What is this preoccupation with holidays?
You spend hours in a traffic jam thinking you’re going to miss your flight, then you spend hours at the airport because your flight has been delayed due to air traffic controllers in France going on strike.
Then you arrive at your accommodation in the early hours to find it’s still under construction, or if you’re on the Greek island of Skiathos, that you’re not allowed to flush toilet paper because the sewers date back to Poseidon, the ancient Greek god of flushing, so you dirty, smelly wipes go into a plastic bucket – in 90 degree heat.
After two weeks of that, with at least one stomach upset thrown in (and up) for good measure you go through that journey hassle again in reverse – with the added bonus of your wife getting a deep vein thrombosis when you’re moved at the last minute from a seat you booked to a cramped square foot at the back of the plane for your trip home from your honeymoon in The Maldives.
By the time I get home from a holiday I need a holiday just to get over the travel.
If I wanted that kind of bum ache I would have stayed on tour instead of being a tourist.
At least I got paid for that
We know who you are
It was great to receive the Campaign of the Year accolade at this year’s Regional Press Awards last week for Charlie Thomson’s investigation into the Shoebury child sex ring of the late 1980s.
To be recognised again for something we at the YA feel passionately about is, of course, very gratifying, but it won’t bring any real satisfaction until those in authority who are complicit in covering it up for the past 30 years, and who are still doing it now, are made to answer for it.
They know who they are, Charlie and I know who they are and I look forward to the day when you do too.