SPITTING IN THE STREET

I do so loathe and detest those among us currently sharing this glorious multi-cultural city, who spit in the street, at times almost at the feet of other pedestrians. I try to ignore this horrendous habit but invariably find myself reprimanding the perpetrators in tones that are far too hostile. It’s got something to do with growing up at a time when every second household harboured a TB sufferer and effective and reliable treatment had yet to be developed. At least, that’s how I justify it to myself because I’m old enough to recall those signs that used to be on buses, and that I failed to understand until I was at least twelve years old. `DO NOT EXPECTORATE’. The fine was five pounds if I am not mistaken. But why not `DON’T SPIT’ I still wonder? But fast forwarding once more, you will have noticed that I have avoided commenting on the typical ethnic background of the usual offenders and there’s a reason for that – I mean quite apart from the fact that I do not actually enjoy being labelled `Racist’. It might almost (but not quite) be possible to finally train myself to largely ignore those pedestrians, invariably males, who expectorate liberally in my path in more central parts of the city but I don’t think I could ever come to grips with our football heroes and yes, I’m targeting the sainted All Blacks here, who actually spit on the field during play. I am incensed to the point where I fantasize about nailing them to rows of crosses and depriving them of their sexual organs with a large knife. I’m not kidding. The husband maintains that this over the top attitude is more to do with my hatred of sport than anything else. I disagree: it is largely to do with the fact that little boys in parks are beginning to copy them. A few years ago seven year olds waiting for their turn on the slide did not spit now did they? I do not subscribe to the notion that New Zealand males under the age of ten years might have acquired this distasteful habit whilst waiting in line for their Chinese takeways.