In my local park in Tunbridge Wells, the only football graffiti these days is a foot high Wisla Krakow, painted on the side of a bridge.
At a Sunday morning boot fair outside Eastbourne last summer, I twice caught the unmistakeable aroma of, and then spotted, a couple of people openly smoking joints as they wandered between the stalls.
In Pret A Manger last Saturday, my wife and I were bemused by a 30-something husband and wife, sat at an adjacent table with their heads bent in concentration over their smartphones, checking texts, Facebook, Twitter or somesuch and completely oblivious to the efforts of their two young children to engage them in conversation.
At a Sunday morning boot fair outside Eastbourne last summer, I twice caught the unmistakeable aroma of, and then spotted, a couple of people openly smoking joints as they wandered between the stalls.
In Pret A Manger last Saturday, my wife and I were bemused by a 30-something husband and wife, sat at an adjacent table with their heads bent in concentration over their smartphones, checking texts, Facebook, Twitter or somesuch and completely oblivious to the efforts of their two young children to engage them in conversation.
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